25 Phantom Hands
Phantom Hands
For three days, Vaelira lay in silence. Her body sank into the bed, as if the mattress was trying to swallow her whole.
Every muscle ached, every movement sending a bolt of pain down her limbs.
Even walking to the refectory felt like wading through ash.
The others whispered about the chapel, the story changing by the day, but their voices were muffled, like she was hearing them through water.
She ate quickly each evening, eyes fixed on her plate, then disappeared before anyone had the chance to ask her opinion.
Elijah had come looking for her, but she hadn’t answered when he knocked.
Not on the first day, or the second, or the third.
Each time, she lay barely breathing, staring at the ceiling like she might burn a hole through it.
By the fourth, she knew she wouldn’t be there when he came again.
She couldn’t bear to hear that voice through the door, soft and insistent, like nothing had happened.
Not after the way he’d gripped her wrist outside the chapel, and then her waist.
The sun had barely risen over the walls when she slipped into the secret passageway.
Galfri wouldn’t be expecting her, but she couldn’t lie in that bed a moment longer, couldn’t stand the quiet.
Jurah had excused her from drills and lectures for the week due to her head injury, so no one would miss her.
Vaelira climbed out of the tunnel and into the abandoned storage room in the Index, finding robes already folded and waiting for her on one of the shelves. She hesitated only a moment before changing, pulling up the hood and slipping into the corridor.
The mage chamber was empty, but the silence wasn’t the peaceful reprieve she had been hoping for.
It pressed against her ribs, demanding to be heard.
Mercifully, light glowed from the makeshift archway ahead, and she ducked through, inhaling the heavy air of the archives, the scent of old parchment and leather stuffing up her nose.
Galfri sat at the table, hunched over a worn book. His face looked older, the lamplight carving hollows beneath his cheekbones like time had finally caught up to him. Did he know the true nature of Elijah? Is that why he had never trust him with the truth?
When Galfri looked up, his eyes flashed with alarm. “You move like a shadow,” he said, relaxing once more and returning to the book.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice rough. She was surprised it worked at all.
His fingers drummed once against the edge of the table then turned a page. He seemed distracted, his jaw twitching every few seconds.
“What are you reading?” she asked, walking between the shelves and lowering herself into the chair across from him. Her muscles still ached. Whether it was from the fight in the chapel, or from curling into herself these past three days, she couldn’t tell. It was probably both.
Galfri’s gaze drifted to the shelves as if he expected them to speak for him.
“There’s no mention of him here,” he began.
“No mention of Maerin Vireldane in these archives at all, but I found fragments in the library. Old census records, healing registries from the Heartlands. Maerin Vireldane was a trained medic. Respected. He was born over a century and a half ago. He had a promising future and then… nothing. Any mention of him simply stops.” He paused.
“It’s too abrupt. It’s as if someone came back and removed the pages, like they wanted to bury the link between the two. ”
Vaelira’s pulse quickened. “When do the records stop?”
“Shortly after his mother’s death. He would have been around your age,” he paused again. “It was exactly seven years before the Great Fire.”
“You think that's when he abandoned his Praen and took a Nexa.”
Galfri nodded. “Veyrakh.” He said it like a curse.
Vaelira leaned forward and rubbed her temple, the threat of a headache pulsing behind her eyes. “Where was he born?”
“A town in the Heartlands called Korveth.”
She repeated the name under her breath. It didn’t sound familiar, but why should it? The town would have been ash a long time ago.
“Even knowing all this, we’re no closer to finding his Veritas,” she said. Once they worked out how to wield it against him, his true name would be the key to defeating him.
One step at a time.
Galfri shook his head. “I’ve found nothing on the three peaks either. I don’t think it could have been in Eastvale, but all maps of the Heartlands were destroyed. Even the one here shows only an outline of the continent. There’s no landmarks outside of Eastvale.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“People fear the Wastelands and the demoncursed who live there. They believe those who survived the fire could only have done so by wielding dark magic or allying themselves with the Abyss. Why map such a place and allow curiosity to grow? Better to keep people afraid of the unknown.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes and dragged them down her face, like she could scrape the tension from her skin. “Even if we do find his Veritas, we don’t know how to use it, or where he’s bound. For all we know, it’s the flowerpot outside The Seven Squids.”
The more she spoke, the more helpless she felt. She gripped the edge of the table and the lamplight sputtered, mirroring the ache in her chest. She willed it down, pretending not to notice.
When she looked up again, Galfri’s eyes were soft and filled with worry. “All we can do is try.”
Vaelira stared at the grooves in the table, the throbbing in her head transforming from an ache to a sharp, unrelenting pain. It felt useless, but the thought of doing nothing was worse.
There was silence for a few moments, and then, because he hadn’t brought it up, she asked, “Did you hear about the chapel?”
He nodded solemnly. “My best guess is summoners brought it down.”
Vaelira swallowed. “Not exactly.”
By the time Vaelira got back to her room, even the thought of having to leave again to eat made her head pound. She removed her boots, preparing to climb into bed, when a knock sounded. She cringed. She thought she’d successfully avoided Elijah for the day.
A few beats of silence passed, and it came again.
“I brought dinner,” Ressa’s muffled voice called from the hallway.
Vaelira’s shoulders sagged. “Coming.”
Ressa stood in the hall holding a plate piled high with food. Behind her, Fang carried two more. Vaelira stepped aside, and they crossed to the dresser, setting everything down.
“So,” Ressa said, turning with her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”
Vaelira shrugged, dropping onto the bed. “Here, mostly.”
Ressa joined her, while Fang settled on the floor, his back against the wall.
“Seeing as the prince has been knocking every day, we guessed as much,” Fang said. “You two get in a fight or something?”
“You could say that,” she replied. To her surprise, a laugh slipped out.
“Did you hear about the chapel?” Ressa asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Vaelira glanced at the door, lowering her voice. “I was there.”
“Ha! I knew it,” Fang said, pointing at Ressa. “This one didn’t believe me.”
Ressa scoffed. “Because it’s absolutely insane.” She turned to Vaelira. “What in the Abyss happened?”
Vaelira didn’t answer right away. Her secrets were getting heavier but that didn’t mean her friends were any less trustworthy. She just didn’t know how much was safe to reveal.
It was me, she wanted to say, but Elijah had been right, revealing her essensia would only complicate things, and keeping it a secret was the one thing everyone seemed to agree on.
“Summoners,” she murmured, clasping her hands in her lap.
Fang stared at her, jaw slack.
Ressa’s eyes grew weary. “Why were you there?”
“It’s a long story.”
“We have all night,” Fang replied, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning back.
Vaelira’s stomach growled loudly.
Ressa laughed, but it was strained. “Let’s eat first. You can tell us after.”
Vaelira told them almost everything. She left out the part about her essensia, making it sound like the demons had brought the place down on their own.
There was no denying Elijah’s involvement.
His constant appearances made that much obvious, but she didn’t mention the others.
She didn’t tell them what had happened when he’d walked her back, either.
When she’d finished, they sat in silence for several long minutes, Ressa and Fang staring at the bare walls, speechless.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Ressa said, finally.
“Does the Commander know?” Fang asked.
Vaelira shook her head.
“Why not?”
Ressa answered for her. “She was out after curfew, drinking with the prince,” she said flatly. “Doesn’t exactly paint her in the best light, does it?”
Fang nodded. “Right.”
“So,” Ressa continued, “a demon lured you and Prince Charming to the chapel, for what? To kill you?”
“Seemed that way,” Vaelira said, placing her empty plate aside and lying back against the cushion. She stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, trying to piece it all together.
“They must be targeting the Prince,” Fang said, rubbing his jaw. “I don’t understand why you followed him though.”
Vaelira took a deep breath. She’d known this moment was coming.
As soon as she’d realised Ressa and Fang were becoming true friends, she knew she’d tell them eventually.
“Before I left Anhaven,” she said, willing her voice steady, “my brother was possessed by a demon.” No one spoke.
“Elijah killed him,” she continued. “Jon was the last of my family. When I saw that man possessed, I got so angry. Elijah tried to stop me,” She paused. “It was my fault.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Ressa said, taking Vaelira’s hand in hers. “I’m not certain I would have acted any differently.”
“Me either,” Fang said. “What are you going to do now?”
Vaelira didn’t answer. She had no idea.
He glanced at Ressa and back at her. “Whatever you choose, we’ve got your back.”
Ressa squeezed her hand. “You can count on us.”