Chapter 29 Crossroads of Fate
Elowyn’s eyes were wild with fright, her heart pounding with the thunder of drums as she struggled to make sense of her sister’s cryptic message. What did you mean, Elyria? Confusion etched itself across Elowyn’s features as she replayed Elyria’s words in her mind. In mere moments, her world was shaken by words she couldn’t decipher. “One day I’ll discover the truth about Neramyr? I’ll face the crossroads of fates?” What does any of that mean?
Amidst the stunned silence of the Temple, Elowyn faintly heard the High Priestess’ proclamation. “It is my honor to reveal your primis for this season’s Trial of Caena! Let us praise Princess Elyria Fangwright of House Fangwright!”
Incredulity and dismay painted the faces of the other candidates, their hopes dashed in an instant. Whispers and murmurs swirled around the courtiers, but Elowyn was oblivious to them. She didn’t notice Sylas crossing into Caena’s realm second, nor Kerrick as the third candidate. The disappearance of the remaining candidates from Neramyr’s realm went unnoticed by her.
All Elowyn felt was the leaden weight of the silver chain dangling around her neck.
The opal necklace around Elowyn’s neck was mourning, its melancholy deeper than it had ever experienced in all the years she possessed it. The iridescent opal grieved at the sudden separation of its counterpart; the magical bond between the two stones severed by the unknown of another deity’s realm. The opal ached fiercely, for it had always been two halves of a whole—inseparable, kind of like sisters.
As each candidate crossed the Bridge Between Worlds, the gateway to Caena’s realm closed.
With the gateway sealed, the High Priestess turned to address the assembled fey, her arms raised with palms upturned. A powerful hum of magic radiated from the High Priestess as the crescent moons nestled in her hands began to emit a soft glow. The rays of moonlight streamed upwards, creeping along her arms like vines as they illuminated the eight phases of the moon etched upon her skin. The threads continued to coil up her arms and trailed around her throat, encircling it, rising until it ceased right before her lips.
The High Priestess began, “As the Seventh Day draws to a close, the Moon Goddess has made her selection. It is now time for me to announce her chosen seven candidates worthy of participating in the next season’s divine Trial.”
Slowly, she parted her lips, and streams of moonlight poured forth, flowing down her body in rivulets. The currents continued their descent until they mingled with the waters of the Divine Shallows, forming luminous clouds around her feet.
Elowyn felt a compelling force tug her attention back to the High Priestess, guiding her gaze towards the center of the Divine Shallows where she awaited what was to come. Her eyes noted the open mouth of the High Priestess, but beyond that, she also sensed the presence of an otherworldly being, its voice resonating powerfully within her mind. As it always had been, the primordial voice was neither male nor female, unable to be placed.
In unison, the voices of the High Priestess and the primordial being filled Elowyn’s mind, speaking in the ancient tongue of the fey.
“Since the dawn of the New Age, every seventh year, seven candidates have been chosen to face Caena’s judgment in her divine Trial. The Moon Goddess has made her choice, designating one candidate from each kingdom. It is time to reveal her selection.”
The eager anticipation that had filled the Temple moments ago dissipated, replaced by a candid realization. Elowyn understood, as did everyone in the congregation of the Temple. There were no kings clenching their fists, no queens holding their breath, no hopeful aspirants yearning for greatness.
This Seventh Day held no speculation about who would be chosen by the Goddess.
Once again, the rich voice enveloped the minds of the assembly, its gentle caress embracing their auras.
“Let us now begin the unveiling of the seven candidates who will partake in the forthcoming Trial of Caena.”
Elowyn bowed her head, focusing on the rhythmic ebb and flow of the currents before her. She remained fixed on the ground, undistracted even as she sensed movement across the room. The faint shimmer of moonlight amidst the Temple’s shadows was unmistakable—another fey’s palms were alight with a sacred glow.
Silently, Elowyn tallied the candidates from each of the seven realms. She held an unshakeable certainty as to which names would be announced, she was as certain as how the moon rises with each night and falls with each dawn.
The hallowed voices in Elowyn’s mind declared, “Princess Syrilla Skyborn of House Skyborn, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
One. Promise me that you will remember, Elowyn.
Whispers of the ‘sacred seven’ rippled through the room. Yet, Elowyn remained steadfast, her gaze fixed downward.
“Prince Draeden Darkmaw of House Darkmaw, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Two. Remember it for how it was.
“Princess Nynerra Driftmoor of House Driftmoor, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Three. Remember it for how it is.
“Prince Caswin Mirthwood of House Mirthwood, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Four. Remember it for how it will be.
“Prince Llyr Blackbane of House Blackbane, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Five. Remember everything.
“Prince Theoden Bloodweaver of House Bloodweaver, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Six. Because I do, I remember.
At this moment, Elowyn lifted her gaze as the primordial voice unveiled the last chosen candidate.
“Princess Elowyn Fangwright of House Fangwright, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”
Seven. And I’ve run out of time.
Elowyn sensed a primordial tug in her chest, an inexplicable sensation that flooded her being with wonder, akin to the moment her soul intertwined with the Eternal Tethering bond. Just like her counterparts, the ivory inked crescent moons on Elowyn’s palms began to radiate with the gentle light of the moon. Yielding to the divine summons of the Goddess, she moved instinctively, her feet carrying her forward as if guided by forces beyond her grasp.
Her glowing palms seemed detached from her own will as they gathered the fabric of her ruby red skirts, moving her towards the edge of the hallowed waters. With a hesitant breath, she stepped into the inviting waters, feeling an ethereal warmth she knew only the Goddess could devise. As she waded towards the stone-tile firedrake, memories of Elyria’s sudden disappearance flooded her mind, leaving behind a void she couldn’t fill.
Mustering her courage, she agreed to the sacred stone’s blind bargain, as one reluctant foot settled upon the tile firedrake. A surge of divine magic engulfed her as it coursed through her body, seeping into her flesh and bone. With determination, she placed her other foot within the stone ring, standing firmly at the heart of House Fangwright’s sigil, her presence acknowledged by the brilliant glow beneath her.
The primordial voice resonated in her mind for one last time, marking the end of the Ceremony of Caena. Yet, unlike before, there were no jubilant cheers or applause echoing through the Temple.
Instead, the fey of Neramyr wore masks of reverence and veneration as they beheld the princes and princesses chosen to embark on the upcoming divine Trial.
Amidst the adulation, a noble fey of high lineage stepped forward. Blessed with only the first Mark, he bowed in deference to the ‘sacred seven’ . This action ignited a flame, spreading like wildfire that swept through the gathered crowd. Throughout the Temple, heads inclined, knees bent, and bodies lowered in respect for the candidates chosen by their Moon Goddess.
Elowyn caught sight of Lox amidst the crowd and his face was one born of storms. His aura, painted with somber shades of gray and blue, revealed the inner conflict he harbored, yet he too bowed in deference to his brother—his future king.
It seemed she was not alone in suffering over a sibling this night.
Elyria’s haunting words ricocheted in Elowyn’s mind, each repetition deepening the sense of foreboding that gripped her soul. The finality and heartache in her sister’s voice reverberated within her, unsettling her to the core.
In that moment, a fearfulness seized Elowyn, a nagging sense that her sister’s words were referring to something far beyond the Trial of Caena.
That night, sleep eluded Elowyn. Instead, she found herself drawn to the familiar cherry-stained door of Elyria’s chamber, seeking the comfort of the wood-carved mountains and winding rivers. As her hand reached for the gold-worn latch, the once-enchanted door now felt ordinary—the magic it once held had faded.
With a gentle push, the door yielded, swinging open easily. Stepping into the room, Elowyn was surprised to find that the barrier her sister had once summoned was no longer intact, but instead replaced with another, one that allowed her entry. Elowyn remained cautious about the newfound enchantment; however, she had no doubt that it was the spell work of Elyria’s.
The antechamber lay cloaked in shadows and darkness, yet Elowyn paid no mind as Elyria’s familiar aroma of lilac and honey enveloped her. Drawing in a deep breath, she let the scent linger for a moment before navigating towards the bedchamber in the darkness. With meticulous care, she avoided disturbing anything as she entered the room. The familiar sight of the four-poster bed greeted her, its organza drapes fluttering gently in the breeze from the nearby arched window. Sliding off her slippers, Elowyn sank into the plush white mattress, pulling the linen covers snugly around her chin.
In the sanctuary of Elyria’s bed, Elowyn managed to finally escape into slumber at last.
As Elowyn drifted into her dreams, a vision unfurled, shrouding her mind in an arcane mist that thickened with each passing moment. Within this haze, she became a mere spectator as a scene materialized before her, drawn into its mysterious depths.
In the dead of night, the Temple of Caena lay shrouded in an unsettling stillness, its hallowed halls devoid of occupants save for two solitary souls. One of these souls belonged to a fey, with eyes of silver and hair pure as newly fallen snow. Though still appearing in the bloom of youth, she bore the weight of countless lifetimes upon her slender shoulders.
The fey was searching for something—an entity that could not be gained through copper or coin, but with blood and oath.
Before the Divine Shallows, the fey sank to her knees, draping herself along the smooth edges of stone that contained the sacred waters and waited. Time stretched on, seasons flowing like currents in a river. With each passing year, hope blossomed anew in spring, desire simmered in the heat of summer, and longing mingled with the cool winds of autumn, only to be tempered by the harsh chill of winter.
Yet still, after countless years, the fey waited in silence, her everlasting patience a fascinating riddle, intriguing an ancient soul that dwelled within the temple’s depths.
Finally, an ominous voice arose from the Divine Shallows. “What is it that you seek, fey?”
“You.” The fey shifted her gaze, boring into the celestial waters, reciting a timeworn verse:
In shallows deep, where silence weeps,
Desires stir, as patience sleeps.
A dark power prowls, its presence dire,
Blood and oath it demands, to feed divine fire.
A low, sinister laugh echoed in answer.
“You’ve lingered at my realm’s edge for eons,” the darkness murmured. “Are you prepared to bargain with me? I will claim something of yours: past, present, and what is yet to be.”
“A small price for all that’s gained,” the fey replied.
“Is that so?” The words echoed around the fey indistinctly. “I have lived countless lifetimes and dwelled through realms where time bleeds through ages like ink takes to paper. Your lips speak falsehoods as easily as steel cuts flesh, but your aura betrays truth.”
“What you crave lies within me,” the fey countered. “So, claim it.”
The ancient soul merely grinned.
Abruptly, ethereal talons ensnared the fey within a malevolent grasp, sinking into flesh and drawing forth crimson droplets of blood. The fey was dragged into the divine currents, as whispered words from nameless realms of unclaimed worlds were spoken—awakening an ancient spell, the fey forever bound by an eternal oath.
Elowyn was torn from the vision, gasping, and jolting upright in bed.
A searing pain coursed through the opal pendant on her neck, shattering something deep within her aura. Elowyn gasped, clawing desperately at her throat, tearing the chain away in terror. Dread gripped her as she beheld the opal stone now cradled in her trembling palms—it was lifeless, once full of warmth had now turned cold as ice.
In a panic, Elowyn flung aside her covers and dashed out of bed, tossing the necklace onto the mattress as she recoiled from it. Back pressed against the wall, she steadied herself, eyes squeezed shut as she struggled to make sense of the ordeal, drawing deep breaths to calm her pacing heart.
She knew all too well the weight dreams carried in Neramyr—they always held dire implications.
As Elowyn’s mind raced, she sensed a pulse emanating from beyond the bedchamber. Nervously, she turned towards it, her feet hesitant as she approached the entryway. Peering cautiously around the corner, she found the living chambers deserted. Stepping out of the bedchamber, she entered the book-lined living space, scanning every corner for any sign of intrusion, yet everything appeared undisturbed.
Moments later, Elowyn pivoted to leave, but halted suddenly as a peculiar sensation seized her attention. A faint aura emanated from a nearby bookshelf, its essence foreign, nearly otherworldly. Overcoming her dread, Elowyn cautiously approached the source, her gaze narrowing as she delved into the stacks. Behind a cluster of books, the faint energy pulsed, prompting Elowyn to investigate further by shifting the volumes aside.
Nestled within the concealed alcove behind the stack of books, Elowyn, puzzled, discovered a small wooden chest. Carefully, she retrieved the chest and examined it closely, only to find its latch firmly locked. Despite her efforts to open it, the latch remained stubbornly shut, suggesting the chest had been warded against unwanted access.
With a nervous exhale, Elowyn summoned her native magic, feeling it swell to her fingertips as a shimmer coated them. Hovering her hand above the closed lid, she sought out the magical links that bound the chest. Detecting multiple wards, she hesitated, but found one she felt narrowly confident she could break. She began channeling, though abjuration had never been her strong suit. To her surprise, as soon as she attempted to break the ward, it dispelled, along with all the other wards protecting the chest.
Elowyn’s face revealed both shock and confusion as the lid of the chest swung open effortlessly. Inside, she found neatly arranged scrolls, some empty potion bottles, and several unfamiliar objects. Despite not recognizing any of the items, she examined them carefully. She unrolled one of the scrolls, finding it blank, while another contained a list of common books. It appeared that all the scrolls were either devoid of content or filled with inconsequential writing.
Elowyn’s curiosity piqued further as she shifted her focus to the bottles nestled within the chest. They, too, appeared devoid of contents, their glass surfaces reflecting the dim light of the room. Tentatively, she reached for one of the bottles, feeling the cool smoothness of the glass beneath her fingertips. With caution, she uncorked it and lifted it to her nose, expecting the faint aroma of a potion or elixir. However, to her surprise, there was nothing—no scent wafted from within.
Perplexed, she furrowed her brow, her mind grappling with the puzzle before her. Had these vessels ever held any substance, or were they merely ornamental? The absence of scent suggested the latter, yet the presence of the chest in her chambers and the lingering magical energy hinted at a deeper mystery.
Finally, Elowyn turned her attention to the assortment of objects scattered within the chest. She first examined a metallic item that vaguely resembled a key, although its irregular shape and jagged edges made it seem more like a crude rod. Its weight felt ordinary, similar to holding a piece of plain silver or iron. She then picked up a thin, curved disc with a dark, coal-like hue and a surface riddled with pits. Despite her attempts to discern its purpose, the nature of the object eluded her. With a bewildered shake of her head, she returned the disc to the chest and reached for the final item.
The final item resembled a brooch. Elowyn turned it over in her hand, scrutinizing its intricate details. Crafted from gold and no larger than a copper coin, it featured a colorless stone at its center, gleaming even in the dim light. Tilting the brooch, she squinted at the circle of text engraved on its surface, finding it filled with more symbols and unfamiliar characters than recognizable words. Perplexed, Elowyn returned the brooch to the chest with a frustrated sigh, closing the lid. Far from clarity, she found herself even more mystified than before.
After carefully returning the small wooden chest to its hiding place, Elowyn stepped back, pondering why it had been concealed at all. Its contents seemed entirely ordinary and unimportant. Perhaps they held sentimental value to her older sister, Elowyn speculated. After all, she herself possessed cherished items, like the charmed bell Draeden had gifted her.
With her baffled thoughts somewhat assuaged, Elowyn retreated to the bedchamber. She knew sleep would escape her tonight. Her gaze fell upon the opal necklace still nestled in the folds of the plush linens where she had cast it.
With a resigned sigh, she approached and picked it up. As the opal stone lay in her hand, Elowyn’s heart sank.
More than anything, she hoped what had happened was merely an illusion or a trick played by her mind, but it seemed too real. The necklace cradled in her palm felt utterly lifeless, devoid of the magical energy it once possessed. Determined not to succumb to haunting thoughts, Elowyn chose to overlook the opal stone’s absence of warmth. “There’s no need to worry,” she whispered to herself, seeking reassurance. “Elyria is fine.”
Elowyn straightened her posture, standing taller as she firmly held the opal necklace and moved to her sister’s study table. With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a flame to light the wick. The candle’s gentle glow pierced the darkness of the chamber, casting dancing shadows across the room. Elowyn glanced at the necklace briefly before attempting to fasten it around her neck. However, her fingers fumbled, and the opal necklace slipped from her grasp, tumbling to the floor.
Elowyn grumbled in frustration as she pushed the chair back and hunched to the floor to retrieve the necklace. She gathered the opal stone in her palm, ready to rise, but an odd shadow beneath the desk grasped her attention. Intrigued, Elowyn knelt down and crawled beneath the table, candle in hand. A shiver ran down her spine as she sensed a familiar energy, her fingers tracing the underside until they found a concealed knob. With a determined effort, she manipulated the latch until it clicked softly. A hidden compartment revealed itself, unveiling a small iron chest pulsating with the same magic as the one before.
The chest was forged from metal and its size was no bigger than Elowyn’s splayed hand. Surprisingly light, she lifted it onto the study table’s surface. Despite its outdated appearance, the chest remained well-preserved, its sides covered with intricate symbols depicting stars and lunar phases. However, when she attempted to open it, the lid resisted her efforts. With a frustrated sigh, Elowyn called upon her magic once more to dispel the ward.
Just as before, the ward encasing the metal chest dissolved effortlessly. Elowyn sensed that the situation was becoming increasingly cryptic. Nevertheless, she proceeded to open the lid and reveal its contents. Within lay a bundle of parchment, which she carefully extracted and inspected. Among them were sheets that seemed aged and weathered, while others appeared freshly added. Elowyn’s disappointment grew as she realized that these parchments were similar to the scrolls discovered in the previous chest.
As Elowyn unfolded each page, they were just as unremarkable as the those from earlier. The parchments contained lists of ingredients for basic potions, excerpts on moonfire, botanical descriptions of various flora, and even some with aimless doodles and scribbles. It puzzled Elowyn as to why her sister would go to such lengths to conceal such ordinary items.
In truth, Elyria wouldn’t resort to such elaborate measures to conceal something insignificant.
Considering this, Elowyn remembered how Elyria’s heavily warded door had opened effortlessly for her, and how the hidden chests within her chambers seemed to beckon with their pulsing energy—as if eager to be discovered. She pondered over the spells and wards that safeguarded the chests; they were spells that would challenge even seasoned warlocks or sorceresses. It became clear to Elowyn that Elyria must have orchestrated it all, manipulating the wards to respond to her magic. Yet, the reason behind Elyria’s intentions remained a mystery to her.
Elowyn examined the stack of parchment with heightened inspection. After turning the parchment over in various angles and entertaining the thought of her own sanity, Elowyn eventually discerned something—a unique concealment spell, barely perceptible to the untrained eye, yet undoubtedly created by Elyria herself. It was a spell that Elyria had created and compelled Elowyn to learn until she had mastered it.
Elowyn’s heart drummed within her chest, a symphony of apprehension and curiosity, as she cradled the bundle of parchment. Trusting her instincts regarding Elyria’s intentions, she summoned a flicker of her magic and channeled it into one of the pages she extracted from the stack. With bated breath, she watched as the text detailing Scael’s Secrets to Scrying began to stir and shift upon the parchment. Letters and symbols danced and rearranged themselves, weaving a new narrative.
Bewildered, Elowyn read the true contents of the parchment. When she lifted her gaze from the paper, her eyes fixed vacantly on the wall ahead. The emotions swirling within her remained indecipherable. With a trembling hand, she set down the enchanted note and reached for another. As she released it, the script once again reshuffled, concealing its true message behind the guise of Scael’s Secrets to Scrying . Methodically, Elowyn repeated the process, each time discovering a hidden truth only to watch it dissolve back into deception.
As the night dwindled and the first light of dawn crept in, Elowyn continued unraveling the secrets concealed within each note. At one point in her pursuit, she retrieved the chest hidden behind the books and delved into its contents. What were once ordinary lists of book titles now displayed unfamiliar titles—some written in a language entirely foreign to her. The idle doodles had metamorphosed into detailed maps depicting uncharted regions of Neramyr. Each revelation added another layer to the unknown.
The weight of her discoveries left Elowyn dizzy and nauseous, her head swimming in a sea of uncertainty. She sat motionless at the study desk, surrounded by the aftermath of her frantic search: parchment strewn haphazardly, scrolls scattered in disarray, and a spent candle leaving behind only a puddle of wax.
In Elowyn’s hand, she held one parchment in particular—the scent of it lingering with lilac and honey. She had read over it again until her eyes grew weary, clutched it coarsely enough that the paper grew worn and tattered.
Now, bathed in the soft morning light, Elowyn read the letter once more to herself.
Elowyn,
There are wicked truths to feykind that have been buried and hidden from us. Truths that have been encased in silent tombs of an evil that you cannot fathom. This evil is not embodied in vicious claws and vile fangs; it hides behind benevolent smiles and lurks beneath the guise of good nature.
I tried to shield you from these truths, to keep you safe. I thought I could uncover the secrets of those who possess such nefarious ploys, of those who wrongfully hold such power. I wanted to spare you from this fate, but I was a fool to believe I could. Now I know in the marrow of my bones that it can only be you.
All the knowledge I have discovered is hidden within these parchments. I was too reckless, and I ran out of time. I can only hope that what I have learned will lend you more. Promise me that you’ll remember, Elowyn. Remember it for how it was, for how it is, and for how it will be.
Remember everything, for your life depends on it.
All my love,
Elyria