Chapter 29
Luzia
Another drop of his blood hit the ground, the earth beneath it began to glow—a soft, ethereal light, pulsing with a gentle rhythm.
I stared, my breath catching in my throat.
The light intensified, and from the barren soil, a single, luminous blossom began to unfurl.
Its petals were the color of liquid moonlight, shimmering with an inner radiance that pushed back the darkness. It was impossible. It was a miracle.
The Flor da Lua.
It had been waiting for a sacrifice, for an act of selfless courage. Caio’s blood, his willingness to die for me, had awakened it. And now it bloomed with a beauty that took my breath away.
My despair was burned away by a new, desperate hope. I carefully plucked the flower, its stem cool and alive in my hand. Its magic pulsed against my skin, a promise of life. All that mattered now was getting it to Inaiá and then getting back to Caio.
But I couldn’t leave him like this.
Even in the dim moonlight, I could see a slight improvement in his color, a flicker of returning strength in his eyes. But it wasn’t enough. He was still weak and vulnerable. And I was running out of time.
“Luzia,” he whispered, his voice gaining a little strength.
“The sky… it’s becoming lighter.” He gestured weakly toward the East, where a faint blush of pink was beginning to paint the horizon.
“You have to go. Back to the river. Take the Sussuron to your people, maybe it has something to help your sister.”
My heart clenched. He was right. Every moment I delayed lessened Inaiá’s chances, even though I hadn’t found the Flor da Lua, there might be another way, and I had to try.
But the thought of leaving him here, alone and injured, was unbearable.
“I can’t just leave you,” I protested, my voice thick with unshed tears. “You’re still too weak.”
He reached out, his hand weakly grasping mine. “You have to,” he insisted, his voice strained but firm. “Inaiá needs you.” His thumb gently stroked my knuckles, a small gesture of comfort that felt like a brand searing my heart.
“Let me help you back to the Jeep,” I pleaded, my voice thick with unshed tears. “I won’t leave you here vulnerable.”
“I’ll be fine,” he murmured, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his bravado.
“No, you won’t,” I insisted, gently but firmly helping him to his feet.
He leaned heavily on me as we slowly made our way through the jungle, each step a painful reminder of the distance growing between us.
By the time we reached the Jeep, his weight was almost unbearable, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
I helped him into the vehicle, my hands lingering on his shoulders, unwilling to let go. He turned to me, his eyes dark with pain and something else.
Something that mirrored the ache in my chest.
“You need to go… now,” he whispered, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face.
The graze of his fingers on my skin sent a shiver down my spine, a spark of longing that threatened to consume me.
I yearned to kiss him, to hold him close, but I knew I couldn’t. If I did, I might never leave.
“Luzia, go,” he said more forcefully, his voice laced with desperate urgency.
His words were a physical blow, each syllable a painful reminder of my duty, my promise.
Tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision.
I wanted to argue, to beg him to let me stay, but I knew he was right.
Every second I delayed brought Inaiá closer to the edge.
A tremor went through my hands. This was madness.
The Seolais was my protection, my history, a part of my soul.
But I had to leave him a piece of that soul, a promise he could touch and hold.
My fingers fumbled at the clasp. I lifted the familiar weight from my skin and fastened it around his neck.
The golden sunburst rested against him, a stark and beautiful vow.
I squeezed his hand, clinging to its warmth. “I will come back for you.” The words were a raw whisper, torn from my throat. “I swear it.”
He gave me a weak smile, a heartbreaking mixture of gratitude and resignation. “Go,” he whispered, his voice fading. “Save your sister.”
I leaned down and kissed his forehead, a silent farewell, a promise of return.
Then, with a heart heavy with grief and a soul torn in two, I turned and ran, the precious Flor da Lua clutched tightly in my hand.
The first rays of dawn kissed my face as I fled, the rising sun a cruel reminder of the choice I had made, the sacrifice we both had to endure.
I ran toward the river, toward Inaiá, leaving a piece of my heart behind in the shadowed clearing with Caio. Our worlds, so briefly intertwined, were now diverging, our paths splitting like the branches of a river, flowing in different directions toward uncertain futures.
And as I ran, the only sound I could hear above the pounding of my feet and the rushing of the river was the silent echo of my promise. I’ll come back for you.