Chapter 57 Aurelia
Aurelia
I woke to Malachi and Colette standing over me. Concern shadowed both their faces. I pushed to sit, bracing myself with one arm, the other at my temple.
“We need to get to Aeryn,” I said, the words scraping out before anything else. “Have you seen him?”
Colette’s mouth tightened. “You just missed him. He picked up tea and was headed home.” She hesitated, guilt threading her tone. “I’m sorry, Aurelia—for all of it.”
We all cling to the things we think will save the people we love. Sometimes those things do more harm than good. Sometimes they only delay the breaking. But love makes us hold them tighter anyway.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
Her eyes softened, but she shook her head. “No. It is not okay. But I’ll accept forgiveness, if you’re offering.”
“I forgive you,” I whispered, leaning forward to embrace her. Her arms were solid, steady, smelling faintly of sage and smoke. “I’ll come back before I leave.”
The raven, perched on a high beam, croaked as if in judgment. “Chains break, thorns bleed.”
“Oh hush, you,” Colette fussed, flapping her hand toward him. “Spewing nonsense these days.”
We left together, slipping out of town by back lanes, avoiding the busy square.
“What happened back there?” Malachi asked at last, his voice careful. “Did you dream?”
“Yes. Kaelith was there. He spoke to me like he’d been waiting. He told me every time I close my eyes, I call to him.”
Malachi’s jaw worked, a muscle ticking at his temple.
“Dream-walking,” he muttered. “I wondered if the bond would give him that reach.” His gaze cut toward me, gold eyes catching what light was left.
“The question is whether it gives you the same reach, whether you can walk back. Powers like yours don’t come without reflection.
If Kaelith can touch you in dreams, it means you might be able to touch him, to harness some of his power, too. ”
The thought hollowed me out. My hand crept to the back of my neck, rubbing the skin where the mark lay as if I could quiet it by touch. We didn’t know what I was becoming, or how much of Kaelith I carried with me now.
By the time we reached the horses, my chest was tight with urgency. We mounted, the path carrying us through the woods, hooves knocking ground, branches scraping leather, until the cliffs opened wide to sea and sky.
And there he was. Aeryn.
A bundle of tools slung across his back, shoulders browned by sun. Good—he’d been outside. Taller now, a young man in every line of him, but still my little brother. I knew he’d have the same eyes. The same freckles scattered across his cheeks.
He looked up. Stopped.
I swung down from the saddle, boots striking stone. The reins slipped from my hands as I thrust them back toward Malachi without looking.
And for a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Aeryn dropped the tools. Ran.
I met him halfway. He fell to his knees in front of me, arms wrapping tight around my waist, face pressed into my ribs.
And he cried. Not the quiet kind, not the kind that could be mistaken for something else.
No, this was the sound of something breaking open—something that had been held too long, too tightly.
“I thought—” his voice cracked, trembling, “I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m sorry, Aeryn. I’m so sorry it took me so long. Nyxarra is so much more than stories.”
“That’s where I’ve been all this time.” I whispered, sinking to my knees. My arms wrapped around him instinctively, and my fingers threaded through his curls, sun-warmed and longer than I remembered.
“You didn’t hear it,” he rasped suddenly, voice thinned with fear. “When the nights stretched too long, when even silence screamed. It’s still in my head, Elli—it hums under everything. Like the sea inside my skull.”
He clung to me like something drowning, breath hitching in uneven gasps.
And he was little again. Not this tall, sun-bronzed boy with callused hands and a man’s gravity in his eyes, but the child I used to carry through storm-dark hallways.
The little boy who named the stars above our window.
The boy who cried when he crushed a beetle and spent an hour trying to bury it.
I pressed my forehead to his. “I came back. I’m here. I’m real.”
We stayed like that until the sobs eased. Then he pulled back, swiping at his face with the heel of his hand.
“You missed my eighteenth birthday,” he said, half-laugh, half-sob.
“I know.” My tears caught in my smile. “And gods, look at you. You’ve grown.”
For a heartbeat, shadow crawled under his skin, rippling like something alive. It vanished just as fast, but the wrongness of it lingered in my gut.
We stood. He looked down on me easily, a head taller, shoulders a bit broader than when I left.
He grinned, shy and real. “Who’s the little sibling now?”
His eyes lingered, as if trying to reconcile the sister he knew with the one before him. “You look stronger. Different.”
My throat closed. “I’ve had… a transformative few weeks.”
But even as the words left me, Kaelith’s shadow lingered—his bond in my veins, the memory of silk spun like a noose. I shoved the thought down, just for this moment.
“Aeryn… about the patron ceremony. About Draven—I spoke to him in town. What did you promise him?”
He looked past me at the sea, jaw working.
His skin was browned from days outside, shoulders marked by sun—but it was only surface.
Up close I saw the truth: the hollows beneath his eyes, the way his gaze dimmed at the edges, like something inside was already blackening.
He blinked, slow, like a man surfacing from deep water.
“We thought you were dead, Elli,” Aeryn said finally.
His voice was flat, but the words landed heavy.
“Hayat… he started to lose it. He wouldn’t sleep.
He stayed here all the time, kept checking the roads, swore he’d see you coming back any second.
I couldn’t stand it—watching him unravel like that.
So I made him go look for you. Better than watching him tear himself apart. ”
“He made it to the Nyxarran market,” Aeryn murmured, rubbing at his eyes. “That’s as far as anyone goes. The traders told him the same story over and over—that those taken into the city never return. He came back sure he’d lost you.”
“You made him?” The question came out sharper than I intended. Heat flared in my chest—because I’d yelled at Hayat for leaving Aeryn, when it had been Aeryn who sent him.
“Yes.” Aeryn’s hands tightened into fists until his knuckles whitened. He relaxed his hands, like even that small act cost him. “And then Draven found me.”
My pulse skipped. “Found you?”
Aeryn looked at me, eyes rimmed raw. “I was heading to Colette’s. Needed more of those herbs you gave me.” He paused. “It’s like my mind keeps reaching for somewhere else. Like I’m standing in two worlds, and both are burning.”
Aeryn continued.
“He said he could make it quiet.” Aeryn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He told me there’s a way to still the noise forever. No dreams. No voices. Just peace.” His laugh was brittle. “You’d do anything for peace after this long, wouldn’t you?”
My mouth went dry.
“He said if I went to the patron ceremony, the goddesses could quiet it. That they could make the noise stop.” Aeryn’s voice dropped, almost hoarse. “Told me it was the best way forward.”
“And you believed him?” My voice was barely a thread.
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I want to believe him. I’m tired, Elli. Every hour feels like scraping myself against stone, trying to hold pieces together that don’t fit anymore. What harm is there in silence? At least it’d be mine.”
Something flickered behind his eyes then—a strange calm, the kind that wasn’t peace so much as absence. “For once, I’d get to choose something myself.”
My hands went cold. Two days. We could leave before then. Head back to Nyxarra. We had time.
The sea drank the last of the light. I felt hollowed in my chest, a small cinder of dread growing into a predictable flame.
When we reached the house, Santiago and Lysara were already on the porch, a half-empty glass of wine in Santi’s hand. “Ah, another Moirae,” Santiago said, lifting the glass in greeting. “Do they grow you in tidepools or just raise you on cliffs?”
Aeryn slowed, his arm still hooked tight around my shoulders. His eyes flicked over them, then past to the shadows beyond the doorway where Gabriel leaned. Too many strangers. Too many eyes in his home.
His jaw tightened. “Who are all these people?” His voice was rough, edged with the kind of exhaustion that had nothing to do with work.
“They’re with me,” I said quickly, giving his hand a squeeze. “Friends.”
He didn’t answer, but the look he gave me—half-question, half-accusation—was enough.
Inside, warmth pressed close. Candlelight, the scent of garlic and rosemary, mismatched chairs pulled around a table bright with sea glass and wildflowers.
Malachi stepped forward from the shadows, his presence grounding the room. He fixed his gaze on my brother. “You must be Aeryn. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He extended his hand.
Aeryn looked at it, then at him. Malachi’s palm hovered a beat longer before he let it drop, resting instead at the small of my back. Aeryn’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Malachi. “And I’ve heard nothing about you.”
The tension pricked sharp enough to sting. I gave a small, nervous laugh, rubbing at my temple. “Malachi—this is my brother, Aeryn. Aeryn, this is Malachi Dravaryn. He’s been… helping me.”
Aeryn’s gaze lingered on Malachi’s hand at my back before he finally gave a short nod.
Santiago, determined to cut through the air, set down his glass and ducked into the cellar. He emerged a moment later with a dusty bottle in hand, grinning like he’d unearthed treasure. “Fate provides,” he declared, brushing cobwebs from the cork. “See? Proof the gods love us.”
“How old is that?” Gabriel muttered, eyeing the bottle.
“Younger than you,” I said with a wink, tugging Aeryn further inside before he could retreat.
“Oh, in that case, it may have gone bad centuries ago,” Santi called from the kitchen as he hunted for cups. “Perfect vintage for a reunion.”
Gabriel didn’t look up. “Or poison.”
The room went still. We all stared at him.
He lifted a shoulder, finally glancing between us. “That was a joke,” he said flatly, as if it should have been obvious.
We feasted. Aeryn leaned into the light, his shoulders loosening as he listened.
He even laughed at Santi’s stories, endured his pestering of Lysara, and managed to tease Gabriel until the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile.
Lysara rolled her eyes at Santi’s dramatics but passed him bread anyway.
Gabriel muttered something sharp that made Santiago splutter wine across the table.
Even Malachi laughed when Aeryn pushed another joke too far.
For a little while, the house sounded the way it should have—laughter spilling between bites, the kind of noise that stitched people together. How I imagined life should be lived.
Between courses, I glanced toward the door. “Where’s Hayat? Has anyone seen him?”
Silence answered me. Santiago shook his head. “Didn’t see him on the way back.” Lysara frowned faintly. Gabriel only shrugged.
Malachi set his cup down. “He must still be in the village.” His tone was calm, but he must have sensed the edge in me.
Aeryn gave a small shrug, eyes dropping to his plate. “He comes back late most nights. Busier lately, with the patron ceremony coming up.”
The moment slipped past unanswered.
I wasn’t worried, just wished he was there. The things I’d learned in the village pressed too sharp against my thoughts, and I wasn’t sure they were safe to carry. So, I shoved them behind the wall I’d carefully crafted over the years. He was still Hayat. Still my friend. That had to be enough.
My attention shifted to Aeryn. The way his hand trembled when he lifted his cup, how his eyes darted away when someone looked at him too long. The cracks were still there. And I couldn’t let them widen. I set my cup down. “We can’t stay here,” I said, louder than I meant to. “We leave tomorrow.”
Aeryn’s head snapped toward me, eyes raw. “Leave? This is my home. Everything I know is here.” His voice shook, halfway between plea and fury.
“If you stay, the ceremony will claim you. I have a plan,” I said. “I won’t let that happen.”
He shoved back from the table hard enough to rattle the cups. “You won’t let it? Do you hear yourself? I’m not a child anymore, Elli.”
His chair tipped, caught, then scraped back as he stalked away. A door slammed, the sound splintering through the house like a crack in stone.
Silence pressed in. My pulse thundered in my throat. I forced a breath. “He’ll be okay,” I said, though the words felt hollow the moment they left me.
Malachi’s gaze held mine across the table, gold steady, unreadable. “Are you sure about this choice?”
I barked a laugh with no humor in it. “What choice do I have?”
Lysara’s voice was quiet, but it cut. “There is always a choice.”
My chest ached. “You didn’t hear him,” I said, sharper than I meant. “Draven stood in the square today and told me exactly what he promised Aeryn. A quiet mind. An end to the noise. He made it sound like mercy, and Aeryn believed him.”
The words tumbled out, ragged, unvarnished. “That’s what he offered—peace at the cost of himself. Aeryn thinks surrender will save him. He thinks the altar is a way out. But I know better. It’s a leash. It’s their way of binding him, turning the Moirae line into another weapon for their games.”
I pressed my palms flat to the table, leaning into the grain. “So yes, I’ve already chosen. We leave tomorrow. Because my solution is better than his. It has to be.”
None of us answered. The sea outside pressed against the walls, endless and indifferent.
I searched the faces around the table, each carrying their own wounds, their own fears. For one fleeting moment, I let myself believe we could still hold together long enough to see this through.
Even as the sun dipped below the edge of the cliffs, setting everything gold and bruised. Even as Gabriel met my gaze from across the table, something knowing and mournful in his eyes. Even as I felt, deep in my chest, the shape of goodbye beginning to form.
But tonight, we were whole.
And tonight, we were home.