Chapter 10
Chapter ten
The delicious scent of porridge and sweet fruit drifted in from the kitchen. Gisela opened one eye and found Thorne’s pinky finger hooked around hers. His breathing was calm, steady. She sat up, careful not to disturb him.
He blinked, sleep still clinging to him.
“I’m sorry, I tried not to wake you . . . I hardly moved.”
He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m oddly aware of your body.”
Gisela’s cheeks burned pink.
“Your movements. Where you are,” he added quickly.
She nodded, trying to suppress a smile. “It’s okay. I feel it too.”
Silas’s lively hum floated through the air.
Gisela glanced at Thorne, noticing his face was slightly flushed too.
“We should eat. Long day ahead.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Silas had set out bowls of steaming porridge and a platter of fruit. He was beaming as he arranged the table.
“Good morning! You two sleep well enough?”
“Better than I expected,” Gisela replied, glancing at Thorne.
He hummed in agreement.
“Good. You’ll need your strength,” Silas said, his tone serious, yet warm.
The porridge was sweet, richer than the sparse meals they’d had on the road.
Silas kept refilling their bowls, talking between bites, his voice bright with joy.
Gisela couldn’t remember the last time she laughed through a meal. And with the Trials ahead, it felt wrong to. It was strange . . . how easy it was to be here. Safe. As if she’d known Silas far longer than a day.
Her family would love him.
Maybe that’s what this feeling was. A little slice of home.
“How long does it take to get through the Trials?” Thorne asked.
Silas paused, his gaze turning toward the front window. “It’s different for everyone. For me and Marina, it felt like days. It’s hard to measure time in there.”
Gisela choked on a piece of fruit, and Thorne jumped from his seat.
She held her hands up. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Food went down wrong is all.”
He sat back down, his shoulders tense and his brow furrowed.
She nodded to assure him, but inside, the weight of the Trials pressed down. Days?
She couldn’t ignore the shift in Thorne’s behavior. His glances lingered, and his voice had lost its usual gravel.
Gisela felt it too. An urge to stay close.
To protect him.
Gisela shook the thoughts from her mind. “Any last-minute advice?” she asked Silas.
Silas looked at her with earnest eyes. “Trust each other. You’ll likely need to rely on one another more than you have so far. But it’s much easier to do the Trials with a partner.”
Thorne peered up at her from his bowl of porridge, his gaze both intense and comforting.
A jolt of reassurance hit her. Beneath it, something deeper took root. Warmth, perhaps. Or something dangerously close.
The path to the cave’s hidden entrance wasn’t far from Silas’s home.
They walked in silence, each step carrying her closer to a trial she couldn’t predict or prepare for.
There were no steps to follow, no ingredients to gather, no formula to guide her.
Nothing like the methods she relied on to solve every other problem she had faced.
The forest around them fell silent, as if it were holding its breath for what they were about to face.
They arrived and Gisela searched the area, expecting a large, ominous opening. Instead, her gaze dropped and her heart went with it. Nestled among the rocks was a crawl space leading into darkness. Her stomach turned, threatening to undo breakfast.
Thorne stepped closer. “I’ll go first. I can guide you through.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Her ears started ringing.
Silas approached, reaching for Gisela but hesitated. “What’s wrong?”
“She doesn’t like tight spaces,” Thorne said, his hand grazing her arm.
Gisela nodded, the air scraping shallow and thin through her lungs.
Silas reached out, letting his arms hover near her shoulders, giving her a chance to step back. When she didn’t, he pulled her into a firm, reassuring hug. “It’s not far. I promise. You’re going to be alright, darling. More than alright.”
She clung to his words, tears welling in her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d be facing my fears before we even started,” she said, her voice trembling a bit.
Silas let her go, giving her one last look. “I’ll be waiting at the house when you get back. And you will come back, I know it.” He grabbed Thorne and pulled him in for a hug too.
Thorne stiffened, but his shoulders eased ever so slightly, as if he too found comfort in Silas’s embrace.
And it was comfort they needed.
Beyond, the Trials of Kharos waited. Unknown. Her palms were slick with sweat at the thought of it. Each step toward the shadowed entrance felt heavier than the last. A gift, the gods had granted her. A prophecy, the Elder had given her.
She hadn’t asked for any of it.
And yet, standing here, an ember sparked to life within her. Each choice she had made—the decision to leave her village, the trust she had placed in Thorne—led to this moment. What waited before her wasn’t only the unknown. It was a choice.
One she was willing to make.
Thorne knelt at the cave entrance, peering into the small hole. Beyond five feet, darkness swallowed everything.
Gisela crouched behind him, instincts screaming to get up and run.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Not even a little bit.”
They crawled through the narrow passage, inching forward as the walls closed in.
The air grew cooler and denser. Every scrape of rock against their hands and knees amplified.
Gisela shut her eyes in an attempt to block out her perception of the small space.
What she couldn’t see, her brain couldn’t process.
Thorne moved steadily ahead until he stopped abruptly.
Gisela’s face bumped into his backside.
“Easy there, Freckles,” he teased, voice echoing. “I had a feeling you were starting to tolerate me, but I didn’t know you were wanting to be that up close and personal.”
Flustered, she shoved him forward. “Keep moving.”
Thorne chuckled, advancing a few more feet before standing up. He guided her out of the passage into a softly lit chamber. “You made it through.”
“Least of my concerns today, I’m sure,” Gisela replied.
Torches flickered along the walls, their flames throwing jagged shadows across the chamber. Water dripped steadily from above with a hollow, echoing plink. The ceiling soared, a dark, unbroken dome of rock.
The chill settled into her lungs and slowed each inhale. Teeth chattering, she searched every shadowed corner.
“What do we do now?” she asked, inching closer to Thorne.
He glanced at the wall next to him. “Fear.”
“What?”
“On the wall . . . it says fear.”
One second, they were looking at one another, the next their vision went black.
Gisela’s eyes cracked open, heavy and sluggish, as though she had been asleep for hours.
She sat up, rubbing her temples, and looked over at Thorne.
He was beginning to stir on the floor. She stood up and walked toward him but stopped.
A strange glare shimmered in front of her.
Reaching out, her fingers met a smooth resistance: a clear wall.
Her breathing quickened as she ran her hands along all four sides, heart hammering.
The walls enclosed her completely, the space roughly the size of a small bedroom.
Her knees buckled, and panic prickled along her spine.
“Thorne! Thorne, get up!”
He rubbed his hands over his face and froze at Gisela’s panicked expression. He launched to his feet and ran toward her at full speed.
“Wait!” she shouted.
He skidded to a stop, chest jerking as his forehead nearly slammed into the invisible wall.
“It’s a box,” Gisela said, voice cracking.
Thorne pressed his palm against the clear surface, tracing its edges. He cursed. “I’m going to get you out.”
His head swiveled around the chamber, looking for something, anything he could use to break her out. A quiver of arrows and a bow lay on the ground behind him. Bullseyes were scattered around the chamber, each marked with a glowing symbol.
“Targets,” he muttered. He nocked an arrow and aimed at the nearest one.
Gisela’s throat nearly closed. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow pulls as she pressed against the clear wall. A loud click echoed, and the wall pushed her forward, each inch sending a fresh spike of panic through her.
Thorne was ready to release the arrow when Gisela screamed. “Thorne, the walls are closing in!”
“I know what to do. Close your eyes, Gisela. Keep them closed and try to get to the middle of the box so you don’t feel the walls,” Thorne called back.
Gisela didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t. Panic held them wide open.
Thorne drew, steady, and let the arrow fly.
It struck true. The air in front of him rippled, shimmered, and then something else stood there.
A man and a woman materialized, solid as flesh.
Thorne froze, every muscle in his body going rigid.
Cillian’s harsh, ruddy features twisted into a sinister grin as he turned to Selene. His hand lashed across her face.
Selene crumbled to the floor, a pained gasp escaping her lips.
Cillian’s boot struck her stomach, and an agonized cry tore from her throat as she curled inward. He yanked her up by a fistful of her long black hair.
Gisela’s pulse hammered. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be—but Thorne was breathing like it was.
“Stop!” he yelled, running toward them.
Gisela, still crouched in the center of the box, could only watch through the distortion as Thorne ran toward the illusion.
He ran through the figures, their forms evaporating like smoke. He grabbed another arrow, drew the bowstring, and let it fly toward the next target.
Cillian appeared directly in front of Thorne this time.
“You’re a worthless excuse of a man. You’re no son of mine,” Cillian sneered, spitting.
Thorne recoiled, flinching as though the spit had struck him.
The taunts echoed, each one making Thorne’s movements less steady.
“You’re a worthless man.”
“Useless coward.”
“A failure.”