Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
That night, Gisela dreamt of a dance of ice and fire. A dance to a melody so enchanting, it made her question everything.
Gisela awoke to the familiar darkness of the chamber once more. Thorne’s arms were wrapped tightly around her in a protective embrace. Her body was warm again, and her mind was clear.
“Eira, how long have we been asleep?” she whispered inside her own mind.
“Two days.”
“That dream . . . was that you and Ignitus?”
“It was not. We do not meddle with your dreams,” Eira responded.
Gisela wriggled free from Thorne’s arms, rousing him.
He stretched, extending his limbs like a waking lion shaking off sleep. He rolled his neck, and as his eyes fluttered open, they shared a knowing look.
“How do you feel?” Gisela asked.
“Fine. I want to leave,” Thorne said curtly. He stood up and made his way toward the cave’s exit tunnel.
A cold weight settled in her gut.
She had hoped Thorne would wake up lighter than he had fallen asleep—less angry, less consumed. After the way he had held her through the night, she thought the anger might loosen its grip.
But he hadn’t. It was there in the brief twitch of his jaw, the tight line of his shoulders, broader and stronger than before.
The walk back was quiet and rigid, with Thorne staying a few paces ahead of her.
When they crested the steep pathway to Silas’s home, a gasp left Gisela’s lips. The area surrounding his home was destroyed. The crops looked trampled over, trees were uprooted, and the ground was scarred by deep gashes. The destruction was stark against the untouched house.
Gisela hurried through the rubble and burst through the front door. “Silas!” she called out.
Silas emerged from his bedroom, his face a mixture of relief and concern. He swept Gisela up into a hug. “This is not how I wanted to celebrate your return,” Silas said, setting her down before leading her to the kitchen table.
Thorne lingered in the open doorway, his expression unreadable. “What happened here?” Thorne asked.
“Come, sit. We have a lot to talk about,” Silas responded. He moved to the kitchen to fetch two cups of water and some fruit. He placed the food and water on the table, gesturing Thorne over.
Thorne stepped forward, glancing at the empty seat next to Gisela, and chose to sit in the living room instead.
Gisela’s hands curled into fists on her lap.
Silas gave Thorne an apprehensive look but continued to speak. “I was attacked yesterday. By a nasty beast,” Silas said, settling into the chair opposite Gisela.
“A beast?” Gisela echoed.
“No ordinary beast. Nothing I could possibly compare it to.” Silas shrugged.
“The ground started rumbling while I was asleep. I went outside to find it had ravaged my crops and tore up the land. It charged me with claws the size of machetes. I struck it with my sword, but it was relentless. Crag crushed it. It won’t be coming back. ”
“What’s happening?” Gisela asked.
“Dunno.” Silas leaned back in his chair. “But it’s important you two harness your power quickly. I’m afraid we’re up against much worse than we feared.”
Eira appeared next to Gisela, and Silas gaped. “Fascinating . . . you’re a Frostweaver.”
Gisela smiled. “I am. This is Eira,” she said, introducing her Primal.
Eira bowed her head in acknowledgment.
Silas turned his attention to Thorne, waiting for him to introduce his.
Ignitus materialized next to him before Thorne surged to his feet, the wooden chair scraping against the floor. He strode toward the empty bedroom and slammed the door behind him. The sound reverberated through the room, making Gisela jump in her seat.
“He’s struggling,” she said, watching the door. “He’s been like this since the awakening.”
Silas nodded. “He’s rejecting his Primal?”
“Something happened during the Trial . . . illusions. He saw his father hurting his mother and . . .” Gisela paused, feeling it wasn’t her place to explain further.
Silas looked to the floor, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “The same thing happened with my Marina. She saw something that made her hate me so deeply, she left.”
Her eyes softened in empathy as the slump of his shoulders deepened.
“She blames me for her mother’s death.”
“I’m so sorry, Silas,” Gisela said, reaching across the table to hold his hand.
“I’ll talk to Thorne. He needs to open his mind and heart. We need him,” Silas said.
Gisela knew they would need every ounce of support they could muster, and with unshakeable certainty, she would need Thorne—not only for the journey, but for reasons far deeper and more personal.
Gisela glanced at the devastated land through the window. “Why haven’t you revived the crops?”
Silas shook his head in defeat. “I can’t. They won’t grow. We’ll need to leave here soon.”
The closed bedroom drew her in, the echo of the slammed door lingered long after Thorne disappeared behind it.
Gisela and Silas ate dinner together that evening, discussing their plans for the journey ahead.
They would leave for Rockridge in a few days, as Silas’s food wouldn’t last beyond that.
She was thankful Silas had decided to join them.
His presence was a lifeline, a warmth she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
She felt relaxed in his company, the tension of the trials easing with each passing moment.
“It’ll be safer there,” Silas said, putting his fork to his mouth.
“I’m not so sure. They don’t have their Stone either,” she said. “Aren’t you afraid someone will turn you in?”
Silas leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Normally, maybe. But it’s been long enough. The people in Rockridge know and trust me. I didn’t want to put anyone there in a bind before, but now? No one’s looking for me anymore.”
The sun dipped low enough that shadows stretched across the room. The golden light turned thin and gray, stealing the warmth from the kitchen.
Gisela’s fingers absently traced the edge of her cup. “I’m worried about my family. It was getting bad when we left.”
Silas nodded, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. “I worry for Marina too.” He reached out to hold her hand. The gesture was small, but it grounded her.
As the evening ended, Gisela entered the bedroom and froze at the sight of Thorne asleep on the floor.
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it stubbornly remained.
After all they had endured together, his distance felt like a knife twisting inside her heart.
Her body ached—not from the cold or pain, but from the desire to be near him.
She wanted to shake him. She wanted to hold him. She did neither.
The soft yellow light of dawn filtered through the window the next morning.
Gisela peered out.
Thorne was sitting on the edge of the cliff, staring off into the horizon. His silhouette was dark against the first morning light, his shoulders hunched.
Silas joined him and she could see a slight perk in Thorne’s posture.
“Silas will be good for Thorne,” Eira whispered into Gisela’s mind.
Gisela nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene through the window. “He’s shut me out,” Gisela said.
“He’s angry,” Eira replied. “Not everyone finds it easy to put their feelings into words. Think about his upbringing.”
“And you know about his upbringing how?”
Eira offered no response.
She watched him for a minute longer, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor, before moving to the kitchen to prepare her breakfast.