Page 18 of Soul Forge

A knock at the door startled her. She swallowed a strip of beef and got up to answer it, eyebrows rising when she had to crane her neck to look up at the Soul Forge.

“...Hello?” she greeted him uncertainly, the word becoming a question halfway through.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”

“I brought a chaperone.” Persephone peeked around his shoulder and waved cheerfully.

“Oh.” She stepped aside, watching as the saviour of everything she knew walked into her bedroom and looked around. Persephone shut the door behind them with a soft click that was far too loud in the quiet room. Elda tensed when Sypher noticed the two halves of the hand-carved bow on her dresser and picked it up, examining the break in the middle.

“Princess Elda carved that herself,” Persephone boasted proudly.

“I can tell.” The handmaid’s smile dropped when he set the broken weapon down with disinterest and folded his arms.

“What can I help you with, Saviour?” Elda asked, valiantly ignoring his dismissal of the weapon that had taken herdaysto perfect.

“You need to meet your Spirit.”

“I... what?” Elda blinked. She’d worshipped the Spirits her entire life. They were the creators, the ones responsible for every life on Valerus. They were revered and beloved across the continent, but to actuallymeetone?

“The Spirit that selected you wants to meet with you face to face.” He pushed open the terrace doors, letting a cool gust of night air sweep through the room. “She’s tall, so it’s best to meet her outside the first time.”

“Are you serious?” Persephone asked.

“As the plague,” he deadpanned. When neither of them moved, he rolled his eyes and went outside without them, letting the door shut behind him.

“You know,” the handmaid mused, “he’s kind of a jerk.”

“I noticed.”

“Handsome, though.”

Elda sighed and followed him to the terrace, not entertaining Persephone’s mischievous remarks. The air was cool, the moonlight bathing the city below. Sypher stood at the far end by the wall, the wind tousling his pale hair. It shone silver in the starlight, his burning red eyes contrasting beautifully when he looked up at his companion.

She had her back to the palace, looking out over the city with her hands clasped behind her. She was tall, even taller than Sypher. Her hair was pale, the strands fine and translucent as they billowed around her. Her skin was equally pale, and a mist of cold air rose from it to frame her. She turned to face them and smiled, the moonlight seeming to shinethroughher in places. She was a masterpiece, carved of ice and marble, and yet she moved like a real person. Her eyes, brilliant white and bordered with frosted lashes, crinkled at the corners in a delicate smile.

Elda’s pulse stuttered, shock nailing her feet to the floor.

“I’m happy to finally meet you, little elf,” the Spirit said gently. Her voice was smooth and lyrical, unlocking Elda’stensed muscles and drawing her forwards several steps. Without realising it, she was reaching out to the strange woman, who met her with joy, taking both of her slender hands in frozen fingers. Her touch wasn’t cold, though mist continued to fall from her icy skin. It coalesced around her body in a white dress that shifted over her frame when she moved. Elda marvelled at the impossibility and beauty of the being standing in front of her, unable to speak for a moment.

But eventually, she managed to croak, “You’ve been waiting for me?”

The Spirit nodded. “My name is Irileth, and I have spent a very long time waiting for you to find me.”

Irileth, she repeated in her head. The Third Spirit, revered as the bringer of winter and important enough to have her own temple, right alongside Aeon the First and Odessa the Second. Elda dropped to her knees, forehead touching the floor in worship. Persephone mirrored her.

“Please, stand, both of you,” Irileth said. “You don’t need to prostrate yourselves in my presence. I’d much prefer if we were equals.”

Elda’s legs quaked, but she stood, helping her handmaid up beside her. “You’re a Spirit,” she murmured, eyes so wide the evening air was beginning to sting them. “A real Spirit, right here on my terrace. And not any Spirit. You’re theThird.”

“I am.” Irileth twirled so her misty dress fanned out around her. Her legs ended in sharp, translucent points beneath the skirt, not quite touching the ground. “Aren’t I beautiful in my earthly form?” The Spirit took her hands again like they were old friends, and all Elda could do was blink. “We make quite the pair of beauties, don’t you think, Battle-born?” She turned to Sypher, who quirked an eyebrow at the nickname.

“Battle-born?” the princess echoed.

“Yes, little friend,” Irileth nodded. “A creature forged in fire and war. The Soul Forge is mighty, and I’ll address him as such.”

“Do you also address him according to his attitude?” Persephone piped up, regaining her composure at last. “Because it needs an adjustment.”

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