Page 52 of Embers to Flames

It’s difficult to think straight with the cold, and the lingering sinister whispers of Ruvyn’s words echoing in my mind.

It doesn’t matter, we have to keep going.

But we have to be careful.

The sounds of rustling leaves and snapping twigs under our feet grow louder as we move deeper into the woods. The air feels heavy and still. Shadows lengthen and dance around us, cast by the sinking sun. A chill runs down my spine, and I can feel the weight of the impending night. Relief washes over me as I finally spot a small clearing ahead through the trees.

“Eulee, over there!” I exclaim; my finger outstretched towards the opening. Eulee picks up her pace, her tail held high as she leads us to the small clearing. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of the horse, caught in the act of drinking from a nearby stream. I approach cautiously, trying not to startle her and thanking the Gods for her safety.

The horse lifts her head, her eyes wide with fear. I move closer to her, speaking softly, trying to soothe her frayed nerves. “Easy, girl,” I whisper, stroking her sweaty neck. The horse nickers and leans her head into my touch. I take a deep breath, feeling a small spark of hope in the midst of the darkness that surrounds us. But I know better than to let my guard down.

Still following Phirel’s map, we journey through the mountains, each step a testament to our resolve. The path, a narrow ribbon against the unforgiving stone, winds upward through the towering peaks. We battle against the howling gusts of wind that seem determined to push us back, as if themountains themselves are guardians of an ancient secret. The landscape transforms as we climb higher; snow blankets the ground, and icicles hang like daggers from rocky overhangs, glistening in the intermittent sunlight.

The air grows thinner, the cold bites deeper, seeping through my cloak and numbing my fingers. Eulee fares better against the chill with her thick fur, but even she seems to understand the gravity of our quest, her playful demeanor replaced by solemn focus.

As we near the summit, the Raven Temple comes into view, its spires reaching toward the heavens. The sight fills me with awe and trepidation. With a final push, I reach the temple gates, the stone figures of long-forgotten deities standing sentinel. The air is still here, the silence profound, as if the mountains have granted me a moment of respite before the trials to come.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my destiny upon my shoulders. I glance at Eulee, who returns my look with steady, knowing eyes. Together, we step across the threshold, leaving the howling wilderness behind and entering the sanctum of secrets and fate.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The temple looms ahead, its ancient walls echoing with the whispers of time. I can’t help but feel the weight of countless lives that have passed through these hallowed halls, each one drawn here by the promise of answers or the desperate need for salvation.

It’s as though spectral shades linger still, their desperate prayers and yearning pleas for mercy etched into the stone. The air is thick with history, each breath I take filled with a different tale, a different sin, a different redemption. Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, settling on the ground and adding to the eerie stillness. The painted frescos, faded fromtime, stand as stalwart guards, their stony eyes fixated on me—assessing whether I am worthy.

A grand staircase lies before us, the steps blanketed by a cascade of winter roses frozen in full bloom. The petals are like delicate shards of glass, casting an eerie glow in the light of the moon. As we ascend, each footfall on the icy blooms causes tiny cracks to form under our weight—a disconcerting sound that breaks the silence like brittle bone.

At the top of the stairs lies an enormous door carved from dark, foreboding wood. Multi-headed ravens are etched deeply into its surface, their beady eyes seeming to follow our every move. The handle is a monstrous claw encased in ice and as I reach out to grasp it, I feel Eulee tense beside me.

The door creaks open with grating reluctance and beyond lies an expanse shrouded in darkness. But even amidst the gloom, I can make out outlines: towering shelves lined with dust-laden books and scrolls; jars filled with mysterious liquids; and an altar at its heart.

A hush falls over the temple. From the shadows, three figures emerge, their robes as dark as the raven’s wing. They are the Raven Witches, guardians of the ancient wisdom and keepers of the trials. Their eyes, reflecting the faint torchlight, fix upon me with an intensity that pierces the soul.

The first witch, her voice a mere whisper, speaks, “Seeker of truths, Rosanhi Hepburn… you stand at the threshold of enlightenment. But the path is fraught with peril, not to be tread lightly.”

The second witch continues, “The trials you face reflect life’s own tribulations. They are necessary to strip away the veils of illusion, to test the purity of your quest.”

The third witch concludes, “Only through these challenges can one be deemed worthy to hold the knowledge we protect. They are the crucible in which your spirit will either forge its strength or shatter like glass.”

Their words hang in the air, a solemn reminder of the gravity of my undertaking. The Witches’ forms seem to blur and shift, as if they are not entirely of this world. With a final, collective nod, they retreat into the darkness, leaving behind a silence that eloquently conveys the gravity of my choices in this moment.

I steel myself, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of their words settle upon me. The air in the temple grows thick with anticipation, each moment stretching out into eternity. Eulee positions herself between my legs, her presence is a grounding force amidst the swirling uncertainty.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us begins to tremble violently, sending shockwaves through my body. Shadows writhe and twist around me, whispering malevolent secrets that seem to coil around my very soul. The darkness presses in from all sides, as if it has a mind of its own, insidious, and all-consuming.

Just when I think I can bear no more, the ground’s tremors subside, and an eerie stillness descends upon the temple. Eulee’s fur stands on end, sensing the shift in energy. A faintglow beckons from ahead, drawing me towards it like a moth to a flame. As I emerge from the temple’s confines, the landscape transforms before me.

I find myself in a realm unlike any I have ever seen—an ethereal forest tinged with shades of perpetual dusk. Ancient trees loom over us like gnarled sentinels, their twisted branches reaching out like grasping claws towards what little light remains. A thick mist hangs low to the ground, its tendrils curling around my feet as I make my way forward. The scent of pine and something darker—something primal that makes my skin crawl—lingers through the air. Phantom figures flit and dart between the trees, taunting and teasing with glimpses of Theo before disappearing into shadows. My heart clenches at the sight of him ensnared by darkness, his face twisted in silent agony. These visions play upon my deepest fear—losing Theo to the clutches of evil or the finality of death.

With each step, the illusions grow more vivid, more insistent. The phantoms whisper seductively, tempting me to embrace the darkness and end the relentless torment. But I know this is the trial—a test of my resolve. I must not falter, must not succumb to despair. With Eulee at my side, her presence a steady pulse against the creeping chill of fear, we navigate through the forest towards the faint glimmer of truth that beckons us forward.

Pressing on, the phantoms begin to fade away, their power weakening in the face of my unwavering determination. Theforest itself seems to let out a sigh of resignation as the evening sky brightens ever so slightly. The Trial of Sight may be over, but our journey is far from done. But now I know that even in the darkest depths of my fear, I can find the strength and courage to persevere and reach for the light.

The passage through the forest leads us to the mouth of a cavern, its entrance framed by stones that hum with a deep, resonant frequency. The air here is dense, vibrating with the echoes of a thousand whispers. I pause at the threshold, Eulee’s ears twitching in response to the sounds that spill forth from the darkness. The whispers coalesce into voices, each one vying for attention, a cacophony of promises and warnings. The voices of those long gone and those yet to come intertwine, creating a tapestry of sound that threatens to ensnare the mind.

Among the myriad of voices, one rises above the rest—familiar and heart-wrenching. It’s Mikyl, his voice a balm to my soul yet a dagger to my heart. “Why did you let me go?” he asks, his tone a mix of accusation and longing. “There’s still time to save me, to change the past and our future.” The temptation to respond is overwhelming. Every fiber of my being yearns to call out to him, to bridge the gap between what was and what might be. But this is the trial—to move in silence, to resist the allure of easy answers. Mikyl’s voice follows me, a constant presence that I dare not acknowledge.

With each step, I focus on the sound of my own breathing, the steady rhythm of Eulee’s paws against the stone floor. Wemove as shadows, silent and determined, the whispers unable to find purchase in our resolute silence.

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