Page 63 of Embers to Flames

Lenna steps forward placing a hand on my shoulder, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, Rosanhi, looks like you’re safe. I suppose the rest of us will just have to wing it… err…no offense Theo.”

“None taken.” Theo replies with a smirk.

Alyndra shakes her head, rolling her eyes. Despite the gravity of the situation, she can’t help but let out a small chuckle at Lenna’s comment. “Witticisms aside, I have studied some ancient texts, and I think the enchantment can be broken.” Alyndra continues, lowering her voice to just barely above a whisper. “There is a ritual, old and almost forgotten, that can temporarily lift such an enchantment. But it requires... a sacrifice.”

The word hangs heavy in the air like a dark cloud about to burst. Theo shifts uncomfortably, his massive body uneasy with the tension that now envelops us.

“What kind of sacrifice?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. The thought of losing anyone else is unbearable, yet the reality of our quest has always been steeped in sacrifice.

Alyndra’s eyes meet mine, solemn and clear. “A memory,” she replies. “A memory dear to the heart of one who dares to break the spell. It must be given willingly, erased forever from their mind as a token of passage.”

A murmur runs through our group, each of us contemplating what memory we could possibly part with that would fulfill such a requirement. Memories are precious, the very essence of what makes us who we are.

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself say, the words tumbling out before I can clamp down on them. Surprise registers on the faces around me, and I feel Theo’s intense gaze burning into my side.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “Once gone, these memories can never be reclaimed. This is not like shedding a layer of skin; it’s tearing away a piece of your heart.”

I nod, though my stomach churns at his descriptive analogy. “Yes,” I affirm, stronger this time. “If it brings us one step closer to defeating Ruvyn and saving our world, then it’s worth the penance.”

Alyndra steps forward, placing her hands on either side of my face. Her touch is cold yet strangely comforting. “Think of the memory you wish to offer,” she instructs softly. As I close my eyes, images flicker behind my eyelids—the first kiss I shared with Theo in that small inn; Eulee, chasing Dragonflies through the thicket of grass that surrounded my cottage back in Bahulya; Mikyl surprising me with a handful of wildflowers the day we got married.

The memory that surfaces bright and unbidden is both sweet—and painful—a day long past when peace was more than just a fleeting dream. Memaw’s voice singing as she kneads freshly made dough in her kitchen, crafting little round balls between the palms of her wrinkled hands, brushing her secret honey blend over the tops. The smell of them baking fills my senses and I can almost taste their decadent fluffiness.

With a deep breath and an aching heart, I focus on that memory, willing it into Alyndra’s waiting magic. Her chant starts low and haunting, weaving around us like a gentle wind sweeping through fallen leaves. The energy builds slowly at first then crescendos into an invisible storm that seems to pulse with the beat of my heart.

And then—I let it go.

The memory drifts away from me like smoke in the wind, its colors fading until only echoes remain. A profound emptiness settles where warmth once lived in my chest, leaving behind a void no less painful than a physical wound.

My hands tremble as I clutch them against my chest, trying to ease the sharp pain that radiates from deep within. It feels like someone just plunged their fist into my ribcage, ripping a piece of me away with intense vim, leaving an empty ache in its place. Tears blur my vision as I struggle to hold onto what’s left of my shattered soul.

Alyndra steps back and nods solemnly toward the barrier ahead, something akin to hope flickers in my hollow spaces replacing the hole that was just formed. The air around the barrier shimmers, distorted like the surface of a lake touched by wind, and then it parts, revealing the path forward. We all exhale in unison.

“We can pass, the enchantment has been lifted.” Alyndra says with a sound of relief mingled with the weight of what has just transpired.

Theo steps closer to me, his hands finding mine. With a gentle yet firm grip, he lifts me from my knees back to my feet, as if to reassure both himself and me that I am still here, even without my precious memory.

“We should move quickly,” Lenna whispers, peering into the shadows as if she can see what lies ahead. I nod in agreement, still feeling the emptiness where my memory used to be. It’s an odd sensation—knowing something was there but not being able to grasp it any longer. I catch myself trying to clutch at the fading remnants of that day in Memaw’s kitchen, but they slip through my mental fingers like grains of sand.

Chapter Thirty-Two

We push deeper into the mountain; the air thickens with a sweltering heat that clings to every breath. A stifling humidity envelops us, as if the moisture is being wrung from the volcanic earth, and the warmth radiates from the stone walls, promising a fiery heart awaiting further within.

Alyndra keeps her eyes forward, scanning for any signs of magic or traps. “Remember, we are not just fighting a tyrant,” she whispers, “Ruvyn has mastered his enchantment powers over the years, so there is no telling what else he has in store for intruders.”

Intruders… aka, us.

Suddenly, Theo pulls me back by my arm just as I am about to step forward. My heart leaps into my throat when I see why. A thin wire stretched across the path at ankle height.

“Traps,” he says simply, pointing at it before looking around warily.

Lenna crouches down to inspect it closer. “Simple, but deadly,” she assesses with a grimace before carefully disabling it with deft fingers. “Stay close and watch your steps.”

Her warning thickens the tension that already clings to us as palpable as the heat. We proceed cautiously, each of us hyper-aware of the ground before us.

With each step, our feet crunch upon a mosaic of obsidian and scoria, remnants of the mountain’s fiery outbursts. Our torchlights flicker over sharp shards of volcanic glass, glinting ominously and ready to strike at any misstep. Sulfur crystals jut from the ground like jagged spires, their yellow hues are glaring against the darkness and release a choking miasma that threatens to overwhelm us.

The path ahead is unstable, with uneven terrain and sudden drops lurking in the shadows. We tread carefully, always on the lookout for hidden crevices waiting to swallow us whole. Hot vents burst forth from the ground, sending steam and scorching air into our faces as a reminder of the molten death just beneath the surface.

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