Page 141 of A Rising Hope

“Finnleah. Gideon. Call me Tukum,” he spoke in Elvish. His turquoise ocean eyes greeted us. The silver chain I immediately recognized peeked out from the tall collar of his shirt. Though I couldn’t see the rest of it, my heart warmed at the nearness of Tuluma’s necklace. “So, this is it? This is where she died?”

I nodded. He looked around at the blackened, empty fields.

“I believe she deserves a proper burial with Elvish customs, so her soul would be at peace with your rituals,” I told him.

“She would’ve liked that,” he agreed. “We will proceed.”

The acolytes he brought with him followed his chant, their melodic voices melted into one. I stood silently, listening. Minutes passed by until the words of a beautiful Elvish prayer ended. The Elf King raised his hand, cutting it with a long ceremonial dagger. He let a few drops of his dark blood drop into the ground.

“A drop of blood from family, to link the future and the past,” I explained to Gideon. The King passed the dagger to the acolyte. “A drop from an innocent soul to wash away the sins.” And then he passed it to me, and I sliced my palm with the silver dagger. “And a drop from a soul once mended by their touch, to light the path ahead.”

All three drops soaked the burned dirt. The King raised his hand, manipulating the wind causing it to scatter the bloodied dust and old ash through the cyan blue sky.

We stood in silence, watching the last pieces of ash disappear over the horizon.

It was I who moved my hand this time, letting my mixed powers undo the cursed damage of the flames. One by one, small flowers sprouted from the charcoaled dirt, covering the entire field with turquoise blooms, fed by my everlasting magic.

“She’d enjoy that,” the Elf King muttered as he watched the charred ground turn into an ocean of teal blue. Air laid heavy in my lungs, and words stuck behind the lump in my throat as I mourned life without her.

After a while, the King twisted on his heels, portals opening at his command, ready for his departure.

“Thank you for coming to our aid,” Gideon managed to say in his broken Elvish, his tongue twisting the words.

“In body or spirit, my sister would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t. And I see why. Destroyer or not. One of a valiant heart and kind soul is hard to come by,” he answered as our eyes met.

“Perhaps our nations might take an example after us and learn to tolerate each other one day?” I dared to suggest.

“Perhaps one day.” He nodded. “Goodbye, Finnleah. Goodbye, Gideon.” He uttered in our language, stepping into a portal. His acolytes and a few guards followed right after. A blink of an eye and they were gone. Their portals vanished as if they never existed.

“A fucking portal.” Gideon shook his head, watching my dragons circle lower until they reached us. “Why do I have a feeling we are not done with the elves?” He helped me climb the nose of the creature.

“Who knows what the future will bring?” I smirked, looking down at the ocean of the turquoise everblooms below. The dragons slowly flapped their grand wings, ascending into the cloudless skies. “Perhaps it is time for all of us to learn a thing or two about them.”

EPILOGUE 2

PRIYA

Seven years after the battle of Svitar. Death Day.

Iscoffed, scaling the last few steep steps of the rocky cliff nestled in the middle of the cold, deep ocean. Sweat rolled on the tip of my brow, while smart, snarky remarks piled in my head, eager to come out. The wilted winter grass brushed past my knees as I made my way to the pebbled path leading to a large house on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the roaring oceans.

The house was decorated with beautiful stone. The radiant white shutters covered with flowers matched the freshly painted white picket fence standing in contrast against the grays of the horizon.

The cold winter breeze played with my braid as I made my way to the house, occasionally glancing at the two large dragons nestled together in the meadows. Like cattle dogs, their ever-watchful eyes pinned on the many children running around.

A few of the Ten warrior women lounged in the garden, deep into a conversation over a drink. A conversation that they occasionally interrupted to shout an order at one child or theother. A few of them gave me silent nods as I approached the estate.

It felt odd to be here.

And I didn’t like odd.

It was as if their happiness wounded me, reminding me precisely of the feeling I wasn’t capable of.

I should’ve turned around and walked away.

My skin itched, craving to feel relief with the taste of death. I’d bathe myself in blood just to drown in the agony within.

But I was not a coward. And perhaps a part of me cared. So, I knocked on the grand oak door that was masterfully carved with beautiful design.

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