Page 65 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
I tried to move and failed. My body gave in again, dragging me under. Darkness swallowed me, but this time, it brought me somewhere else.
I stood barefoot in the garden—the one behind the east wall where I drank tea with the Queen—but the air was colder here, as if the night itself was holding its breath.
Mist curled at my ankles as something summoned me to walk back into the castle.
And there it was, the iron door. Tall. Silent. Its surface shimmered with silver symbols, ancient and humming faintly, pulsing with a rhythm that made my heart stutter to match it.
I stepped forward, barely able to feel my legs. My hand trembled as I reached out. The moment my fingers brushed the cool, metal surface—
Everything shifted.
The world vanished in a blink. I stood in pitch black, a space so vast it swallowed sound, time, and thought. And then came the voice.
“Flameborn,”it rumbled, deep and ancient and warm like a hearth wrapped in stone.“I will heal you now.”
I blinked into the dark, searching for the source.“How?”I whispered. “How can you?”
A long silence followed. Then—
“We are connected. We are one.”
“Mage Hand?”I asked. A deep rumble laughed.
“You’re funny, little one,”The voice moved through me, a vibration in my chest, in my blood.“I can ease the pain, only the physical,”it continued.“The smaller gashes will vanish. The deeper wounds—I can close them. But they are too deep, even for me. I can take the pain… but you will carry the scars. As for the pain in your heart, only you can heal that, little one. Heal your soul, forgive yourself, and then find me.”
My throat tightened. I understood exactly what the latter meant.“Who are you? Please, tell me.”
Another pause. Then the voice lowered, graver than before.
“If you need to ask, you shouldn’t know. And if you do not know, you are not worthy of asking.”
What the Divine does that even mean?
Before I could respond—before I could even feel afraid—I woke.
Gasping, drenched in sweat. The world snapped back into place. Light. Movement. Warmth.
“Elara!” Eryn’s voice was thick with emotion. She was leaning over me, clutching my hand tightly.
Makar hovered nearby, eyes wide, as if unsure whether to touch me or not. Gavrin stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, but his expression was not hard—it was stunned.
“You’re awake,” Eryn whispered, brushing my soaked hair from my face. “Thank the gods, you’re awake.”
I blinked, dazed. My body felt… wrong. Or maybe right. I didn’t hurt. Not really. Just a dull ache, far away.
Gavrin stepped forward, squinting at me with one eye as though I were some strange puzzle. “How did you do it?”
I blinked at him. “Do what?”
Makar’s brow furrowed. He stepped closer, voice soft but firm. “Elara… your back. The wounds—they’re gone.”
Eryn nodded, swallowing hard. “There’s nothing left but scars. Deep ones… but you’re not bleeding. You’re healed. We watched,” she took a deep breath, “we watched your skin repair itself in seconds.”
I didn’t know what to say. I sat up slowly, eyes darting between them.
“I—I don’t think it was me.”
They all looked at me with a puzzled expression.
