Standing in the frigid depths of the Cradle, I faced what was sure to be my demise. The Source’s voice had told me to show what was possible. But in doing so, it was asking me to do what I knew to be impossible. I found myself wishing that Bastien were beside me, to help make sense of the chaos that had descended upon my mind, or Azrael, to steady me with hiscalming presence. It struck me then how much I’d come to rely on them, even in such a short time. Through these connections between us, I had been given something I’d thought I’d never feel again.
My mind replayed the moment outside Communion, where the three of us had ceased to be individuals and had come together to form something more. Something stronger. A love forged through connection that wove itself together like strands of silk.
The Source’s magic reacted then, whether to my thoughts or simply the situation at hand, I couldn’t glean. It prickled along my skin, the comforting warmth blooming into a sweltering inferno that filled my body with vitality.
But what was the trigger?
“It reacts to the light already inside you. The light of those who share your bond.”
The light inside of me? Was it because of Bastien and Azrael that the magic activated? My mind failed to wrap around the concept, but there would be time to ruminate later. That moment required action. So, wrangling as much of that prickling magic as I could gather, I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs to the point where I thought they might burst, then going even further. I focused on the others, picturing them safely reaching the surface of the city above. I pictured the embrace that we would share when I escaped this place, how their bodies fit against mine like puzzle pieces to make the visage whole.
And once I’d filled that breath with every bit of longing I could muster, I let it go, exhaling it from my chest.
Scalding heat poured from my body as if I’d turned on a faucet, a shimmering cloud of cerulean smoke spreading from my mouth to collide with the army of shades. It filled the chamber quickly, obscuring even the dim crystalline structure that loomed in the distance. With a wheeze, I’d emptied the lastof the substance, dragging a shaky hand across my mouth as a shiver shot through me. The warmth had nearly evaporated from my body, leaving me weak and unsteady.
All at once, the whispering voices faded, casting the chamber into a solemn silence.
“What did you do?” Sancha’s attendant asked, her raspy voice bouncing through the space.
I held up a hand, signaling for her to get ready. If this gambit had somehow failed, I doubted that I had the strength to carve our way through the shades, but I would get her as far as I could. My gaze lingered on the edge of the fog, waiting for the shadows within it to resume their onslaught. When one finally broke through the line, my muscles tensed, ready to grab the attendant and bolt, but I hesitated as the figure took shape.
A child, no older than eight or nine, stumbled forward, their umber cheeks streaked with paths of tears. My heart sank at the sight of them, but then there was another figure—a monk with torn vestments—that wrapped an arm around the child and guided them forward. Then more movement as dozens of people emerged from the fog, their features twisted in confusion.
“This way,” I called to them, stepping away from the wall. A few clergy members recognized me and began ushering the crowd toward me as the haze slowly thinned. I turned to the woman whom I’d first cleansed, the light in her eyes shining as she watched the others converge. “You’ll need to lead them out.”
“Me?” she questioned.
“There are still matters I need to attend to here. Ahead, you’ll find another group you can meet with. Keep everyone together, and whatever you hear, do not turn back. Do you understand?”
“I do, Acolyte.”
“Good. What is your name?”
“Clara, Acolyte.”
I placed a hand on her shoulder, then pressed two fingers into the space above her eyebrows, mimicking the motions I’d watched Sancha do thousands of times before, the weight of my new responsibility settling onto my shoulders.
“Source’s blessings upon you, Clara.”
I turned from her then, moving through the crowd as Clara’s voice called out over the confused din. I encouraged those who dawdled as I went, laying my hands on them and repeating the blessing I had given to Clara. The warmth in my veins flickered each time, but it was quickly smothered by the chill that lingered. I kept my gaze on the horizon as I went, expecting the Umbral to pounce at any moment, but all I found were more scared faces at every turn. My eyes grew heavy, each step becoming more difficult than the last. Once I’d reached the end of the crowd, it was only then that the Umbral appeared before me, seemingly from thin air, brow drawn downward in a puzzled expression.
“You seem disappointed,” I pointed out, the words heavy across my tongue. Exhaustion had nearly stolen my consciousness, but I fought with all of my strength to stay upright.
“There is a price for the blessing you carry, Acolyte. Tell me, how much more are you willing to pay to keep up the charade?”
“As much as it takes,” I answered without hesitation. “It’s what Sancha would have wanted.”
“Indeed, it is. She would have you waste away if it served her beliefs. That is why she put that curse upon you, Cirian. You consider it to be an act of love, but I know the truth. I’ve looked inside her mind, and there is no love there. Only a warped sense of duty to her title. The Church to which she has dedicated her entire existence. That is the only thing she truly cares for.”
“You can try all you’d like to poison me against her, but I won’t budge. You’d have better luck trying to convince a raven that it is a stallion.”
Sancha’s laugh echoed through the chamber once more, allowing me a moment to watch the Umbral’s movements. They seemed… slower than before. More deliberate. As if they, too, felt the strain of powerful magic on their body. Was that perhaps the case? Was it limited in the same ways that I was?
The idea was enough to renew my hope.
“You look tired,” I offered. “Is that mortal shell not all it’s cracked up to be?”
The laughter faded, Sancha’s features slowly smoothing to a neutral state.
