“You know, El,” Ronyn leans closer, resting an arm on her shoulder as he looks around at the fearful crowd, “I don’t think I have the moral compass for this kind of power. I’m quite drunk on it, honestly.”
Elyssara can’t fight the smirk that pulls at her lips.
“We’re about to meet the oppressor of our kingdom, my throne, our families, and our entire lives, Ronyn, and you’rejoking?” She rolls her eyes.
He pats her on the top of her head good naturedly, “Just getting you in the right frame of mind and the sharpness of tongue for it, El. I see my plan is working splendidly.”
She shakes her head at his irreverence. And she sees what he’s doing. What he always does. Settling her nerves. Reminding her of who and what she fights for. Anchoring her.
The Barrier looms over them. Gleaming, impenetrable, and a blinding reminder of Thalmyr’s choice to sacrifice the Earthbound for the kingdom.
Calira spins, locking eyes with Elyssara.
“You ready?” she asks, her words loaded with meaning.
Because this is not just about Thalmyr. This is about fate. Destiny. Oppression. Truth. Prophecy. And whatever lives behind The Barrier.
Elyssara nods.
And Calira leads them past the line of wagons awaiting inspection, and steps up to the guards at The Barrier’s gate.
“Commander Calira Haradin for his Royal Majesty King Thalmyr, delivering on mission 937,” she booms, her voice an unwavering, monotone command.
The guards’ eyes flare, eyebrows raising in keen interest.
“937?” one of them clarifies.
Calira nods, gesturing behind her.
Elyssara steps forward.
Sheis 937.
“I could always give you a demonstration,” Elyssara challenges, magic licking at her fingertips.
They recoil, flinching back.
“No need,” one of them snaps, and waves a hand to usher them through.
Elyssara strides through, her auburn strands gleaming under The Barrier’s light. She intentionally steps too close to the guards, forcing them to stumble back.
The moment Elyssara passes through The Barrier, the world changes.
Not gradually or subtly as she expects.Completely.
And not just the architecture or the cleanliness.
The air itself feels different—cleaner, warmer, scented faintly with citrus and blooming florals instead of shit and meat gone to rot. The ground beneath her shifts from uneven dirt and broken cobble to smooth, polished stone that gleams beneath the lanternlight, each slab perfectly placed, perfectly maintained. There is no struggle here. No neglect. No sign that anything has ever been left to ruin.
Her gaze lifts slowly, taking it in.
Buildings rise in elegant tiers of ivory and gold, their balconies draped in cascading greenery, their windows lit with a soft, golden glow. Silk banners ripple in the breeze, embroidered with the forest-green crest of Dravara in threads that catch the light like spun sunlight. Water runs in narrowchannels along the streets, clear and deliberate, feeding into fountains carved with figures of gods long since forgotten beyond these walls.
People move through it all with ease. Well-fed. Well-dressed. Unafraid.
Laughter drifts through the air, light and unburdened, as though the world beyond The Barrier does not exist. As though starvation is not a reality just beyond the threshold they passed through moments ago. As though children do not sleep in alleyways within sight of this very place.
Elyssara’s stomach turns.
