Page 49 of Ashen Wings

My mother spoke of Astora’s Falls and the sacred rituals she performed there to honor our goddess, but here and now, the opalescent liquid entrances me entirely.

“Sit.” Yaris gestures to the cushion beside him. “I worked in the sanctum with your mother—cleaning the prayer chambers after events and rituals.” He retrieves a wooden ladle from a box nestled under the bowl’s stand. “I picked up a few things, though. Did your mother teach you about the astral plane?”

“Of course she did, but that’s not knowledge specific to Sovereign. Children across the factions are all taught of the gods’ dominion.”

“You’re right in that sense, but only those of Sovereign know how to cross into it.” He holds out the ladle.

“You’re talking about astral projection? Yaris…I—it’s forbidden now.” Shock winds up my throat. When Sovereign fell, all of their practices burned along with it. The factions outlawed performing the sacred ritual, claiming they brought humans too close to the heavens. “Have you been practicing down here? All of these years since?”

Yaris offers a slow and steady nod in response. “Of course I have. It’s what keeps our culture—our memory—alive. There are those that fear what they do not know. I’m offering to teach you these ways, if your mother hasn’t already.”

“She died before I was able to learn,” I say, eyes catching on the bowl.

“Astora might provide answers,” he says. “She is all knowing after all. This could be the best way to find your rider.”

“No.” My fist collides with the stone floor before I realize it.

“Don’t you want to learn of your heritage? Your ancestors and the faction they hail from?”

“Of course I do, but I came looking for books and fond memories. Not sacred fucking rituals that should’ve been left to time with those who died protecting them!” I rise to my feet, vision speckled with hot-blooded rage. “This was a mistake.”

“Nova, wait,” Yaris says, meeting my eye level. The little sliver of myself that clings to a childhood I don’t remember gives me pause.

“I ran from the promise I made to your mother, and for that, I won’t ever forgive myself. Let me teach you the ways of our people—at least only the foundation of our practices—then the decision is yours if you want to continue. But, please, let me make up for my mistakes in the only way I know how.” His eyes search my expression with heartbroken pleas.

My feet beg to flee, to fly back upstairs and run from this place without looking back, but I can’t.

I’m closer to something that, up until only a few days ago, I thought was gone forever. My chest strums with the glimpse of a face I’d nearly forgotten—now blurred by time and faded like an ancient painting—my mother. Would she want me to have followed in her footsteps?

Then something else eats at me. What if I’m not meant to? What if Astora doesn’t want me to learn her servants’ ways? What if I fail? Those worries are scorching as I swallow them back down, leaving a bitter taste of regret on my tongue.

“Fine. Show me,” I say.

Yaris grins and returns to his seat, patting the cushion beside him. “Come.”

I settle back on the floor, the velvet smooth under my crossed legs, and take a breath.

“Astral projection is easy once you’ve accomplished it, but it requires many attempts and trials before successfully crossing into the gods’ plane for the first time.” Yaris retrieves a glass jar of herbs from a shelf below the basin. “We use these to open our senses to the cosmos, most notably, crushed lavender buds. The aroma keeps the airways smooth and engaged.”

I watch with held breath as he uncorks the jar and taps a sprinkle of the herbs into the bowl. The scent reaches me almost instantly—clean and fresh like the fields outside my childhood home in Sovereign.

Lavender is an incredibly rare import and with the majority of its native habitat now burned to ash, it’s next to impossible to find. The scent nips at my nose, shooting memories through me.

“Deep breaths in to steady your heartbeat.” Yaris’s voice is a whisper through my mind. I follow his lead, drawing in, then out, until my body melts into the floor cushion.

“Good, now, focus on the basin. Listen for its words. Do you hear them?”

There’s nothing but silence. Nothing but my own breath, and Yaris’s expectant presence beside me.

“No,” I reply, squeezing my eyelids tighter.

“Keep listening. It may take some time,” he says.

We sit in stillness, both with closed eyes and open ears, but nothing comes to me. No whispers or ancient tonals. No voices or rush of knowledge. It’s just a basin filled with empty promises and forgotten secrets.

Seconds, then minutes, then an hour has passed—or at least I think it has—time either sprints or crawls by there in the quiet light.

We sit. We breathe. We listen.