Page 77 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

“I . . .” Kora’s panicked gaze met Raiden’s as the white light settled back into her own body.

“You’re one of the divine,” Raiden whispered.

34

Kora

Sunrise filtered through the thinning Mist as Kora sat on her balcony, sipping another delightful hot chocolate. The mug warmed her cold hands as her body recovered from the magical expense. The forest graced her view, the path down the hill to the left leading to the city. She hadn’t neared it since those black and purple shadows.

She rubbed her chest, the warmth that’d exploded from her earlier now cold and empty.

Erick had died.

She had brought him back to life.

She was an elemental, but also a divine.

Kora knew she had healing magic, something she’d never revealed to anyone. But to play at Thanos’ level and defy death? That was something else. She racked her brains for everything she’d learned in the magoires but came up short. Raiden had mentioned magic hadn’t always pertained to factions, and she wondered if this was something ancient.

Sirona’s screeching had been incessant, her desire to separate Kora from Raiden permeating the atmosphere until he’d whisked her away, leaving Kora with Aryn and Erick.

But his eyes still hadn’t opened. Altha—the head healer—had declared he was still in a coma, and wisely brushed over how Erick had returned to life after multitudes of minutes within Thanos’ clutches. Kora squirmed in her seat. Thanos had granted his life back on Bone Rattler, why would he take it away again? Was this a divine test? Had he known about this second power?

Aryn collapsed in the chair beside Kora, wiping his damp face, pushing his grown-out hair back. The ends reached his sharp cheekbones, the dark brown strands anchoring Kora in her reality. He’d rushed to her bathing chamber to splash some cold water over himself after the shock. Aryn collected the steaming mug from the small table between them, wrapping his deft fingers around it. He’d not worn his archer tabs since their return to Galen. In fact, he’d been wearing his longbow less frequently, too.

Courtiers, pirates, and mercenaries milled to and from the castle, up and down the hill in the early morning hours. Servants rushing with deliveries—flowers, potatoes, medicine. Their lives unperturbed by the events revolving within these walls. Kora’s chambers sat in the west wing just off from the castle’s entrance, and if she craned her neck hard enough, she could almost see the stone steps leading to the huge iron doors.

She exhaled as she watched life pass her by. Not an ounce of fear on people’s faces, no poverty or sickness. Genuine smiles, and peoples unaware of the darkness lingering within her, threatening to explode if a single shred of emotion consumed her. A squawk sounded and Kora’s gaze swept to the sky, expecting Mara. Instead, a messenger hawk soared across the grounds weaving through the glimmering spirals and fading into the east.

For a moment, she wished she was the hawk.

“Am I a freak?” Kora whispered.

Aryn answered without missing a beat. “Definitely not, Captain. You’re in the castle of freaks. You’re quite normal in comparison.”

“I’m guessing I wasn’t previously . . . divine.”

“No,” Aryn shook his head. “You never displayed an ability for it. Healing’s never been recorded as a gift, but from my understanding, the divine can reach through the realms in-between life and death.”

“The in-between,” Kora repeated, sinking into her chair.

Almighty Thanos. Was that why she’d managed to enter Umbra as a living soul? Had she been using her divine gift without realising?

“Are you alright?” Aryn asked, his tattoo crinkling slightly on his cheek as he offered a small smile.

“No,” she admitted.

She was stuck in a foreign land, her and Erick’s survival dependent on destroying Barron, and subsequently saving the islands. Samuel, Ivar, and Theron were captured, suffering unknown levels of torture, and Kora was spiralling, losing herself. She’d never felt more disconnected to the ocean, confined to the walls of this castle. Her own mind caged within a darkness that grew stronger every day.

The one time she had left the castle, she’d been plagued with visions of Agatha that she wasn’t sure had been real. And the citizens had feared her. Had screamed at her.

“I’m here for you, Kora.” Aryn set his mug down on the glass-topped table, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. The gentlest of breezes ruffled his thick hair, and his fox-like eyes gazed into hers unwaveringly. That familiar warmth returned to the centre of her core, below her chest. A comforting stone grounding her.

“I miss home,” she confessed, her flesh prickling as something pulled her towards Aryn. Towards her firefly in this sea of darkness that was consuming her by the second.

A sad smile played with his lips, and he absentmindedly brushed his tattoo. “I like to think home is the people you love. Not a place, or where you’re from.”

But some of those she loved were suffering. Being tortured or worse. They could be dead already and she’d have no idea.