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Standing before me, in a labyrinth of freshly fallen snow, were dozens of people. Many wore faces I recognized from the Well. Some grew the biggest of smiles when they saw me, while others began to weep. But the common factor among them all?
Not one of them stood alone. They all stood next to someone—a loved one, their reason for fighting, their hope.
Hand in hand, Lyra and Graiyson walked out into the gathering, joining them. When they turned towards me, their eyes pooled with tears.
And I’d be a liar if I said mine didn’t fill with them as well.
Life had a funny way of coming full circle, and this was one of those incredible moments. When I’d left the cottage, I’d had one mission—to save Kaleb and reunite my family. Although I had failed Kaleb, that journey had led me here, standing before the people that I had not failed. Standing among the families I had reunited.
Kaleb wrapped his arm around my shoulders. He sniffed back the tears he was trying not to let fall, although he was doing a rather poor job of it.
We all were.
I felt the magic of the fire twins as they stood behind me, their hands on my shoulders confirming how close they were. Ryker stood behind Kaleb and me, and Harper to the right.
Then the missing piece stepped to my side.
“There is a thin line between success and failure,” Ezra’s voice crackled as she slid her arm across my lower back, locking her side to mine. “With this victory, you have shown a great deal of self-discipline. And for that, my child, you have made me proud.”
Sage
Chaos.
Complete and utter chaos had broken out in the cavernous tent that was dedicated for meetings such as this one—if it could even be called a meeting. The makings of a riot seemed more fitting. A slew of voices shouted over one another, trying to get a word in, but only adding to the disorderly nature instead. Even Harper and Ryker, who stood beside me, had joined in.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think Folkoln, the God of Chaos, was playing a role in the colossal downfall of this urgently called meeting, but he and Kaleb had returned to the Spirit Realm the day after I woke in the infirmary tent.
That was a week ago now.
Since then, I had started lightly training with Ryker and Harper—nothing too strenuous, as my body was out of shape due to castle life. It felt good to be out in the crisp, wintery air, though, feeling that familiar burning in my muscles and the satisfactory ache that came after. Being able to move without a python-inspired squeeze-the-life-out-of-you corset was a freedom I’d never take for granted again. Not to mention being able to use my powers and feel the water swell from my fingertips. On the downside, my nightmares had returned.ThoseI had not missed, but Ezra was working with me to try to control them. I hadn’t done much with my Fire Curse, as I didn’t feel comfortable using it around the villagers—safety and all. But Ryker said once my stamina was back to normal, he’d take me to a clearing up in the mountains where I could practice safely without putting anyone in danger.
Apart from training, Ezra had been teaching me about the Cursed Lands. They stretched a couple thousand miles from their east to west borders. The east border backed the Selenian Sea, which was accessible in some places where the Endless Mist didn’t weave so closely to the coast. There, the fishing industry thrived, as well as those with the Water Curse. Further inland, the Earth Cursed enjoyed the expanse of the sprawling prairies, where they could grow various foods in the abundant, fertile soil. Much of the Air Cursed preferred to live up near Orion’s Peak, in the embrace of the Stonehelm Mountains, where they could teach their young how to command the winds.
Although the Cursed tended to gravitate towards specific locations within the Cursed Lands, there were no set rules about where one was supposed to live. If someone with the Curse of Water decided mountain life suited them better, then that’s where they moved.
A good portion of where Edenvale and the Cursed Lands connected was cut off by the unpassable Stonehelm Mountains.North of the mountains, the land was flat—flat enough for troops to travel through. That was where the fighting took place. Ezra said it was like a continuous game of tug-of-war, where one side would win and gain ground, and then during the next round, the other side would win and take it back.
It had been like that for decades.
The fighting wasn’t constant, but because the Cursed did not know when they would be attacked, warriors had to stay close to the border. Over time, towns and villages began to spring up along it—this was so families could be with their loved ones who were serving in the war. Originally, the Cursed had hoped that the crown would call off its pursuit to eradicate them, and so the homes in the villages were tents at first, as the common belief was that they would be temporary. As time went on, the usage of tents never changed—and it just became a way of life. However, there were some houses that had cropped up.
The largest of the towns along the border, Valenthia, served as the central hub for war meetings. That was where I was now, listening to a plethora of loudly voiced concerns for the news Ryker and I had shared less than a few hours ago.
We had stood before the room of nearly fifty men and women—some Elders and some warriors—and told them what we had learned: that the God of Life was now king, and he was making an army of Demi Gods.
Upon hearing this, they erupted into chaos.
So while they all bickered and tried to figure out how they were going to fight an army of Demi Gods, I stared at the massive table positioned directly in the middle of the tent. It was a polished slab of marbled wood, and although the wood was beautiful, it was the legs that grabbed my attention. On each leg, an animal was chiseled—a bear, a wolf, a fish, and a cougar.
“Enough!” Ezra shouted, her cane cracking like thunder against the wooden table.
Unsurprisingly, the room fell quiet—it was not often that Ezra raised her voice.
“Bickering like a bunch of hyenas isn’t going to solve the problem,” she said with a shake of her head. She pulled her cane back from the table and lowered the bottom to the ground, her arthritic hands falling neatly over top of its handle.
“Then what do you suggest we do?” rasped an older man whose voice sounded like gravel. He stroked his long, white beard with one hand while his other held the underbelly of the bowl of a long-stemmed pipe.
“I’m getting to that,” Ezra said, her hand diving into a coat pocket—fishing for something.
