“Now you know what I do to those who have wronged me.”
A cold, damp breeze brushes past us and I shiver. It’s okay. The people up there know what they are doing. It will be over soon.
The cavern opens up, tripling in height from the tunnel. Being underground helps.
Reminds me of home. Especially because the walls glow with veins of blue and gold, pulsing in a steady rhythm.
I breathe out, grateful to be distracted by something—anything—as the zinging shocks crackling across my shoulders and hands.
Then the cavern shakes. Dust falls from the ceiling, and the ground beneath me trembles, making it hard to stay steady.
The witch who had brought me here glances over, her expression unreadable.
“They will need help—I must return. Will you be all right?” she asks, her voice steady, though an edge of urgency slips through.
“Of course. Thank you,” I manage, but my legs tremble, and the words come out thinner than I intend.
Images of the shore flash through my mind—flaming balls of magic lighting up the night, the chaos and destruction, the screams still echoing in my head. The fight isn’t over, and dread tightens in my chest for those still caught in it.
The escort calls something else at me.
“What?” I ask.
She uses a dialect of the human tongue, but the words blur together and I can’t make out the meaning.
“You will be safe here,” she reassures me, then hurries out, leaving me alone in the cavern.
I turn in a circle, my eyes darting around the dim space, but nothing seems solid. I can’t shake the anxiety gnawing at my mind.
Suspended above me are shapes, delicate and flickering, trapped in something clear that catches the light, floating like stars in the dark. Some glow with a faint red hue, others silver or violet, each pulsing with its own beat.
The sight speaks to me. Feels... familiar. So much like the crystals back home. I just need Vann to return so we can leave.
Another woman steps into the light, and I yelp, startled. She holds up her arms.
“Easy! I’m here to help,” she says.
Oh. My escort must have been telling her to watch me.
My cheeks heat a fraction. I didn’t like that they saw me as such a fragile thing, but I also could acknowledge that I am not a war maiden.
Being useless stings.
I recognize her weathered hands. My gaze returns to her face. Yes, this is one of the women who had helped me bathe earlier before the ritual.
She is old, with tanned, white skin and grey hair falling in soft waves around her face, which is lined with the marks of time. Her hazel eyes are deep.
“Battle is not kind to those who do not fight,” she says.
“I think it is cruel to everyone, just the same,” I respond, holding my arms.
She hums. Thoughtful.
“I am sorry they came for you, but we are practiced in this. It will be over soon.” She places a hand on my arm, and squeezes as another massive thud hits the ground and a tremor shakes the walls.
It isn’t until she touches me that I realize how cold I am.
Breathe.