Mirael’s immense power is unsettling, especially when I consider that she sees me as an enemy, given that I am indirectly responsible for her mother’s death. It pains me that Sylas refuses to act, even though the Sualtier carried away Lyara’s lifeless body. While I can understand his hesitation, the ache in my chest remains deep. The poor child only wanted to live peacefully with her parents in a place where she wouldn’t have to cause anyone harm.

I had sworn to myself never to harm anyone, yet I was forced to watch Mirael kill the two Sualtier without hesitation. How will she cope with the truth that Lyara ended her own life as a result of her decision? The question still haunts me: was Mirael the figure I once saw outside my window in the human world, and is she withholding that information from me? But that thought loses significance—without the Astralis, she couldn’t have even entered the Nexari.

We managed to shake off the Sualtier pursuing us without drawing attention. Sylas quickly found a hidden cave nearby, where we will stay for a short time. Though I love the forest and nature, it’s a welcome break to escape the trees for a few hours. But once the sun rises, we must move on. Our first destination is Arenath, the village of the Sand Magic. I’m curious to meet the Areni.

When the opportunity arises, I’ll return to the Nexari to question the Nyrelis sisters about my destiny. They may have encountered the other vessels and could reveal some vital information. If I can master the thought weaving by then, I’ll no longer be at such a disadvantage against their strength and numbers. But until I must face my fate, my focus remains on the present.

Mirael, who was recently filled with schadenfreude, now remains silent and avoids meeting our eyes. Sylas, too, sits in silence, his gaze fixed on the stars as he turns his back to us.

I’ve missed the unobstructed view of the sky as well. Though we’ve only walked through the forest for an hour or two, my legs feel as if they’ve endured days of marching. Sylas gathered wood, and Mirael sparked a small flame that now provides us some warmth in the cold. I sit alone in the cave, watching as Mirael joins Sylas.

It’s only at this moment that I’m reminded the two of them are engaged. In the near future, when our journey ends and our destinies are fulfilled, they will marry. In the human world, I’m bound to Lord Louweris—a marriage I was forced into that night. Is that bond even valid? Either way, it would be better if Sylas were not an option for me. I’m not even sure if I’m mentally or physically capable of a relationship. Love is something inexplicable to me, something I cannot grasp.

Perhaps it’s fitting that my destiny is to serve as a vessel for the Sonatius Mortaeda. Perhaps I was wrong to think that Aetherion was lonely within the Astralis.

My thoughts wander in every direction as my eyes linger on the two Solniw. Mirael rests her head on Sylas’s shoulder, and he wraps his arm around her. As much as my own emotions torment me, I know that they, too, are wrestling with guilt and grief. Yet their sight does not cause me pain but rather a sense of contentment.

In all the books I’ve read—books that granted me glimpses into a world the queen had denied me—it was never described that a woman could feel happiness when seeing the man she loves with someone else. So, was I never truly in love with Sylas?

The next thing I remember are eyes: blue and green. Sylas’s face is so close that I can make out the fine contours of his smile. Behind him stands Mirael, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the distance.

“Good morning,” he whispers. Only now do I feel the warmth of the sun filtering into the cave despite the cold. But as he steps aside, the sunlight blinds me, and I instinctively shield my face with my hand.

“Apologies.” Sylas moves again, blocking the light. “We should get moving. Arenath is only half a day’s walk away. If we leave now, we’ll reach it by midday.”

I wonder what the two of them talked about while I slept, exhausted. Mirael seems calmer, but the heaviness that surrounds her is unmistakable. Without further words, we set off, resuming the path we left yesterday. The sun stands high in the sky, providing enough light to avoid stumbling over roots again, though its warmth is barely felt in this cold.

“May I ask you a question?” I turn to Sylas. He glances at me briefly, and even Mirael, walking by his side, listens curiously.

“Won’t your father come to Thalvaren as soon as the king speaks with you? Valron Feroy will surely inform Zyar of your whereabouts after we disappeared without a trace.”

Sylas sighs and shrugs. “He’ll be furious that I didn’t stop you and instead left the village with you. But in the end, it’s my duty to protect you. The blood pact binds my life to yours.”

So that’s the only reason for his loyalty—the blood pact and my role as a vessel. Of course, his love belongs to Mirael, his fiancée.

“Can’t the blood pact be dissolved?” Mirael suddenly asks. She clutches Sylas’s arm with both hands, her voice full of concern. “My future husband cannot be bound to the soul of another.”

Jealousy is written all over Mirael’s face. Her fears are understandable—who would want their beloved tied to someone else? But I let her words roll off me.

“I don’t know,” Sylas admits, tilting his head back. “As long as Vespera hasn’t fulfilled her role as a vessel, the pact remains in place.” He turns to Mirael. “I promised your mother to take care of you and to be a good husband to you. But I also have a responsibility to Elindros—and that means keeping Vespera alive.”

“Damn Losniw...” Mirael hisses under her breath and exhales deeply. Then she looks at me. “You already took my mother from me. If you take my beloved too, you’ll feel my lightning.”

I nod, more out of understanding for her plight than fear, and reply, “Why didn’t you use your powers when your mother was in danger?”

Mirael’s eyes widen, and she turns her gaze away in shame. Sylas exhales sharply through his nose and explains, “A Solniw with the power to control lightning is born only once every few hundred years. Before Mirael, the last was Rhovan Ardelon. His abilities were so extraordinary that they enabled the founding of Solnya. That’s why lightning powers are considered particularly valuable in the kingdom.”

“Why specifically a female Solniw?” I ask, puzzled.

“The villages in Elindros were originally founded by Elindine, who were called children of light,” Sylas begins. My questioning look prompts him to elaborate. “ The so-called Children of Light are newborns abandoned by their parents because the parents felt no connection to them. These children were given to the king, where they developed extraordinary powers under his care. Powers that were once believed to belong only to the ancient beings. The founders of all the villages in Elindros were such children of light.”

“I understand,” I say slowly, though I’m struggling to process this new information. “But why isn’t Mirael allowed to use her powers openly? Rhovan Ardelon already founded Solnya. Why would it be a problem?”

“Because only Rhovan Ardelon possessed them,” Sylas replies, his voice serious. “Every Solniw can control one or more elements. I wield water, and my father, the Legate of Elements, can use all elements. But since Rhovan Ardelon, there hasn’t been another who could control lightning, which makes that power immensely significant for the kingdom. The kings of Elindros married female children of light with special abilities to strengthen their bloodline or Elindine who inherited those special powers. It was tradition for every king to have at least five such wives. Valron Feroy is the first in his bloodline who hasn’t married women with extraordinary powers.”

“He would have wanted to marry me,” Mirael says quietly, her usual confidence absent. The subject seems to weigh heavily on her. “And because he’s the king, my parents wouldn’t have been able to stop him. That’s why all the Solniw assumed I couldn’t wield an element. It seemed plausible—it happens sometimes. Among us Elindine, there are a few who don’t inherit the powers of their village. Living as one of those has always been a shame for me. In the village, they pitied me, treated me like something fragile. Yet I was always stronger than all of them.”

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Her voice trembles briefly, but she steadies herself. “My engagement to Sylas caused an uproar in the village. They said someone with his strength should never marry a weak Solniw. The king must never find out. That’s also the reason I didn’t use my powers that night. Why I had to just watch...”

She presses her lips together, her eyes avoiding mine, and turns her face away.

“The Feroy dynasty has ruled since the beginning because the blood of every child of light flows through their veins,” Sylas explains, a hint of disdain in his tone. “They secure their power by fathering children with extraordinary abilities. The male descendant with the strongest powers becomes the next king. It’s an endless cycle.”

The sun shines brightly, but inside me is a deep darkness. The Losniw intermarry, while the royal family follows a particularly cunning strategy to coerce other Elindine into marriage.

“I’m sorry, Mirael,” I say without much thought. Why do I feel pity for a girl who despises me? I’m probably the last person she expects—or wants—sympathy from. “I’ll keep your secret.”

To my surprise, the biting remark I expected from her doesn’t come. Instead, she looks at me silently, and I dare to break the quiet: “Mirael, may I ask you a question?”

She hesitates but then nods, and for a fleeting moment, the hatred I usually feel from her seems to vanish. “You’ve never been to the human world, have you?”

She shakes her head, confused. “No. I wasn’t even allowed to leave the village because I had to play the role of the weak Solniw.”

I nod thoughtfully, but Sylas picks up the conversation: “Is this about the figure you saw in the sky back then? Are you asking Mirael because that figure also seemed to control lightning?”

Uncertain, I look down. Was that figure truly capable of controlling the storm? The thought lingers, but I’m not sure. “I don’t know for certain. But it’s possible. Could there be someone else in Solnya with the same powers as Mirael?”

Sylas considers briefly before responding, “It’s not impossible... but my father would surely have noticed. When Mirael was a child, he recognized her talent very early on because of his sharp awareness.”

“Then this stranger remains a mystery,” I murmur with a sigh. After a moment of silence, I change the subject: “Speaking of children of light—Velris Entium is one too, isn’t she?”

Sylas nods, visibly relieved by the shift in topic. “Yes, Keldor and Velris are twins. But since Velris is female, she wasn’t allowed to establish her own village and was instead betrothed to the then-king, Dareth Feroy. As far as I know, she was already a mother of two when she killed Keldor Entium. After her betrayal, she made an agreement with the king—her husband—that she would govern Losnat and only return to the castle at his command to fulfill her marital duties. This is all from my father. These details aren’t known to most people in Elindros. It would be best if you kept them to yourselves.”

Mirael and I both nod silently in agreement.

There’s a lot wrong in Elindros. The traditions of the individual villages are unsettling, and I only know the customs of Solnya, Losnat, and Cata Sualti. The question of why the king has never taken an interest in the vessels remains unanswered. Is it because of the power of the Sonatius Mortaeda? Or is it because only the chosen women can wield its powers? Many questions remain, but for some, I’m grateful to have found answers.

During our intense conversation, we’ve covered a significant stretch of the path. During this time, Mirael and Sylas spoke about the events of the previous evening. Perhaps she needed to vent her frustration, and who better to hear it than her fiancé? Mirael must certainly be worried about her father’s well-being. Surely, he’s frantic with worry since she wasn’t found in the bunker or among the rubble. Zyar must have already pieced it together. He knows the three of us left the village. But could he guess the true reason? Maybe he believes we fled from the enemy.

I hope to speak with him soon to clarify a few things—including things about myself. The thought of the infant who is supposedly me won’t leave my mind. Alone, in the midst of a dark room, in a bed. Zyar claims this is my past, but it doesn’t make sense to me.

After two hours of walking, we leave the long, gloomy forest behind and arrive at a small wooden stand set up beside a broad brook. The sound of rushing water mixes with the muted voices of an older couple engrossed in conversation. When they notice us, they fall silent and turn their attention to us.

The woman, a head taller than the man, has a slender build emphasized by simple but well-kept clothing. Her blonde hair is neatly combed back, ending just above her ears, which highlights her angular face and sharp yet kind features. Her eyes, a clear gray tinged with blue, seem to observe everything attentively while radiating a warm friendliness.

The man, on the other hand, is stocky, with a rounded belly and an expression of contentment. His short, ash-blond curls frame his face, giving him a genial appearance, further complemented by a mischievous smile. His eyes are a soft brown, with fine laugh lines at the corners that underline his good-natured and humorous character.

A delightful aroma wafts toward me as we approach.

“Children, come here!” the woman calls out cheerfully, waving us over. “Try our volcano fire tea!”

V-Volcano? How does one even drink something like that? The delicious scent piques my curiosity, but the thought of “burning embers” is unsettling.

“Thank you, kind lady!” Sylas replies with a smile. “Do you also have ember-flake bread?”

“What do you think, young man?” the man answers with a laugh, placing his hands on his hips. “Eat as much as you like! It’s on the house!”

“Arinor!” the woman scolds, shaking her head, though she’s smiling warmly. “If you talk like that, the children will think our business is too prosperous!”

“But, my dear, it is!” Arinor replies, clearly puzzled. “Neriselle, let the poor children have something to eat already! Are you traveling?”

“We’re from Solnya and need to gather some herbs in the area,” Sylas admits politely.

“Herbs? We’ve got plenty of those in the storehouse!” Arinor says with a chuckle, waving dismissively. “The Solniw have been our neighbors and allies for centuries! Don’t stay out in this cold for too long.”

I don’t know much about Elindros and feel unsure about whom to trust, so I leave the talking to Sylas. Eventually, my growling stomach convinces me to try a cup of the volcano fire tea. The warmth of the drink spreads through my body immediately. The woman hands me a piece of ember-flake bread, its smoky aroma pairing perfectly with the tea.

As I eat, my thoughts wander to Mirael and Sylas. They’re having an animated conversation with the older couple, who introduce themselves as Arinor and Neriselle Altherin, residents of Arenath. Both are in their early sixties and have been married for over forty years.

Though Mirael and Sylas have lost their loved ones, they seem remarkably composed. Perhaps I’m mistaken, but I would have expected Mirael to shed at least a tear for her mother. Instead, she seems more irritated by my presence. Feelings remain a mystery to me—in the human world as well as here in Elindros.

The two Areni lead us through the broad gates into their village. In their company, we pass the guards at the entrance without a word of protest. They seem deeply engaged in a conversation, probably relieved not to have to deal with potential troublemakers. Since Solnya and Arenath lie at remote ends of Elindros, the area likely sees little activity most days—aside from Sualtier attacks.

Compared to Solnya, Arenath is significantly larger, at least three times the size. A quick glance is enough to notice that every house is painted in a uniform, light brown shade. The ground covering the entire village is fine sand, which glimmers golden in the warm air. I briefly turn to look back and see the grassy landscape beginning where the guards stand. With a loud creak, the large gates close behind us, the sound of wood scraping against sand filling the air. But the villagers seem accustomed to it and pay no attention.

The warmth in Arenath is unparalleled, almost surreal considering the biting cold of the outside world. Is it because of the omnipresent sand stretching across the village? Or is it the famed sand magic of the Areni that Sylas spoke of? The residents, dressed in simple, light summer garments, seem both relaxed and busy.

Neriselle and Arinor have removed their coats and are now stowing them away. It’s only then that I feel the increasing heat more acutely. We follow their example, carrying our jackets under our arms. The Areni all have tanned skin and remarkably similar features. One might think they were a single family. Their hair varies from shades of brown to blonde, but all have fine, golden lines in their facial features. Is that a cultural mark or an innate trait of the Areni?

“Is this your first time in Arenath?” Neriselle suddenly asks, looking directly at me. “Child, you haven’t said a single word so far. Your friends Sylas and Mirael are so chatty, while you’ve only been listening. I hope you’re not afraid of us!”

Mirael rolls her eyes almost imperceptibly at Neriselle referring to us as friends. “No, I’m fine,” I reply quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m just not a particularly talkative Elindine. I apologize if that seems rude.”

“Oh, there’s no need to feel embarrassed!” Arinor says with a hearty laugh. “And please, call us by our first names. Formality is really unnecessary here.”

He steps closer and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Reflexively, I swat his hand away and take a large step back. The two Areni look at me in surprise, Mirael no less so. Only Sylas, who knows my reasons, shows concern.

“My apologies, dear,” Arinor says, startled, placing a hand over his heart. “I didn’t mean to scold or frighten you. My gesture was only meant to encourage you.”

Of course, I know that. I know he means no harm. But every time a man touches me, I see Lord Louweris’s face—his greasy smile, his unwelcome hands on my skin.

“She had a terrible encounter with a Sualtier in the past,” Sylas explains, twisting the truth. “Since then, she’s avoided any kind of physical contact.”

Arinor and Neriselle look at me in shock. “I am deeply sorry to hear that,” Arinor says with profound regret. “As an apology, I invite you to spend the night with us. You can rest, warm up, and have a hot meal. And of course, the herbs you’re looking for will be yours free of charge.”

The hospitality of the two Areni reminds me of my first meeting with Mrs. Strömert. Although Neriselle seems entirely different in appearance, she and Mrs. Strömert don’t seem so dissimilar in character. Perhaps Mirael isn’t entirely wrong with her contempt toward me.