The sun breaks through the window in golden rays, casting the room in a deceptive light. I brace myself against the windowsill, leaning out as my gaze drifts over the endless, pale blue sky. My heart is filled with peace—yet deep within me, an elusive, gnawing unease lingers.

Behind me, the door’s lock clicks. The sound reverberates through my bones, and my smile freezes before I even turn around.

“My beloved wife,” a velvety yet cold voice reaches my ear. Lord Louweris steps closer, his smile broad—too broad. A smile that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. “Forgive me for keeping you locked away in our chambers. But after your attempted escape, I simply could not allow such a precious pearl to slip through my fingers.”

Escape?

My eyes fix on his face—on his right eye. A black eyepatch now covers it, lending him an even more ominous air. My heart pounds faster. What… what happened? Why am I here? Where are Sylas and Mirael?

I turn back to the window—to the unfamiliar land stretching beneath me. Rolling hills, distant mountains… This is not the kingdom. Am I in Aschemond? In the homeland of Lord Louweris?

Did the king truly have me captured back then?

How much time has passed? Was Elindros… a dream? Were all the Elindine I knew nothing but an illusion?

“Perhaps I am not mistaken in keeping you here,” Lord Louweris continues, his voice a smooth threat. “My own wife did not even greet me with a kiss. And yet, last night, you screamed with joy.”

My stomach clenches.

Last night?

He doesn’t mean to say that he…?

But I remember nothing.

“Cat got your tongue?” His voice sharpens, impatience flashing in his eyes. Then he merely shrugs, as if already losing interest. “No matter. A woman without a voice is just as well.”

Something inside me shatters.

I stumble back, but he steps forward. My body no longer obeys me, my knees buckle. A desperate lump rises in my throat, yet I manage a whisper:

“N-no… please…” My voice trembles, my hands lift in weak defense. “Lord Louweris… please.”

A satisfied smile curls his lips. “In this room, I am not just your lord.” He leans in, his breath ghosting against my cheek. “Haven’t you learned, child? I am your husband.”

My gaze flickers back to his eyepatch. I cannot look away.

He notices. His fingers rise, tapping against the mirror on the wall.

“Oh… that?” His voice drips with feigned kindness. “I don’t hold it against you, my dearest. After all, I gave you a gift as well… when you were brought to me.”

Slowly, I turn toward the mirror. My heart stutters.

My own reflection stares back at me—with a sewn-shut right eye.

A strangled sound escapes me. My fingers fly to my face, trembling over the stitched wound. My breath hitches.

Then Lord Louweris’ laughter crashes over me—a dark, indulgent laugh that freezes the blood in my veins.

My body shakes.

A scream rips from my throat, echoing through the room—through the walls that imprison me.

And no one will hear it.

“Vespera, Vespera!” A familiar male voice echoes in my ear. “By Rhovan Ardelon! She’s sweating like crazy in this cold!”

Dazed, I blink and struggle against the weight of my heavy eyelids. My body feels leaden, as if pressing me down to the ground—where I’ve apparently been lying this entire time.

Above me, Sylas leans over, his hand warm against my cheek. I blink again and recognize Mirael behind him, watching with crossed arms. Wait… Sylas? Mirael?

My heart leaps. Suddenly, the weakness drains from my limbs. Without hesitation, I throw myself into Sylas’ arms, feeling my heart race—but this time, not out of fear, but relief. My life until now wasn’t a dream! I didn’t imagine it!

“I’m so glad to see you,” I murmur, my voice still trembling. But even now, Lord Louweris’ words echo in my mind. They were just a figment of my imagination… and yet, they have shaken me to my core.

“You had a nightmare…” Sylas says quietly. He places a hand on my forehead, and a soothing coolness spreads across my skin. “You were sweating a lot. Forgive me for touching you. I’ll be quick.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, only now realizing that even the embrace hadn’t actually bothered me. “It was just a dream.”

“I know…” Sylas sighs as he does something to my forehead. I can’t quite tell what—but my heartbeat gradually steadies. “I was already wondering why your body wasn’t reacting to the events in the human world. Not that I wished for it… but it was strange.”

“But… how?” I look at him in confusion. How does Sylas know I dreamed of Lord Louweris? “How did you know?”

He casts a brief glance over his shoulder at Mirael. Even she—who usually regards me with disgust—has a flicker of pity in her eyes.

“I’m not sure…” Sylas frowns. “But I think it has to do with the thought weaving.” His gaze turns thoughtful. “Have you read in the book my father gave you about the different levels of this ability? How do the Losniw understand the thought weaving?”

Uncertain, I shrug. “Well, there was a section about transferring one’s own memories to others. But supposedly, only advanced Losniw can do that.”

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Sylas shakes his head slightly. “Vespera, you can’t compare yourself to normal Losniw. You are the ninth vessel…”

“The Areni said she is the tenth vessel,” Mirael interrupts him.

He shakes his head again. “The Areni don’t know the history of Vespera and the previous vessel. Let them believe what they want. If we can’t trust the Red Vessels, at least we’ll stay one step ahead of them.”

Mirael’s expression darkens. “Who was the real ninth vessel?” Since her confrontation with Sylas, she seems different.

“Isilyn Entium…” My mother’s name leaves my lips barely above a whisper. Mirael frowns. “My mother… she passed the burden of being the vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda onto me.”

“What kind of mother would do that to her own child?” Mirael’s voice trembles with horror. “But… thinking of the Elindine in Losnat, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

There it is again—her deep-seated hatred. She’s never truly let it go. But something has changed. Just hours ago, she would have thrown her contempt right in my face, bombarding me with scornful remarks. Now she remains silent. Have Sylas’ words finally reached her?

Dazed, I rub my forehead. “I don’t remember when I fell asleep… My memories are fragmented.”

Sylas explains that after our escape from Arenath, we marched for nearly two days without a proper rest. He didn’t want to stop, fearing the Sualtier might catch up to us. Eventually, we passed a high cliff, where a massive waterfall roared beside it. There, he says, exhaustion finally overtook me—I lost consciousness… and with it, my balance. I fell into the water.

“Then I had to spend minutes pulling the water from your clothes to keep you from freezing in this cold,” Sylas concludes. His voice is calm, but his eyes betray his regret. “Mirael made a fire. Sometimes, I’m glad to be a Solniw. Controlling the elements was always useful, even in the human world.” He pauses, then looks at me. “Vespera, I’m sorry this happened to you because of me.”

Mirael remains silent. But her gaze darkens, as if something about his words bothers her. Perhaps she resents the fact that he apologizes for something so ‘small,’ while I am the one responsible for the massacre in Solnya.

“It’s fine,” I say softly. “Where are we now?”

“Near Velsoth.” Sylas scans the surroundings. “We haven’t encountered any Sualtier yet.”

“Then we should keep moving.” I spring to my feet. “I don’t want those lunatics to catch up with us.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sylas’ voice is filled with concern. I nod firmly.

So, we continue our journey. Right beside the waterfall where I had fallen and spent two hours unconscious, we had set up camp. Perhaps the steady rushing of the water had kept my dream from fully consuming me.

The cold is relentless. In this icy wind, I long for the warmth of Arenath—the warmth I was allowed to feel for just a brief moment.

We fled from the village of the Sand Mages around midday almost two days ago. Since I lost consciousness, another two hours have passed. That means Velsoth is still at least half a day’s march away.

The Velsothier are Elindine with the ability to control shadows. According to Sylas, Velsoth is shrouded in complete darkness. How are we supposed to navigate there? Can outsiders like us even orient themselves in such a void?

Winter in Elindros is hardly different from that of the human world. Even here, the cold makes my teeth chatter and my toes go numb. I almost long for the warmth of Arenath—despite always having loved winter. But back then, I was locked in my warm room, only able to watch the snow through the window, never feeling it myself. Is this the price of freedom? Since my escape, I have been fighting for my survival without rest. Behind the castle walls, under the Queen’s control, I had no free will—yet I was not hunted. What do you call this paradox?

Between Arenath and Velsoth, there are no other villages. Only the endless wilderness accompanies us on our path. We haven’t encountered any other Elindine so far. According to Sylas, trade is rarely conducted here during this season, which is why the roads are scarcely used. Still—isn’t it too risky to take the official trade route? Wouldn’t the Sualtier expect exactly that?

The hours pass swiftly. My brief rest after the fall gave my body much-needed recovery—yet the unbearable stabbing pain in my head remains! It feels as if someone is driving a knife into my neck. Is it because of the fall? Surely, it will subside soon…

Unfortunately, it does not. Hours upon hours have passed, and now the night has spread its velvety cloak over the world. Countless stars flicker in the firmament, lighting our path—and stealing my breath at the same time. Walking under this endless sky is an entirely different experience from yesterday’s journey through the forest. Just the thought of the gnarled roots lurking in the twilight makes my ankles ache.

Ahead of me, Mirael and Sylas walk in silence. Normally, the Solniw clings to his arm, but today, she is surrounded by a quiet that drowns out even the wind. She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even turn her head toward him. Did something else happen since their sharp words clashed like blades?

My gaze drifts over the landscape—the shadows of trees, the moonlit, snow-covered grass that crunches softly beneath my steps. If the price of freedom is the struggle for survival… then I am willing to pay it.

How far do my abilities truly reach? Was it a gradual change since the Kairon unlocked my barrier? Could Aetherion provide me with answers? But how do I find my way back into their dimension?

My eyes wander to my jacket pocket, where the Astralis rests—a fragile treasure I guard with utmost care. Sylas and Mirael have seen my dreams, every scene, every fear. Even the terror that held me captive in Lord Louweris’ presence. Showing weakness has always been a great problem for me—especially in front of Mirael, who seizes every opportunity to belittle me.

“We’ll set up camp here,” Sylas decides, his voice calm as his watchful gaze sweeps through the darkness. “Mirael, light a fire. I’ll search for food. Neriselle’s supplies are generous, but we shouldn’t exhaust them just yet. Stay together—and if danger arises, find a place to hide.”

We nod silently. Without another word, Sylas disappears into the nearby forest, which has accompanied us for hours yet remained untouched, as the trade route offered an easier path. Mirael sits on a tree trunk she painstakingly rolled to our campsite and begins preparing the fire. Using a technique that tames the flames so they warm us yet do not brighten the sky—a shield against unfriendly gazes.

“Impressive,” the words escape me before I can stop them. My eyes widen instantly—damn. I hadn’t planned on speaking to Mirael.

She glances at me from the corner of her eye, furrowing her brow in thought. “The Firefang method?”

“Interesting name,” I admit with a nod. “Yes. How does this upper layer dampen the fire while still keeping us warm?”

With a finger, she touches the smooth surface, and a fine spark flickers between her skin and the layer.

“You weave thoughts, I weave lightning,” she says. A wordplay? Did the Solniw actually make a joke? Was she trying to make me laugh? “This technique was taught to me by my father-in-law—so, Zyar.”

“I should have guessed,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips. “Zyar can be really exhausting when he teaches something.”

Mirael’s eyes widen. “He’s such a terrible know-it-all about things like this!” For the first time since our encounter, we share a smile. “He may be the Legate of Elements, but he doesn’t control lightning. So he’s not as infallible as he thinks he is.”

We savor the rare moment of unity—a silent alliance in our shared jest about the same man. But the moment we realize the tension between us has momentarily dissipated, Mirael’s expression hardens. She quickly lowers the corners of her mouth, turns away. I avert my gaze as well. Silence returns, broken only by the crackling of the growing fire.

I have nothing to do. No gift to use at this moment to make our lives easier. So, I think.

Then, suddenly, a voice shatters the silence.

“I couldn’t find much.” Sylas steps out of the darkness, and Mirael and I almost simultaneously exhale in relief. We exchange a brief glance.

“But with these ingredients, I can make us flame potatoes with mist roots and moon butter.” He lifts a white, spiral-shaped root. “Mist roots. They’re in almost every dish—soups, salads, side dishes. A distinct, spicy note.”

“Sylas has been crazy about these things since childhood,” Mirael remarks without looking up from the fire.

“My childhood?” Sylas furrows his brow. “How would you know that? We’re six years apart.”

Mirael shrugs. “I remember a lot. Because of your obsession, my mother always cooked dishes with mist roots. I used to hate the taste, but over time… I got used to it.”

Sylas chuckles, rolling another tree trunk closer to the fire and patting the empty spot beside him. I sit down next to him. “Then I should probably thank your mother.”

Mirael shoots him an angry glare—but only for a moment. Then, her defiance gives way to a smile, and suddenly, tears spill down her cheeks.

She had been strong for too long.