Silver steps in front of me before we dive back into the darkness I can feel more than see. It roils in my gut, makes me feel dirty.

I look up at Silver, and he watches me with eyes hidden in the folds of things I cannot define.

“Are you alright?” he asks. He looks at me, truly looks at me.

I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

He nods, his eyes tightening as he gives me a gentle smile. “I know. Do not take this wrong, mae tigris. Can you continue?”

I look away, then back with a sigh as I take stock of my aches and pains. Nothing feels broken other than my poor ribs that haven’t had time to heal since the Bamshee, and everything else is mainly just exhausted. Jenny probably saved my life with her present of the Blessed tunic and pants. I have a feeling I’d be more chopped liver than bruised steak if not for her. The aches and bruises will need to take a back seat… for now. There’s nothing left for another fight. Physically, I’m done. But the screams… I can’t leave, not yet.

“I’m almost tapped out. I have no more tricks up my sleeve, nothing else to give. But for some reason, I’m still glowing.” I look down at my crazy arms, shaking them once again as if I shake them out like a candle. "I think this means we need to continue.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then takes a breath. “I want to tell you no. But I will respect your decision. Just… be careful?”

I give a sideways grin. “Have you been talking with my brother?”

He cocks his head, one brow rising and the toupee sliding on his forehead.

“Nevermind. But we need to go,” I say.

He reaches out and touches my shoulder, then pulls back and leads the way forward without another word, although I can tell I've either amused him or flummoxed him. Or... maybe a bit of both.

You’ve been training him. Well done.

No, I only told him what I do and do not appreciate and he respected me enough to do so.

You trained him.

No!

She snickers, entirely convinced of my ‘training’ of a grown man. But it makes me happy to know she’s keeping tabs on me.

I jerk my eyes to the front as we travel into better lighted passageways and have to dodge more patrols. Soldiers in black click and thump their way down the dirt tunnels, their eyes forward and focused, but most in a diamond formation like the ones who snuck up on me and Silver in the beginning of our infiltration.

Silver holds up a finger and I hear it, as well. The sound of talking. I follow as he ducks down a light tan-walled passage with doors on either side leading into rooms containing boxes. I know because we duck into one right before the voices come close enough to hear. The boxes behind us are filled with the King only knows what. That is, until Silver pops the top off one and I see dried rations. Mostly dried tomatoes.

Great. At least if we’re locked in, we won’t go hungry.

“Where are they?” That voice… I know that voice. It’s almost melodic and it turns up at the end, as if this language is not his first.

“They are here, but–” the other man’s voice is deeper and not as melodic. He pauses, as if afraid to continue. But he does after a moment, “The Guardian… was stronger than expected.”

“He—“

“She. The Guardian is a she, sir,” says the sheepish voice of the second man.

Feelings so strong they punch through the walls Rose erected make me recoil. Surprise, loathing, and deep set rage that makes my toes curl and my muscles clench.

The emotions are so bold and distinct I would expect the person to be punching walls or pulling knives to kill someone… very slowly. I touch my knife and almost draw it on Silver, the rage so complete it affects me through my Gift.

Silver touches my hand. I blink, a shiver wracking me from head to toe. So very strong emotions can affect me. Grand. Just grand. Another wonderful thing to thank my Gift for.

I shake myself from the angry stupor I'd found myself in, mouthing an apology to Silver.

I peek out the door even though I feel Silver's anxiety behind me that I would dare such a thing when they could see us. But I need to know. I see the back of three men. One has bright blond hair and fine clothes. He stands there with a person beside him who is clothed in the black I’m used to seeing in the hired soldiers or assassins. On the other side is a brown-haired boy in nice clothes and a sword at his hip and a dagger in his boot.

Darshius, who started all this way back when I saw him in the library before I knew about Gifts and fairies and how bad life can get, doesn’t even move despite the anger threading through him like fire. “Find her. Track her down and get me the wolf. You do not want to know what the Supremacy will do to us if we fail to deliver as we have promised,” his voice is calm, but it's like the ocean, currents deep underneath that seek to pull one under should you venture too far in.

The man bows, retreating down the passageway that is a lighter tan with more waterlights stationed at regular intervals.

“Send Nicolas for the wolf," he calls to the retreating back of the black-garbed man. Then he grins, turning to look directly at me. "The girl is near.”

“Persnickety hind ends of donkeys,” I say.

Silver curses, just a little less creatively.

I gesture Silver to stay, and I step out from the room.

Darshius’ grin grows larger. It creeps me out. Shivers run down my spine at the ice-like eyes as they lock onto me. I barely notice a boy not much older than Jack on the other side of him. The boy's eyes widen when he sees me.

“You’ve been blessed by the broken god, I see. Would you like to serve a god less finicky? More likely to give you the desires of your heart and not have such terrible, tragic things come?”

“Erm… no. I’m happy with my King, thanks so much.”

He shrugs. “I suppose you’ll forgive an elder for trying. You are quite the girl, Aria Rosen of Risia.” My blood turns to ice. “Daughter of the Dragon Knight. A Guardian of the weak. A Protector of the innocent. But hear this, O blessed of a Broken King, I come not for war, but for peace.”

This man knows who I am, knows more of my father than I do, and I know practically nothing of him. “Peace? How is the horror of what you’ve been doing peace?”

He places his hands behind his back, pacing with even steps closer to me. I stand my ground, hands on my daggers. He stops in front of me, looking slowly from head to toe. He winces when my light pulses slightly, almost as if it hurts him. And I can feel it actually does harm him, penetrates his deepest being and shows what he’s become. What he really is.

And that is quite uncomfortable to one who tries to hide his failings.

“How did Nicolas not know?” he whispers, almost under his breath, a slight down-turn of his lips accompanying the words.

This close… he really seems like a normal man. I could pass him on the street and not look twice. He has a slight golden beard that was not there before, and his hair is a little longer, pulled back into a warriors queue like Hans wears at times.

I’m tempted to stab him, but first… “Why do you want Risia?”

He smiles again, the thing popping on his face in a moment's notice, and I know it’s as fake as he is. “You’ve no intrigue sense, do you, little one? But be that as it may, I shall answer,” he says, as if he is granting me some grand gesture. “Risia is growing destitute. The people grow too quickly for the land to feed. Famine is rampant, as you well know.” He paces, missing when I jerk in surprise. But the boy doesn’t, and I meet the boy’s dark eyes. He shakes his head slightly, and my eyes go wide.

What is he telling me not to do?

His eyes dart behind me, then settle back on my face. Brown hair flops into his face and he impatiently pushes it back.

I’m careful not to look back, but I think I know what I’d find. It seems I’ve walked into a trap.

Cold sweat breaks out across my forehead and my skin prickles in unease. Rose is still sleeping, barely able to hold the wall somewhat around the emotions to prevent them from overwhelming me. Ran is far away, guarding Momma, Jack, and Jill as I asked of her in the center of the Honour Guards.

Hans and the fairies are above, taking the direct approach, while me and Silver are stuck beneath, surrounded by the enemy and without the tricks I’d come to rely on.

I’m at the end of my rope, my King. I hope you’ve got something planned.

My light pulses brighter, and Darshius flinches away before composing himself. So he doesn’t like the light. Good to know.

“With me in control under his supremacy, Irisia, and Beulah itself, will become a world of peace for all creatures: great and small. But for this, there must be sacrifice.”

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“Your sacrifice… or ours?” Keep him talking, figure out what in the world I’m supposed to do to get us out of this.

You in a bind?

A bit.

Get out.

Not possible.

I’m coming.

Ran, it’s you they want. I’m safer without you here.

She growls, but falls into silent agreement.

“Worlds are under our control. Peace reigns and no one suffers through wars and famine. No one dies of hunger or sickness. Famine nor plight. Soon, very soon, Beulah will see the light of a new day, without a dying deity and his followers who only serve to bring death. We bring life. We only need the Wolf to do so. You’ve brought her into our hands, and we thank you for your sacrifice for a new age of a new world.” He looks up, squinting to see me through the light that pulses in waves.

“And why would I believe you? You want to bring peace through death, and right through wrong. You speak pretty, but your actions say something else entirely.”

“The true believers will rise, little one. What I do, I do for many, not for the few.”

I walk within four steps of the man and stop. He hisses as my light grows ever stronger, searing his face.

He steps back, trying to hide from the light by covering his face with his hand, and something happens to his features. His skin becomes mottled and his hair becomes darker. I blink and he's back to the smooth-skinned, blond-haired monster. I wonder if I imagined it. "You will be meeting your God soon enough,” he says, a sneer twisting his features, making him blasted ugly in my eyes.

“No, you will answer for what you’ve done to Risia. The lives you’ve stolen. The slaves you’ve harbored. The families you’ve torn.”

He laughs. “No one is tearing families apart, girl. I am only giving Beulah the chance to experience what it longs for.”

“Not through the lives of the innocent.”

“To bring peace, one must first sacrifice.”

“To bring peace, one first must be willing to sacrifice everything. You don’t bring peace. You bring selfish ambitions cloaked in the machinations of pretty words. It’s time for it to stop.”

Can I eat him yet? I’m hungry for snake.

I’d say yes, but I think he’d taste like broccoli.

For him, I’ll make the sacrifice.

I allow a smile beneath the mask.

“Why do you want Beulah?”

“Why would we not wish to make every world a better place? We bring balance to imbalance.”

I quirk a brow, drawing my blades.

“You think that frightens me?” His lips part in a semblance of a grin, revealing straight, glowing white teeth.

“No, but I think my King does.”

He screams when the light pulses from me in waves.

I must ask this of you, daughter.

Ask.

Let down your walls. For this, you must feel.

I almost gasp. I… how can I do this? The walls are the only thing keeping my Gift from overwhelming me. The only thing that is keeping the feelings from my soul in their proper boxes to open at a later time when I can deal with the horror of seeing Jack tortured, of seeing Momma pale and drawn and older than she’s ever seemed, and seeing Jill–silent and barely breathing.

I haven’t dealt with any of that, and I can’t. Not yet.

So what he’s asking… how do I? How can I? Tears tingle behind my eyes at what seems to be an impossible task. How can I let my feelings free? They are deep and they are dark, buried beneath the pain of my past and the lost hope of my future.

Put not your hope in things that will fade and wither, but in the things that will send ripples across my worlds for eternity.

Help me! I cry, falling to my knees.

“Have you broken like your precious god, little one?” I barely hear him past the whirl storm of my emotions rising in a tide, pushing against the bonds I placed them in.

The light creates a sphere around me, and I hear as much as feel the pain of Darshius when he tries to penetrate the shield the light has created.

With a broken, pitiful wail, I release the walls around my soul.

I fall into the pit of my Gift, drawing down to the place where the blackness surrounds the golden threads of emotion and will.

And there… there I see myself for the first time.

I’m a box. It’s about the size of my home, and as I walk through the drab wooden exterior as if it’s not even there, smaller boxes bounce around, free floating like fireflies, laughter in some, despair in others. They vary from light pink to shimmering gold and darkest black.

Some are bright and happy, such as the times my family told tales around the fire or the times I soared with Ran through the forest. Those float free within the confines of the larger box.

But there are others. Others that are darker.

I see the first time I learned to create a box for emotions beyond my capacity to handle. There, in a paper thin, gray wrapping, is the memory of the last time I saw my grandmother. She screamed for me to go when she stood her ground against wolves as tall as she was.

I ran; I left her.

And that was something my small, not yet mature mind could handle. So it went in a box.

The next was when we lost daddy, the days and weeks after are in a darker, stronger box than Grandma’s. Then it was the many times we almost lost Jill, the first time she stopped breathing and I breathed into her mouth to give her breath and my eyes ached with tears that would not fall.

She survived, but the experience of seeing her: still, pale, and not breathing… it broke something inside me.

It went in a box.

Then came the many times I lost someone as Risia’s Guardian, the times I almost died myself but through sheer stubbornness and the grayce of The King survived.

The latest boxes are black as night, cloaked in ever shifting shadows.

Within are the last few weeks, where I lost my family and I killed. Killed so many.

The deaths of those around me… they struck the hardest, so I put them in the most impenetrable boxes I could. The death of the knight, the man I killed the night my family was taken… and the hundreds of men I just killed through Rose back in that cavern; all boxed.

Those are in a shimmering pit of molten metal, encased in wire and steel, and surrounded by rock.

Never were you meant to live in a box. I have set you free, now it's time for you to choose that freedom.

How? I plead. If I could be without these boxes of pain and sorrow… I would never be the same

Who is to blame for these things? he asks gently, but it's still a punch in the gut.

I pause, watching the many boxes float around me. Watch as they push against the bounds of the wooden walls. Trying to be free.

I left my grandmother. I knew I should’ve stopped my father that last day I saw him… but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop the Bamshee in time. I chose to kill. I am to blame! Tears streak my cheeks, my heart raw and bare within me, my soul scraped and sore.

No, daughter. In those words, I hear his sorrow, and, strangely, his joy. No. There are many things you are to blame for, but you cannot take the blame for those things which happened because of another’s choice.

Then I… am not to blame?

The only blame you had I took for you the day you became my daughter in truth. I paid for it so you wouldn’t have to. You, my daughter, are imperfectly beautiful, a magnificent soul, created for such a time as this. But if you allow the past to continue to place you in bondage, you will not be able to move forward into the future I see for you. You’ll remain in a box of your own creation.

How? I whisper, a part plea, part broken accusation. It doesn’t seem possible to release these things that have been a part of me for most of my life.

Forgive, my daughter. Forgiveness is not only for others, but also for yourself. Forgive yourself for those things you could not change. Life will bring tragedy, will bring pain, but unless you release it, it will stain your present. Let it go.

I…. I—ok. I let it go into your hands, my King.

A ray of light penetrates the top of the wooden box, landing on my shoulders and warming me from the inside out with a gentle serenity.

I know I could not have saved my grandmother. Had I stayed… I would have betrayed her sacrifice, dying with her instead of upholding her dying wish: for me to live.

Father made his choice to go to war to protect his country and his family.

The knight who died… he died to protect me. I… I should not let his sacrifice be in vain by bearing the burden of such guilt, but I will let it make me stronger. Make me better, so that I may prevent it from happening next time.

Those I have killed… that will be much harder to release. I tried for years not to kill, and looking back… perhaps I could have chosen differently than the knives I shoved into the chests of those men, but then, it may have meant life or death for me or my family. I cannot bear the blame of those who are evil and who choose to cross that line to attack me and my family. I killed only to defend. I did not murder.

The small ray of light cracks the ceiling of the box, allowing in light to these hidden places of my soul for the first time in many years. It shimmers in pearlescent colors, coating the inside of this brown box.

I let go.

The bubbles burst from the boxes I had them in, the emotions exploding from within and searing through me in a flood.

I bow my head, tears streaming and heart aching.

Help me.

I fracture into tiny pieces within my soul. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Feeling the hollow-hearted guilt, the gut-wrenching fear, and the heart-stabbing pain all over again is something I tried to avoid.

But in my avoidance, the feelings grew stronger and festered within, and I see now how they tainted my present, how I let them overwhelm my joy. How they prevented me from trusting others, how they took control and made me think I was not enough… when I am. How they made bitterness and loathing pool within me until I became a mere shell of who I once was, seeking escape from those who needed me even while I pretended it was because I was needed elsewhere.

I didn’t trust myself. I hated myself. Hated what I had done, what I had become.

But to change… I had to let it go.

And now, it’s time to be free of the past so I can live in my present and find a brighter future.

Please, forgive me for leaving you, Grandma. I miss you every day and will always be thankful for your wisdom and your lessons on The King. I know you are dancing with him today, and I will not let your sacrifice be in vain.

Daddy, I wish I had tried harder to get you to stay, but I know now why you left. If I had to trade my life for those I love… I would do so in a heartbeat. I love you, daddy, now and always. Say hey to Grandma for me.

Those who died, both by my hand and because I could not protect you, I pray you find peace and healing with your maker.

And with that, the healing process of grief sweeps over me in a wave of comfort. These feelings I never allowed myself to go through, never thought I could handle—these things I let flow through me in wave after wave. And somehow, allowing myself to accept the pain, the anger, the sorrow… it’s like the healing ache when my bones stitch together after breaking or the mending of skin. It’s a good sort of pain. It’s a healing pain.

I cry, my face to the ground and the tears watering dry patches of my soul.

Why did you let those things happen? I finally ask, flinging my leftover guilt into the one who deserves it least.

You know, darling.

I bow my head. My grandmother’s words come back to me from the little book she used to read to me. His ways are not our ways, little sprite. His ways are higher, broader, his scope indescribable to our minds. But someday... looking back, we’ll know. And it’ll all be worth it.

That is where Momma got her wisdom. They are so much alike.

I smile through my tears, smelling the sweet tobacco scent of my grandmother and the earthen scent of my father. They wrap around me, love and joy building within until I’m laughing through the tears.

We’ll always love you.

Make us proud.

I will, I reply, bitter-sweetness coming on my heart with a flurry of peace.

When the tears at last pass, when I’m left wrung and exhausted… but the boxes around me are absent. The large wooden box I’d built around them is slowly dissolving into the air, disappearing in flurries of burning ash.

All my memories float in my soul, free for the first time in my memory.

I’m left in the center of darkness, the trails of burning wood making stars in the otherwise dark onyx sky.

The ribbons of gold pulse around me, brighter and more distinct... and less distracting.

I touch one.

I’m taken into another mind, with their own thoughts, dreams, and hopes.

I pull back, and… I find it much easier to move around in here without the weight of my past as a tether I didn’t realize was there.

I sense that I will still struggle with the pains and brokenness of my past, but for now… for now I’m free.

Peace invades… and I know that while I don’t know why he let all that happen, I know his heart, and I trust him.

I look down, and where my tears had watered my soul is a tiny sapling, two little leaves dancing in a nonexistent breeze.

I smile at the little tree. Without burial, there can be no growth. Without brokenness, there cannot be mending. And without pain, one cannot know joy.

And now… it’s time to get back to work. I could see the memories in the mind of the golden thread I touched. The soldier who even now battles Bamshee above us. I could feel his present and knew what he was about to do. I could see the memories in his mind.

And I know what I must do.