𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘, 𝖜𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖊.
The legendary Phoenix is reincarnated from his ashes every thousand years... or so the story goes. When Emrys wakes days after his death with bare memories, the vengeful deity responsible for his revival is...
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|| CHAPTER 15.0 || || MYSTIA ||
CENTURIES OF NECROMANCY DIDN'T PREPARE Mystia for death.
One moment, she had taken her stance beside Nox, bracing herself as her former friend set to burn them alive. The next, her sight erupted in brilliant purples, pinks, blues... and, finally, darkness.
Thick, consuming darkness. It entangled her brain, leaving her in silence so pure that she was sure she was dead. Was this what Sage had experienced for all those years? Endless hours floating in the void, with nothing but her own swimming thoughts?
How utterly boring.
But, perhaps, an empty void was not all that death provided. She found herself relieved when her eyes fluttered open. Soft verdant grass was her mattress and shadowed night her blanket.
Earth's dull and lifeless air had been replaced by something far more pleasant. The distinct pull of magic rang in her ears like a siren's song; its familiarity brought her peace in... death? Purgatory?
No. She was very much alive. If she wasn't, her heart wouldn't still be thundering in her ears, and her skin wouldn't be sticky with sweat.
And the grass wouldn't light up with the same distinct colors that sent her into a death-like sleep.
Mystia turned her head to find herself lying at the bank of a stream. Its water remained so still, so serene, that one wouldn't have guessed it surrounded a swirling vortex if the colored lights weren't so damn blinding. It was a stream that once surrounded the Guardian: a tree tall and ethereal, with the face of its wise protector splayed across the trunk's knots and crevasses.
Once housing a weak spot in the Barrier, protecting it from being breached for inter-realm travel, the Guardian had been a symbol of peace in Fromir Woods. Now, it stood no longer. It had been the first casualty when Emrys shattered the Barrier.
But it assured Mystia of one thing: she was not dead.
She was back in Astraela.
The sound of ragged breathing made her lift her head with a snap. Emrys lie facedown in the grass only feet in front of her, chest heaving in angry bursts. Even in his daze, the fury remained in everything from his expression to the veins protruding from his forehead. Heat radiated from his body despite their distance. His eyes, opening in thin slits, cast a sharp golden glow across the grass.
As he shifted onto his elbows, Mystia leapt to her feet. Emrys lifted his head, eyes narrowed yet weary. His face creased with unspoken pain. Though he was clearly trying not to show it past the bitterness, Mystia knew him too well—after so many years together, there was no tell he could hide from her.
Especially his pain. It was the one thing she couldn't stand to see.
Time slowed to a crawl as she watched him. A smart person would have run, or leapt back through the portal, or used his weakness as an advantage to take him down. For once, she swallowed down her survival instincts. She couldn't hurt him. It didn't matter what he'd done.
