I Can Hear You: Two Worlds Apart

Chapter Nine: Whispers of Solaria

The mist still clung to Lydia's skin as she stood alone in the warm bath chamber, her mind swimming with more questions than answers. The cryptic figure's words echoed in her head, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was teetering on the edge of something monumental. The air felt thick, buzzing with an unseen energy, and Lydia couldn't tell whether it was the chamber itself or the anticipation coursing through her veins.

With a deep breath, Lydia stepped away from the bath and wandered toward the far side of the room, her steps hesitant but purposeful. Her wet hair clung to her back, and the silky robe the triplets had given her shifted with every movement. Her body felt lighter, less burdened by pain, but her mind was far from at ease.

Before long, a soft knock sounded against the ivy-covered door. Lydia tensed, her heart thudding in her chest. She had been waiting for this—the healer. The one who, according to the triplets, would see to her. But more than that, she hoped—no, she needed—answers.

The door opened slowly, and a figure stepped into the room. This one was different from the triplets or the cloaked figure. She moved with the same grace, but her presence was softer, less imposing. She was taller than Lydia by a few inches, with flowing silver hair that cascaded in gentle waves down her back. Her skin had a faint glow, not like the cold brilliance of Ichimarou, but warm, like sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Her eyes were a deep violet, holding the depth of someone who had seen more than Lydia could imagine.

"Lydia," the woman said softly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. She stepped forward, her hands folded in front of her, her violet eyes meeting Lydia's. "I am Nyla, the healer of Solaria. You've been through much, but you are safe now."

"Safe?" Lydia echoed, her voice wavering. "Is that what this place is? A sanctuary?" She gestured around the room, her frustration boiling over. "I was dragged here by some creature who's barely said two words to me. I don't even know where I am, or what this place is."

Nyla's gaze softened, and she gestured for Lydia to sit. With a hesitant nod, Lydia sat down on a small stone bench near the bath, its surface still warm from the surrounding steam. Nyla took a seat beside her, her presence calming but filled with a gravity Lydia couldn't ignore.

"This place," Nyla began, her voice calm and measured, "is called Solaria. It exists between worlds—a realm of light and shadow, where beings from many lands and dimensions come seeking refuge, redemption, or purpose. Lord Ichimarou is one of the ancient guardians of this land, though his methods can be...harsh at times."

Lydia bristled at the mention of Ichimarou. She could still feel the coldness of his presence, the icy jagged edges of his mind, sharp enough to slice through her thoughts. "Harsh?" she repeated, a bitter edge to her voice. "He threw me onto a bed like I was a sack of flour and hasn't told me anything since. Why am I even here? What does he want with me?"

Nyla studied Lydia for a long moment, her eyes searching. "Ichimarou's ways are not always easy to understand. He is a creature of great power, and that power sometimes distances him from others. But he does not bring those to Solaria without reason."

Lydia shook her head, frustration mounting. "I didn't ask to be brought here. I don't even know what this place is. I just wanted to—" She stopped herself, her breath catching in her throat. The words she was about to say hung heavy in the air, too raw, too real. She had wanted to escape, to leave everything behind, including herself. But instead, she had ended up here, in this strange, beautiful, terrifying place.

Nyla's gaze softened further, and she reached out to place a hand on Lydia's shoulder. "I know, Lydia. I can sense the pain you carry. But you must understand, Solaria is not just a place for those who are lost. It's a place of transformation. People are brought here when they are on the edge of something—whether it be a great change or a great fall."