Snowflakes In The Dark

32: Fading Stars and Fragments of the Past

The air was silent as Morana and Loke made their way back to the inn, the quiet punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The weight of the night's revelations hung heavily on their shoulders, the moonlight growing dim as the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon. Shadows danced along the cobblestone streets, mirroring the unease that coiled in Morana's gut.

Loke walked slightly behind her, each step feeling heavier than the last. Exhaustion wrapped around him like a thick fog, a constant reminder of the ticking clock on his life. He could feel the fading warmth of his magic, like a candle burning low, flickering with every moment that passed. Thoughts of his impending fate clouded his mind, an insidious whisper that told him he was running out of time.

As they turned a corner, Loke glanced up at Morana. Her silhouette was striking against the dim light, but he could sense the turmoil within her. She was always so composed, yet he could see the edges of her resolve fraying, unraveling with each secret they uncovered. But it was his own struggles that consumed him—each revelation felt like a tightening noose around his neck, reminding him that he might not be there for her when she needed him most.

"Morana..." he began, his voice barely a whisper, thick with unspoken fears. She turned slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she could read the turmoil etched on his face. "About what happened back there—"

"Save it, Loke," she interrupted, her tone brisk yet laced with an undercurrent of concern. "We need to focus on Elara and what the Shadow Serpents are planning. You can't let yourself get distracted."

He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling within him. "It's not just about the fight," he shot back, the weariness in his body igniting a flicker of anger. "I feel... I feel like I'm fading away, Morana. I can't even harness my magic properly anymore."

Morana paused, turning to face him fully. "You're not fading," she insisted, but her voice lacked conviction. Deep down, she feared that he might be right. With each passing day, the essence of Loke, the vibrant and fiery Leo, seemed to dim just a little more. The thought made her heart ache.

"I am. And every moment I'm here, I can't help but think... what if I can't protect you when the time comes?" His voice broke, revealing the vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see.

Morana's expression softened, the ice around her heart cracking just a fraction. "We'll figure this out," she vowed, though uncertainty clung to her words. "You're not alone in this."

They continued their walk in silence, the tension between them palpable. Morana stole glances at him, noticing how he fought against the exhaustion etched into his features, how the shadows under his eyes grew deeper with every passing day. She couldn't shake the feeling that time was slipping away, like grains of sand through their fingers.

As they neared the inn, the faint glow of morning began to break through the horizon, a stark contrast to the darkness they'd just navigated. The world was waking up, but for Loke, it felt like the calm before a storm. Whatever was to come, he couldn't shake the feeling that their battles were only just beginning—and that the clock was ticking on his life, with every second bringing him closer to a fate he desperately wanted to avoid.

The air was thick with silence as Morana and Loke made their way back to the inn, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily upon them. The moon hung low in the sky, its glow dimming as morning dew began to settle over Mérida, cloaking the cobblestone streets in a shimmering layer of moisture.

Loke trudged beside Morana, his usual confidence replaced with a weariness that seeped into his bones. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very gravity of his life was pulling him down. The events of the night played through his mind like a haunting refrain, but it was more than just the chaos they had faced. It was the gnawing fear that every moment spent fighting was one less moment he had left to live. The curse of his banishment loomed over him like a dark cloud, and exhaustion gnawed at him, pulling him further into a fog of despair.