Light of the Dawn

16. Finding herself

(I apologize for the filler chapter)

Isarella sat cross-legged in the garden, the golden sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees above her. The air was sweet with the scent of blooming flowers, and for the first time in years, she felt a fragile peace settle over her. A soft breeze played with the edges of her pale lilac dress as she turned the pages of the notebook resting in her lap.

Beside her, Perseus, her father, reclined against the garden bench, his silver hair glinting in the light. His piercing eyes, softened by love and concern, flicked to the notebook she cradled so carefully.

"It's beautiful here," he murmured, his voice steady yet tinged with hope as he glanced down at the book. "Are you writing again? I haven't seen you write since... before the mountain." His words hung in the air, as heavy as the memories they conjured.

Isarella smiled, though the weight of it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I want to try, Dad," she said, her voice quiet but resolute. "I want to feel like myself again."

She opened the notebook, smoothing the blank page with trembling fingers before finally letting the words flow.

"In Search of Myself"

I wander through the echoing halls of my mind,
A labyrinth where shadows and light entwine.
Each step a question, each turn a plea,
Who am I, beneath the masks they see?

The mirror speaks in fractured tones,
Reflections shifting, never my own.
Pieces scattered, like stars in the night,
A constellation hidden, just out of sight.

I sift through the remnants of what came before,
The laughter, the pain, the battles, the war.
The voices of others cling to my skin,
Their whispers louder than the voice within.

Am I the courage that breaks through fear?
Or the quiet doubt that lingers near?
Am I the dreamer chasing the sky,
Or the weight that holds my wings from flight?

The search is endless, the journey unclear,
A map drawn in hope, inked in tears.
Yet with each step, a truth unfolds,
In the cracks of the old, new gold is sold.

For maybe the self is not to be found,
But built from the pieces scattered around.
A mosaic of moments, a patchwork of days,
Stitched by the hands of a soul that stays.

So I walk this path, unsure, yet free,
Knowing the journey itself is key.
In the seeking, the struggling, the dreams I ignite,
I find myself in the act of the fight.

As the last word left her pen, Isarella let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. A smile, unguarded and genuine, broke across her face. "I did it," she whispered, looking to her father.

Perseus's eyes filled with warmth. "You did, little light," he said, standing and offering her his hands. She took them, and together they danced in a circle, her laughter ringing through the garden like music.

When they stopped, Perseus pulled her into a tight embrace. "I love seeing you smile again," he said, his voice low. "I have to go speak with Rhysand. Will you be alright out here?"

Isarella nodded, watching him leave before settling back onto her blanket. She held her hands out in front of her, willing her magic to come forth. A soft glow appeared, forming an orb of light that danced between her palms. She let it twirl, weaving it through her fingers, unaware of the presence lingering nearby.

From the shadows, Azriel watched. His shadows, drawn to the warmth of her light, surged forward, wrapping themselves gently around her arms and tangling playfully in her hair. Isarella laughed softly, her eyes alight with joy. "Well, hello there," she said, stroking one of the shadows like a curious pet.