Divided

Ajia

Celeste's POV

After my conversation with Zeeshan and Zenesha, I sink onto the cold throne, my fingers pressing against my temples, a deep ache clouding my mind. What is Cadenza planning? What does she want? I can't seem to unravel the puzzle.

I sigh heavily, the weight of it all bearing down on me. "Even when I try to locate her, I can't. I don't know where she hides." My voice cracks slightly, frustration seeping into each word.

Alistair approaches, his presence a comforting, steadying force. He places a hand gently on my shoulder, his touch grounding me.

"It's okay, we—" he begins, his words meant to soothe, but I cut him off sharply.

"No, it's not," I snap, my voice rising with the urgency building in my chest. "I can't let her keep getting away. It's happened too many times already." I push myself off the throne, the weight of my decision pulling me forward.

I stride down the steps, my shoes echoing softly against the stone floor as my thoughts race faster than my steps.

I come to a halt, the quiet of the room almost suffocating, and close my eyes, focusing inward. I extend my hands before me, palms outstretched, fingers trembling with the sheer force of my concentration. Slowly, a pulsing red glow begins to emanate from my hands, crackling through the air like a restless storm. My magic seeks its target—my twin sister.

With my eyes closed, I picture the path my magic will take, visualizing it as a stream of crimson light weaving through the shadows of the Tribrid Forest. It moves with purpose, following the invisible trail she leaves behind, winding and twisting like a thread of fate. But just as my magic begins to get in on something—on her—it falters.

The connection wavers, and my magic sputters and fades. She's blocking me.

I growl low in my throat, the frustration searing through me. I open my eyes, but the darkness remains, the hopelessness clawing at my chest.

Alistair's POV

I watch as Celeste stands there, her hands outstretched in front of her, her fingers curling into tight fists. The air around us grows heavier, charged with a raw intensity. Her eyes begin to glow a deep, unnerving red, and the walls of the throne room tremble with an unsettling force. I can feel the pulse of her magic, the very foundation of the room shaking as if it's about to crumble under the weight of her power.

I step toward her, my voice low and soothing, but laced with concern. "Amra, shh, shh." (love) I gently grasp her arms, my touch firm yet gentle, hoping to anchor her in the storm brewing inside her.

As I look up, my eyes catch a terrifying sight—the ceiling above us begins to crack, lines of jagged energy snaking across the stone as though the very building can't withstand her fury. The sharp sound of splitting rock echoes through the room, making my heart race with worry.

I turn my gaze back to her, my breath catching as I meet her fiery red eyes. She's barely holding on, and I can see the struggle beneath the surface. "Take a deep breath," I urge, my voice soft but insistent, as the weight of her power presses against me, making it hard to breathe.

She hesitates for a moment, the storm inside her not fully receding, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, she begins to draw in a long, steady breath. I hold my own, waiting, watching for any sign of change. As she exhales, I glance up once more, relief washing over me as the crack in the ceiling starts to fade, the tension in the air dissipating.

Her breathing slows, and with it, the magic that once surged uncontrollably begins to recede. But I stay close, my hands never leaving her arms, ready in case she needs me.