“Who are you?” Clair asked, her voice cautious, almost reverent.
The old woman didn’t answer at once. She studied Clair for a long moment, then spoke with a voice soft but filled with power. “There are answers, yes… but they will not come easily. What I must tell you stretches far beyond simple explanation. Sit. All of you.”
She turned her head slowly toward Helenia. “Prepare seats for our guests,” she said, her tone gentle yet commanding.
Helenia obeyed in silence. Clair sat close to the old woman, Ark taking his place on the other side. Per lowered herself into a wooden chair to Clair’s left, and Zach claimed the cushioned seat next to Per. No one spoke. The fire crackled in the silence, casting long, restless shadows against the stone walls. All eyes turned to the old woman, who seemed untouched by time.
“My name,” she began, “is Athaquira. Though that name has not been spoken aloud in an age. You may call me Atha, if you wish.” Her eyes, deep and unreadable, locked with Clair’s. “I'm an angthen, a very old one... I've walked this world for centuries beyond counting. So long, even the elders of the council themselves have buried me in myth.”
Her gaze drifted to the fire, and the light danced across her face like ghostly hands. “I was sent here by the will of the Father... to wait.” She leaned forward as her gaze drifted back to Clair. “I've waited for you.”
A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.
“It is you, Claireth. You are the final flame. And I was sent to guide you to the edge of your purpose.”
“The edge of my purpose?” Clair echoed, the confusion still clouding her voice.
Atha offered a faint, knowing smile. “Do you truly believe the Father used you only as a vessel, to bury Henthel’s darkest stains inside you?” She shook her head gently. “No, Claireth. You were chosen. You are more than you’ve been told.”
She leaned back into her chair, the firelight catching in her eyes. “That power within you, it wasn’t given as a burden, but as a weapon. It was meant for one purpose: to destroy the Devioth, the master of evil. In this world, they call it the devil.”
A moment of silence passed like a breath held too long.
“You’ve seen it… haven’t you?”
Clair lowered her gaze, fear flickering in her eyes. When she looked up again, that fear had turned to quiet desperation. “How am I supposed to use that power against it?” she asked, voice trembling. “I only have control over... maybe thirty percent of it.”
Atha drew a calm, measured breath. “If Helenia and Hivia could master it… then so can you.”
Clair turned toward the doorway. Helenia stood there, still and silent, her face unreadable, watching with eyes that had seen what Clair had not yet become.
“That war took a heavy toll on the Father - it drained him, indeed,” Atha said, her voice low, almost reverent. “But he is nothing if not wise. He knew what was coming. So he allowed his light to be spent, not in vain, but to bring you into being, and to bind the vast darkness within you.”
She let out a soft chuckle. “There’s an old saying among the Hivrins: ‘Let them taste their own medicine.’”
Then her expression grew serious as she turned back to Clair. “But you must understand… the road ahead is far from simple. And what I must tell you now—” she paused, voice lowering to a near whisper, “—can only be spoken in private.”
Per rose abruptly, her voice cutting through the air. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but like Clair said, we’re a team. If this concerns her, it concerns all of us. We deserve to know.”

YOU ARE READING
Divine & Wicked: The Wounded Souls (Book3)
Fantasy(Fantasy•Romance) COMPLETED Clair is locked away, and Zach is consumed by the grief of their separation. Both seem to have been punished for nothing more than their love. Is this the end? No. Determined to prove their innocence, Clair and Zach conti...