VISION ✔️ || The Keepers of Astraela #1

35.1 || Of Glass Eyes and Secret Recipes

MYSTIA

THE WALK BACK TO THE TAVERN was excruciating. Moving at no more than a crawl, Mystia had lost all track of time when she finally spotted Sylvan's massive trunk, silhouetted by ornate lamps in the distance.

At least her creation had made it back in one piece.

She only wished she could say the same for herself. As someone who never fussed over pain, taking their journey at a sloth's speed only worsened her discomfort. The extended time on her feet heightened the burning agony that engulfed her left side. Even when she tried to quicken her steps, she couldn't keep up the pace without growing increasingly unstable—though she was unsure if her struggle to walk was due to the weakness of her legs or whatever had happened to her sight.

Bobbi hadn't made mention of her left eye, but Mystia could only imagine its condition. While her current companion tried not to stare, Emrys hadn't been able to stop himself, and his incessant, panic-driven thought spiral told her it was more than a minor wound. Though a quick shot from one of the lesser healing tonics in her satchel had stopped the bleeding, she knew stronger assistance would be crucial.

Hellfire was not a beast to mess with, and her lack of sight was plenty enough cause for concern.

It had begun with blankness in her left eye. Over time, colorful flashes sparked across her vision and burst with chaotic fury. Nausea poured over her in waves, adding to the miserable mix of symptoms Emrys' powers had inflicted. The effect was curious. Not at all the blindness she would've expected.

"There," said Mystia, pointing to the treeline wrapped around the tavern's rear. "Go through those trees."

Bobbi wasted no time guiding her through a thin space between the trees and through the back door.

The Elysian Lily's warmth and light were more than welcome, but Mystia was unable to breathe a sigh of relief. It wasn't from the pain, nor the inability to see from her left eye. It was the kitchen in all its spotless glory.

"What's wrong?" asked Bobbi.

"Vesryn had this place a dump before I left."

Bobbi looked at her as if she'd spoken another tongue. "...and?"

Mystia recalled Eva's painful attempts at organization and the tornado-like mess that plagued her quarters. "Unless your friend is a closet neat freak, something is very wrong. Tread lightly."

Mystia nudged her companion forward with a sharp elbow. They moved with an even more painstaking gait as she surveyed the space, but the constant flashing colors in her left eye made it impossible to distinguish signs of trouble.

As they approached the faux pantry door, a hollow rattle echoed in the silence. Bobbi whipped around at the noise, yanking Mystia with her. Despite the part of her that wanted to snap a threat at the startled woman, Mystia gritted her teeth and listened intently. One elongated ear twitched as it picked up clanging within the stainless-steel oven.

Ignoring Bobbi's protests, Mystia shook from her hold and reached for the nearby island with her good hand, keeping the other firmly tucked against her chest. She made her way toward the oven, where a shadowed object pounded against the door's tempered glass. Lowering herself to her knees, Mystia snatched the handle and yanked it open, only to be greeted by a decapitated elven head.

Vesryn.

Dried, silver ichor flaked from his neck, and as he strained to make noise, fresh metallic blood dribbled from serrated veins. Mystia rubbed at her already-throbbing temples.