Sylas stares at his hands. They tremble. His breath is heavy, his energy nearly depleted. Every muscle in his body screams for rest, but he cannot afford to give in. Not now. Not here.

  “Of course, I always have an ace up my sleeve,” says the Solniw. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning provocatively at Rasha Vane.

  Rasha Vane grits his teeth, his eyes burning with rage—not at Sylas, but at me.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” His gaze pierces through my soul. “Why, in the name of Varkas Rhaen, was the Sonatius Mortaeda promised to the Elindine of Losnat?”

  I remember what Sylas told me earlier: Every Elindine swears by the name of their village’s founder. In Arenath, it is Nairis Solthea. In Solnya, Rhovan Ardelon. And in Losnat? I doubt anyone there still remembers Keldor Entium, the true founder. His name has likely faded into oblivion. Instead, they probably now swear by Velris Entium—his treacherous sister.

  Sylas glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes gleaming with admiration, with pride. He sees that we have a chance. That there is still hope to survive this fight. But how is he still standing? Where does he find this strength?

  “We have to intervene,” Mirael whispers beside me, her face tense with worry. “I have to intervene.”

  “You know what he said.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “We cannot interfere. He values our lives above his own.”

  Mirael bites her lip. “He may have promised you his life,” she says softly, yet with unwavering determination. Our eyes meet. “But I don’t need a promise to always place his life above mine. That is the meaning of my feelings for him.”

  Then she takes a step forward—and I grab her arm. She tries to pull away, but in that moment, we both freeze.

  All around us, between our group and the Sualtier, more figures emerge. Their armor is black as the night. Their presence is ominous.

  Rasha Vane eyes them with narrowed eyes, his tone laced with suspicion. “Ah, so the Velsothier wish to join the fight?”

  The Elindine from Velsoth?

  What are they doing here? Velsoth is still two hours away. Why have they traveled so far?

  One of them steps forward. A woman. Her voice is calm but hard as steel. “This territory falls under the rule of our leader, Rhea Varne.”

  My gaze shifts to her. Her face remains hidden, shrouded in the darkness of her armor. What kind of person lies beneath it? In the human world, they say that a single glance is enough to see another’s true intentions. But this time, that glance is denied to me.

  Rasha Vane chuckles quietly. “Oh, is that so?” He doesn’t take her seriously. He doesn’t take any of them seriously. “For people who claim authority here, you sure let us fight for quite a while. Why?”

  The Velsothier woman repeats her words, unfazed. “This territory falls under the rule of our leader, Rhea Varne. State your name.”

  Rasha Vane shrugs and grins broadly. “The Destroyer of Worlds: Rasha Vane.”

  The Elindine remains unimpressed. “Rasha Vane of Cata Sualti.” She pauses for a moment. “Very well. We will inform Korrik Vathar of your violation. Take them all captive.”

  Rasha blinks, then bursts into laughter. “Wait a minute—”

  He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. The Sualtier around him draw their weapons, ready to fight, but it’s useless. The Velsothier are superior.

  At first, there were only seven of them. Now, suddenly, there are two dozen.

  But we… we are not their enemies. Why are they targeting us as well?

  I see the Velsothier moving. My gaze searches for Sylas. He recognizes the danger, wants to run to me—but it’s too late.

  Something unseen grabs me, a dark force pulling me away.

  Then, the darkness swallows me whole.

  A dull pain throbs in my skull, as if something heavy is echoing through my thoughts. A thick, sluggish fog clouds my mind. I feel myself slowly rising from the darkness, my consciousness struggling through the dense void.

  My head is buzzing. I force myself to blink—once, twice. But my eyelids are heavy, as if trying to drag me back into unconsciousness. Only after several attempts do I manage to keep them open.

  Slowly, I push myself up. The air is cool, a gentle breeze brushing against my skin, carrying the scent of grass and something unfamiliar. As my vision clears, I realize I am in a completely different place than before.

  Beneath me stretches an endless meadow, the grass soft and glowing faintly in the silvery light. The blades sway in the wind like a whispering sea, stretching to the horizon—vast and surreal.

  Above me lies a night sky unlike anything I have ever seen. Countless stars shimmer in deep, radiant light—not just as distant points but as glowing constellations, adorning the heavens like ancient symbols, as if telling the story of a long-forgotten past. And then I see them.

  Three moons.

  They hang in the sky like silent sentinels, enormous and foreign. But strangely, there is something else. Something that shouldn’t be there. Three suns. They overshadow the moons, as if consuming them, as if the night itself is trapped within their light.

  A suffocating feeling rises in my chest. I have read about this… a solar eclipse. But never like this. Not like this.

  What does it mean?

  This isn’t the real world. The Velsothier took me captive. The last thing I remember is the battle, the voices, the chaos. And now?

  Am I dreaming?

  Or have I stumbled into something far beyond a mere dream?

  Slowly, I sit up. The dampness of the grass has already seeped into my clothes. I feel the fabric clinging to my leg, heavy and cold. A shiver runs across my skin, but I ignore it. Instead, I let my gaze wander across the endless expanse. No trees, no animals, no signs of life. Only the silence of nature—deep and all-encompassing.

  “Where am I?” My own voice sounds foreign, hollow in this soundless world. I turn slowly, trying to take in every corner of my surroundings.

  Then—a tremor.

  At first, it’s faint, barely noticeable, then suddenly violent. The ground vibrates beneath my feet, as if it were breathing, pulsing. A deep rumble reaches my ears, so low that it echoes in my chest.

  What is happening?

  Before I can take a step, the world around me begins to fade. The air flickers, wavers, as if dissolving. Sounds pierce through the void—muffled, but urgent. Voices.

  “Vespera!”

  A call, distant at first, then louder. Louder. Until I blink and find myself staring into Sylas’ eyes.

  He exhales sharply. “By Rhovan Ardelon, she’s alive!”

  Beside him stands Mirael, visible relief on her face. My gaze shifts—to the cold iron bars on my left. A cell. Captivity.

  I move my hand—a faint clinking sound. My eyes lower to the chains wrapped around my wrists and ankles. Heavy, rough, impossible to ignore. Sylas and Mirael only wear handcuffs.

  “Why do you only have handcuffs?” My voice is fragile, my head pounding.

  Sylas sighs. “Your hair gave you away immediately. I warned you. There are few in Elindros brave enough to face someone from Losnat without weapons.”

  “But I am not the enemy!”

  “We will stand before Rhea Varne soon.” His voice is calm but tense. “They wanted to see if you would regain consciousness. Vespera, I truly believed you were dead. You had no pulse for three minutes.”

  No pulse? My stomach tightens. I… was dead?

  “You wove my thoughts, didn’t you?” Sylas’ gaze is intense, almost pleading. Mirael stiffens beside him. “You know only advanced Losniw can do that! Those were your own words! Why did you do it anyway?”

  “Because you would have died otherwise!”

  Silence.

  Sylas struggles for the right words. “But… that’s not what our blood pact stands for! I am supposed to sacrifice my life for yours!”

  “I didn’t want Mirael to lose someone else she loves because of me.”

  Mirael stares at me, her turquoise eyes widening. I can see the memories flooding through her—the things she once said. That she doesn’t need a promise to die for the one she loves.

  I had believed that my feelings for Sylas… were love. But Mirael has proven me wrong. What she feels for him runs deeper, is stronger, unshakable.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “After all the insults…” Mirael’s voice is barely a whisper. “…you still cared about me?”

  I look at her. Her hair, a cascade of pale blue, falls over her shoulders, shimmering in the dim light of the cell. When we first met, she was nothing more than a stranger to me—and yet, beautiful. She has made mistakes, let her anger guide her. But in the end, she is just a girl. Seventeen years old. A teenager. Just like me.

  How did we end up here?

  I swallow hard. “I know I’m responsible for your mother’s death.” My voice nearly breaks. “But I never wanted Solnya to suffer this pain. I never wanted Rasha Vane to…”

  The words catch in my throat. I don’t want to seem weak. Not in front of her. She hated me, and I tried to hate her in return. But I can’t.

  I could never willingly hurt someone.

  Then, before either of us can say anything else, the silence is shattered.

  “Our leader, Rhea Varne, is expecting you.”

  The voice belongs to a Velsothier. His black armor gleams in the dim light, and at his side hangs a weapon that pulses like a living being—a whip made of shadows.

  “Where are Rasha Vane and the other Sualtier?” I ask quietly.

  A sharp crack makes me flinch. The Velsothier’s whip lashes down, stopping mere inches from my feet.

  “How dare you, as a prisoner, speak without permission?” His voice is dangerously quiet.

  I open my mouth to respond—but Mirael quickly presses a hand over my lips, while Sylas speaks in a placating tone. “We apologize. Our friend is… impulsive.”

  The Velsothier studies me, then tightens his grip on the whip. Because of his full helmet, I can’t see his expression. But I know it isn’t friendly. “She’s lucky she caught me on a good day. Kneel, girl, and beg for forgiveness.”

  I feel Sylas’ gaze on me. I understand. We have no choice.

  Slowly, I sink to my knees, keeping my head bowed. Not out of respect—but because I know that any mistake here could have consequences.

  “Forgive my disrespect…” I don’t even know what exactly I’m apologizing for.

  “Stand up, girl.”

  His armor clinks softly as he gestures for me to rise.

  This Elindine is different from anyone I’ve encountered in Elindros so far. The Sualti are bloodthirsty and ruthless—there is no doubt about that. But this man… he believes himself above us. As if we are nothing more than pests causing him inconvenience. If all Velsothier treat outsiders this way, our time in Velsoth will be anything but pleasant. The very fact that their leader, Rhea Varne, has imprisoned us is not a good sign. And where are Rasha Vane and the other Sualtier?

  Silently, we follow the Elindine, his armor clinking with every step—the only sound filling my senses for the next few minutes. My sight is of little use; the corridors—if that’s what these are—are shrouded in total darkness. When Sylas said this village had never seen sunlight, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

  Suddenly, a door opens.

  In the next moment, I feel a firm grip on my shoulders. Sylas and Mirael fare no better—I hear their startled gasps, sense the sudden tension in the air. Then two more hands reach for my face.

  Before I can react, my eyelids are forced open. Something is pressed roughly against my eyes. A sharp pain shoots through me. I start to tear up.

  “What the…? What is that stuff?” I hiss, rubbing my burning eyes.

  “In a few seconds, your vision will adjust to the Veleis,” a cool, female voice states.

  We immediately fall silent, turning toward the source of the voice.

  “It will help you avoid bumping into every wall in our village.”

  Soft laughter echoes around us. Several Elindine stand in a circle—are we surrounded? Are the Velsothier our enemies, or just overly suspicious?

  “Are you Rhea Varne?” Sylas asks, tense but polite. “Forgive our conduct in your territory. After the sudden ambush by the Sualtier, I could not surrender my companions without a fight.”

  “Most noble, Sylas Velqorin, son of the Legate of the Elements,” the voice replies. “Open your eyes. Or do you not trust your own senses?”

  Hesitantly, I blink—and the darkness recedes. Suddenly, I can see everything clearly: a vast throne room with a ceiling that seems to stretch endlessly high. On either side, countless Velsothier stand in their black armor. A long, black carpet runs down the length of the hall, embroidered with a repeating motif—a figure bending white shadows. And at the far end, on an elevated platform, sits… a child.

  A young girl, her small frame almost swallowed by the massive throne. She sits cross-legged, one cheek resting against her fist, studying us with curiosity.

  The Veleis they forced into my eyes without my consent has long since fused with my body—I no longer feel it. But as my brain struggles to process the sudden flood of details, I realize: The voice came from her. No, that can’t be right.

  Is she the leader’s daughter? Where is Rhea Varne? I heard her voice!

  “Vespera Entium,” the girl says, and I see her lips move. SHE is Rhea Varne?

  “You seem confused,” she continues, her expression unreadable. “Were you not treated well by my people?”

  I pull myself together, shaking my head hastily. My thoughts drift to the Velsothier who brought us here. I can’t afford a misstep—not in front of her soldiers.

  “Of course, your…,” I begin, then falter. How does one address a leader? Especially a child at the head of an entire village?

  “Rhea will suffice,” she says tonelessly.

  The gathered Velsothier’s gazes are fixed on me. They watch, waiting to see how I will behave in their leader’s presence. Should I follow her wishes or address her with a title regardless?

  “You are wary,” Rhea Varne observes. I have to force myself to take her seriously. She’s a child! How am I supposed to address her? “Why? I had the young Velqorin treated, did I not?”

  Startled, my eyes dart to Sylas. I search for the wounds he sustained in his fight against Rasha Vane—but instead, I see clean bandages. He was actually treated. In all the chaos, I had completely forgotten how bad his injuries were.

  So… are the Velsothier not our enemies after all? Or is this just a well-laid trap?

  “I thank you for your kindness, Rhea,” Sylas says politely, addressing her as she wished. “And forgive Vespera. She has not been in Elindros long and does not yet understand our customs. That is why her gaze often appears… questioning.”

  Only as he speaks these words does he realize his mistake. He has revealed something he shouldn’t have—my origin. Now Rhea Varne knows that I am not from this world. That I have a purpose.

  “That the Tenth Vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda stands before me was something I had already suspected,” she says calmly.

  Her voice, her demeanor—none of it matches her youthful face. Her black hair barely reaches her earlobes, giving her an almost delicate appearance. But her violet eyes… there is a coldness in them that does not belong to a child.

  I study her curiously, not even bothering to hide it. The leader of the Velsothier idly twirls a strand of her black hair.

  “It is highly unusual to see an Elindine with silver hair,” Rhea remarks. “We have not seen a Losniw in this region for many years—let alone outside of Losnat.”

  “Why does everyone insist that my hair is silver?” I ask, frowning in confusion. “For as long as I can remember, my hair has been white as snow.”

  “Not quite, Vespera Entium,” the girl counters, snapping her fingers.

  A woman steps forward from the crowd. Unlike the others, she wears no armor—only black fabric trousers and a matching white blouse. Her hands are clad in black leather gloves, and in her right hand, she holds a mirror. Her long black hair is tied into a high ponytail, yet it still reaches down to her back. She must be in her late twenties—of remarkable beauty.

  With graceful steps, she approaches me and holds out the mirror.

  “Your hair, Vespera Entium,” Rhea says calmly. “Since your arrival in Elindros, it has taken on the original color of the Losniw. Have you not noticed?”

  I stare into the mirror—and my heart skips a beat.

  My hair has changed. The snow-white color I have known all my life has faded into a soft silver. And my eyes—they shine brighter than before. A pale gray.

  Sylas, too, looks at me in surprise. If even he hadn’t noticed, how could I have?

  “It seems someone placed a protective enchantment on you,” Rhea muses. “Or something similar. Something that prevented you from being found.”

  I tear my gaze away from the mirror. “What do you mean?”

  Who could be responsible for this? My mother, after she burdened me with her fate? Or the Sonatius Mortaeda himself? When will I finally meet this entity—this shadow that has shaped my entire life?

  Rhea crosses her arms. “I already suspected that the Tenth Vessel of Sonatius Mortaeda could not be in Elindros,” she says. Then she turns to the man beside her. “Advisor Selric Thorne—how exactly is it announced in Elindros when a new Vessel has been chosen?”

  The man at Rhea’s right side steps forward. His black armor gleams with a dark green shimmer—a mark of his rank. Of course, he is her advisor. Someone who must stand apart from the sea of black armor. Just as Lord Louweris in the human world serves as the right hand of King Mukuta Valdyris. A man who claimed the right to make me his wife—without ever asking for my consent.

  Selric Thorne removes his helmet. Sleek black hair comes into view, shaved at the sides and braided into a plait at the back. A deep scar runs from his right ear down to his chin. It does not mar his face—but it tells a story. What kind of story?

  His eyes, as deep blue as the night sky, regard me with the same cool detachment as the leader before him. There is mistrust in his gaze. And yet… also curiosity.

  “Three moons shine in the sky at the birth of a Vessel, my leader,” Selric Thorne says with measured respect. “So it was on that night eighteen years ago, when the Fifth Life awakened in Elindros.”

  The Fifth Life in Elindros? Do they mean the fifth month? Do they mean… my birth month?

  “A few days ago, something rare happened in the night sky.” Selric Thorne speaks with the composed, deliberate tone of a man accustomed to his words carrying weight. Rhea Varne exchanges a glance with him—a silent conversation, a flicker of unspoken meaning.

  “Perhaps only for the briefest moment,” he continues. “But it was enough for a handful of Elindine to witness it.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. The advisor’s gaze remains locked onto me, unwavering and piercing. A moment of silence stretches between us—heavy, like a storm cloud before the first lightning strike.

  “Alongside the two moons that watch over Elindros each night, a third appeared for a fleeting instant.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “A weak, flickering light, like a torch on the verge of burning out.”

  Rhea steps forward, her presence as assured as that of a ruler who knows that her words alone can shape the world.

  “My loyal advisor and the Shadow Shield of the Throne of Velsoth, Selric Thorne, reported this event to me.” Her voice is soft, yet unyielding. “His family has carried this title for generations. ‘Thorne’ originates from our ancient language—a language that once wove through all of Elindros but was lost with the unification of the human world.”

  Her words puzzle me. I try to follow her train of thought, but it feels as though I am reaching for a thread that dissolves between my fingers. “You are confusing me, Rhea,” I admit at last. My gaze rests on her—this girl who holds more knowledge than I ever will.

  “One thousand years ago,” she explains, “Elindros spoke a language different from our own—so different that we could barely understand it today.” She leans back slightly, as if momentarily lost in that distant past. “A time when neither you nor I existed. The Nexari—the realm between worlds, which you had to pass through—was sealed off from all dimensions for millennia. But then there was a man. Toric Zhaeris, the founder of Tharvokai, the village of the Pulse Masters.”

  I feel my curiosity ignite like fire in my chest, yet I still cannot grasp her intent.

  “It is said he searched all of Elindros for a cure. Not for himself, but for his wife, Sariah Zhaeris—a Syvrali.” Rhea lifts her chin, and her voice carries an unusual weight. “You know what it means to be a Syvrali. Their life fades with every vision they see. Their fate is cruel, yet the king of that time understood their worth. Many were brought to the kingdom to serve the crown.”

  I nod slowly. Yes, I can all too well imagine how little that king cared for their lives.

  “Back then, there were no Solniws or Losniws. The Elindros of that era was a different world.”

  I feel my muscles tense. “Why are you telling me this?” My voice is quieter, more cautious than before.

  But Rhea doesn’t answer my question. She continues as though the story must be told, as though it is inevitable, whether I understand it or not.

  "Toric Zhaeris could not find what he sought in Elindros. And so, he did the impossible: He broke through the barrier to the Nexari." Her voice is now barely more than a whisper. “No one knows how he did it, only that after his act, nothing was the same. It is said that through his deed, the Sonatius Mortaeda found his way to Elindros.”

  A cold shiver runs down my spine. I know that name. I have heard it countless times before. But the way she speaks it sends a chill through me.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” I hear the tremor in my own voice, and it frightens me. Frightens me that I might be crossing a line with my words, asking questions that should not be asked.

  Rhea pauses. For the first time, she seems aware of my unease. Then, with a slight smile, almost playful, she says, “Forgive me. I sometimes lose myself in old stories.”

  She slowly rises from her throne.

  “You must understand... sometimes, one single decision is all it takes to change everything. Had Toric Zhaeris not entered the Nexari that day, you would not be standing before me now, Vespera Entium.”

  My heart races. My name on her lips feels like a promise—or a threat.

  “What do you want from me?”

  A smile flickers across her lips.

  “Peace.”