There were nights when dreams came in such vivid detail that when I woke, I was confused, forgetting for a fraction of a second that it was nothing more but a wisp of imagination. But everything was black now—inky blackness that reached for my wrists and ankles like wicked tentacles pulling me deeper and deeper and deeper—
Everything was silky and I was weightless. At first, I relished the feeling—treading my hands in what felt like water, letting it slip between my fingers like grains of sand—it was peaceful. But as quick as this spur of a moment came, invisible hands wrapped around my waist and like a stone sinking in an ocean, I plummeted. The darkness in my vision faded as my eyes were forced open and I choked, a stream of bubbles escaping past my lips. I didn't know what was happening, confusion invading my thoughts like a blur. Some would have said a normal human would die from the high pressure alone but I could only part my lips in a silent scream as water surged into my nostrils and throat, burning, burning, burning—
The light blinded my eyes and I gasped.
However, I was quickly silenced by a giggle. Then another, and another.
The laughter rippled across the hallway I stood in, ethereal and peculiar, rebounding on the walls to create an effect of many voices echoing together. However, I could feel my face remain straight and my feet start to move, walking forwards steadily. Not even my physical body seemed to have reacted and could have perhaps not noticed anything amiss.
Silence blanketed the surroundings and my boots clacked against the floor—every breath I exhaled, all seemed to sound noisier in this silence.
And that child's laughter never once disappeared. It was sometimes distant, as if it came from behind one of the doors that lined the walls; sometimes close, as if it was leaning over the edge of my head—
The hallway morphed and the incessant giggling grew louder and faster. Spinning and spinning and spinning—I clutched my head.
"Little human child..."
High-pitched and youthful, the child giggling had begun singing. At first, I'd thought nothing about it but if one was to listen closely enough, the voice was indeed not playful but hid ancient undertones—cold and malicious as though ice-tipped hands had grappled my mind.
"Little human child..."
But then the world spun and spun and I stood in the middle of it, watching as memories of my times with the faeries flickered by.
"Little human child in a world full of beasts..."
A smile, a ride under the golden crown of the heavens, a dip in a sun-touched lake...memories blitzed by and I observed with unfocused eyes before I looked away. A part of me wondered if I was glancing through someone else's memories and if it were mine, wondered why I had turned my back on it in shame.
"Full of tears..."
But no—not just memories I realised as I watched those joyous faces curl into sneers and frowns. Hatred rooted so deep that it had squeezed around their hearts shone through their eyes and I could only watch in terror and desperation as they turned away, never once looking back.
I wanted to stop watching, wanted to tear at my skin and pull at my hair, wanted to shake myself awake to make sure all of this was just a dream. But everything was spiralling—faster and faster and faster—
"Hands dripping with blood..."
The scene morphed again and then I was sprinting through the night, weaving between trees and bushes, eyes scrunched in pain—I stopped. Distant lights had appeared in the void of undergrowth that had consumed me. I started shaking. Those little lights had roared into monstrous flames and between them sheltered furious faces, jeering and laughing—the villagers. It was the nightmare that had happened four years ago.
Wave after wave of throbbing pain crashed against my mind, with it tearing little bits of the wall I had built to tuck away these memories. There was no warmth in this place. No happiness, no meaning, no life and my vision blurred. Giggling and giggling—I stumbled a step.
"Bind your senses and trust no one..."
But I had no control over my body, absolutely none, as a bow with an arrow notched materialised in my hands and I pulled. I blinked and—and it was as though I was staring at a mirror. The scene flashed again and I watched as a plume of blood splattered on the damp ground, then she, no, I fell, my body thumping silently against soil and leaves—never once rising and, and—
The giggling grew and grew and I could no longer hear the verses of the song. I couldn't breathe, wheezing and wheezing and—
***
My eyes flew open as I thrashed and squirmed. Too constricting—everything was closing around me and I was choking—
But my eyes had seen the golden arching rays pouring in from a window not too far away and realised...realised that the dark is far and ever lit by stars. It is the illumination that gives vivacious hues to this world of living art.
Real. Real and not a dream.
I bit my lip, letting the pain wash away any last remnants of haziness. Red snaked into my mouth and down my bottom lip, staining my tongue with the familiar taste of saltiness and iron. Before, there was nothing but my frantic heartbeat. But now...now...
Birds chirped merrily by the windowsill and the light scent of carnations swept into the room, licking my skin and dancing between strands of my hair. Each sense came back slap harder than the next, muddied and faint. This was reality. Pure, solid reality.
The confirmation and another deep breath were enough for me to try and move, turning away and feeling the cotton sheets beneath crunch under my movement. My body was stiff and sore as I flipped over on the bed but surprise caught me off guard and I flinched when I came face to face with a glowing magical array. As if noticing my apprehensive reaction, the array caster came to gently lift his enchantment, rising from his deep meditation.
I couldn't move—didn't dare to move as those spheres of amber depths peered dazedly at me, looking very much exhausted before he seemed to have realised I was awake and straightened—eyes brightening.
"Eleena," he breathed out.
The man had struck out to grip my wrist, but faltered at the last moment and retreated. I stared—dumbfounded—at where he had almost touched me before glancing at him again.
Phoebus is on the side of the bed, leaned over me and we stared at each other—neither of us saying a word. Under the radiant glow of the sun's grace, his sun-kissed skin seemed to have lost its colour a little, bags dragging under his eyes, hair tussled and clothes rumpled. He almost looked as exhausted as I was.
But when he smiled, eyes curving into crescents and his face aglow with exuberant relief—it was only then did all my worries about this being a fabricated fantasy melt away. Because there was no smile in the world which shone as brightly as his—even brighter than all the gold and precious metals one could find in a lifetime.
"You're awake," he whispered.
I nodded dumbly, still too in shock to be able to roll words off my tongue. But as if a spell had been suddenly broken between the two of us, Phoebus was the first to turn away, fumbling with something on the oak nightstand before he faced me once more.
In his hands was a small porcelain bowl, its contents sloshing around and smelling like heaven. My stomach was yelling at me to eat it, my starvation rising amidst the myriad of other physical pains and heavy mental exhaustions. But I can't accept it—at least not with my guilty conscience that loomed like a titan in the back of my mind. I didn't know if Phoebus had noticed it. If anyone had noticed it at all as soon as I had stepped foot into Asteria.
Deep inside me screams a voice that commands me to tell them but I muffled it with my hands—burying it behind walls and walls of locked-up memories and secrets, hoping that it would one day fade away.
"Here, I realised you might be hungry," he said and leaned against white cotton sheets, grabbing a spoonful.
But looking at the fatigue marring his youthful face, I shook my head best I can while trying not to look at the gloriously rich liquid, my mouth already watering. I raised my arms a little and pushed towards him, each movement strained and painful. I hadn't dared to open my mouth just yet, not trusting my words to flow out smoothly. But Phoebus chuckled and only inched closer, lifting the spoon to my lips.
"Come on, I know you're starving. Stop being so stubborn and open up," he teased and I tensed.
That tone again. As if I was worth his pampering and caring. As if my little human life was worth something in this world full of so many spectacular and wondrous things. But I shook my head again and pinched my lips together in a frown, raising one arm to his chest—jabbing a little.
"Fine." He smirked. "I'll agree to your terms if you take just a spoonful."
He-
My arms are limp by my sides and my legs like bricks, having used up all the energy I had left to poke him. I could only let out a string of incoherent, feverish curses and protests. I glanced at him again under long eyelashes and peeled open my mouth a little, feeling heat creep up my neck and rise to my cheeks and ears.
Soup slips in too quickly for me to protest again, warmth slithering down my throat.
And it's delicious.
An earthly, rich taste with a salty undertone. After being poisoned and worn down, this was a cry worthy.
I must have looked funny, melting under the taste of the soup because Phoebus smiled a little and goes back for another spoonful.
But I shook my head again. "No need."
A strange raspy croak had crawled its way past my lips and I blushed again in embarrassment.
"Don't strain yourself to talk if you're feeling uncomfortable," Phoebus said, placing the uneaten bowl of soup away. "A great amount of poison had entered your circulatory system and if we'd not found you sooner, I'm afraid you wouldn't have survived when it reached your heart."
"What..." I propped myself up against the pillows. "What happened?"
Phoebus straightened a bit—then relaxed as if my response was something he had wanted to hear. "You...don't remember?"
I frowned but quickly shook my head. I couldn't inform them of what I had done that night, even if it meant I would have to live with a shadow over my heart for the rest of my life. The guilt was too heavy and there was no doubt I would be killed instantly when they've learnt the truth. All my hard work would've gone to waste.
He sighed. "It's alright if you don't remember. A slight memory loss and hallucinations are some side effects when poisoned with Night Sought Obsidian Armour's venom. For faeries, the side effects do not affect us as much but mortals...well, let's say it's never happened before so we're unsure as to what would occur."
"Night Sought Obsidian Armour?"
Phoebus grunted before responding. "One of the four ancient beasts that had been the guardians of their respective quarters of Asteria."
When I'd only peered at him with curious eyes, he added, "Night Sought Obsidian Armour was the one in charge of guarding the northeastern border between Asteria and the Northic Ocean. The Materik controlled Asteria back then, leading the two primordial Imperial Lords to decide to break free of the Materik's stronghold through their combined powers and forces. We call that the Age of Constellations."
"I don't understand," I said plainly, feeling my brows furrowing. "I thought Asteria had always been one country by itself. I've never heard of the Materik and the Age of Constellations before and what about the Zargans? Weren't they the protectors of the land before faeries came to be?"
His eyes twinkled—obviously amused by my curiosity. "This was before the Zargans had turned their backs on the world. Asteria was the piece of 'holy land' the Mother had gifted to the world and she had appointed the Zargans to be the priests and protectors of this treasure. But their greed was overwhelming and that was their downfall. Following this, she created us, the fae, but granted a little more power to two of us to be the new keepers of the holy land. To you mortals, you would know them as the Imperial Lords. But as time passed, mortals and faeries from the Materik alike were envious of those who lived on the holy land and waged a war to claim it. This was when Asteria was formed and the Mother had created the Four Guardians to guard its borders."
Unknowingly, I had let out a silent 'oh' and looking at my perplexed face, Phoebus laughed, hearty and deep. "Don't worry, even if I had centuries to study Asteria's history I wouldn't have been able to understand it all."
Some part of me was bursting with more questions but...well, he was right, and I had to agree that my short life would probably not be enough to learn it all.
But as though a thunderstorm loomed over him, a molten silver sky quenching the earth cocooned in black, Phoebus's face darkened. "However, I still don't understand why he had suddenly appeared, even taking the risk of poisoning you. It's unnatural for him to show himself in front of anyone, much less humans."
"I can't remember much of that night but I don't remember seeing him clearly," I lied and tugged at the sleeves of the nightgown someone had dressed me in. "Maybe it's not Night Sought Obsidian Armour."
I couldn't look at him, couldn't quite face him when I knew I was lying through my teeth, hoping he wouldn't notice. I could only fiddle with the frills at the end of the sleeves, admiring the handwoven designs of flowers and bees and birds.
Phoebus's face was still dark but he forced a sharp exhale. "It was the Obsidian Armour Gatekeeper. I saw it with my own two eyes." A growl. "The poison in your body is just another piece of evidence. It took me three days and three nights just to expel most of it."
No wonder he looked so haggard and drained. Sleepless nights and prolonged days had kept him from other matters.
Parting my lips, I was about to suggest for him to rest but the door burst open--banging against the wall and leaving a cobweb of cracks in its wake.
Like a tremendous roar, I flinched from the sound alone and watched as the birds dallying on the tree next to the window fluttered off in fright—squawking.
A figure, too quick for me to see, dashed in and stopped by the foot of the bed and it was only then when I realised who it was.
Blond hair knotted and wind-blown, Kallistê had rushed into the room and beelined straight to Phoebus, not seeming to have noticed me. Yet, as soon as I'd thought I could turn invisible and ignore whatever conversation they were about to have, a second hadn't passed before her head snapped towards me, irritable and impatient.
She blinked at me once, and I watched those full lips crease into a line of dissatisfaction.
"Oh, you're awake," she said bluntly and didn't spare me a second glance before turning back to address Phoebus.
The temperature had dropped the second those eyes laid on me and I couldn't help let a shiver crawl up my spine. It was the kind of glare that brought an expansion of cold emptiness, the kind which reminded me of pruned numb fingers and the frigid dampness that moved into our little cottage during winter—rising up the walls, black and wet, like cancer.
Phoebus also had his eyes trained on the anxious form of Kallistê, waiting. Both of us were waiting.
With one last displeased glimpse threw my way, Kallistê bowed into a shallow curtsey. "My lord," she greeted, a bit breathless but controlled, "a few words in private, if you please."
She gestured to the doorway leading into the main corridor. Phoebus nodded and rose to follow her, Kallistê herself already disappearing past the doorframe. But he stopped, as if forgetting something and whipped around, hastily tossing me his best apologetic smile—the same one I would have used to feign contrition when I was little and overslept on a school day.
"Go," I said. "I'll be fine."
And so he did.
With a faint click and a sluggish air of loneliness enveloping me, I sighed deeply and sank into the pillows, pulling the covers up to my chin. I couldn't help but think Kallistê's reaction being a little abnormal, as if we'd just met and she'd known there was something off about me. Although through the times we've spent together I've learnt to caution her slight eccentric character and mood swings, this was different.
There was an abyss of hostility between us, and some part of me felt as though no matter how many planks I laid out in my path to try and cross this abyss, it would continue to stretch and stretch until it was impossible to reach the other side. And the way she had addressed Phoebus so formally—I rubbed my eyes. There was something peculiar happening here be it Kallistê herself or whatever they were discussing this instant.
Thinking nothing of it at first, a faint warmth bloomed in my left fist. Hotter and hotter it grew and pain cracks up my arm, winding me, binding me. But I felt not much pain, maybe. I didn't know. I didn't know my body anymore after the scars that had branded me these past years. I'd grown accustomed to it. But still, I dragged out my left arm with effort and released the tight clasp of my fingers.
All stood still. I couldn't move, couldn't blink, couldn't breathe because what lay on my palm should not have been still with me. It was supposed to be left behind, crushed, torn apart into a million pieces in that labyrinth but here it was, looking perfectly intact as those black petals burned like an ever-lasting ember in my hand.
I'd clearly remembered that I'd dropped the black milkweed in the maze but that person, no, I didn't know what they were but they had heeded my calls and possibly picked it up after I fell unconscious. My relief didn't last long though as I caught on hushed voices wafting through the door.
"But My Lord...casualties too high...magic doesn't do much damage...no time..."
This was, of course, Kallistê. I tossed open the covers pressing down on me and rose to stand, knees wobbling and trembling at the hasty transfer of weight. One step, then two before I pressed myself against the polished wood, the cool surface like a breath of fresh air to my sticky heated body as I strained my ears to listen.
Kallistê continued to press. "...ancient evil cloaks them...faces obscured...nothing like I've ever seen before."
"How much more time?" Phoebus's said darkly, tenseness evident in his tone. I dared not breathe too loudly but couldn't stop a sharp inhale at how he seemed to have aged by centuries with just that tone. This wasn't the carefree Phoebus who'd fed me soup, but rather an Imperial Lord who'd witnessed too many things through the years.
Silence rang in my ears.
Then, footsteps.
Like the steady beat of a drum—thud, thud, thud—it was obvious who was walking away.
"Wait," Kallistê pleaded, and the footsteps stopped. He waited.
"If there's nothing left to report, then leave," he said. "I need time to think."
"There is something I need to tell My Lord before he takes his leave," Kallistê admitted and I could already imagine Phoebus pivoting to face her. The soundproof barrier spell they'd cast had long since faded.
"Go on."
"My Lord needs to understand that even though this may not seem like it's important but—"
"I've already told you, Kallistê," Phoebus interrupted firmly, "if it is not important, do not bother me with minor details. If it's something related to Elanor's army, report to Oberon. He has returned from the western border is currently resting in his chambers. He'll know what to do."
"But My Lord," Kallistê cried and I could tell Phoebus's patience was wearing thin, "this advisor begs you to listen. Those attackers...they're mortals!"