The campfire crackled softly, its embers glowing faintly against the dark night sky. Elara sat in silence, her thoughts tangled with worry and regret. Marcus's words echoed in her mind, sharp and biting. She could still see the frustration etched on his face, the hurt in his voice when he spoke of feeling overshadowed. He had always been so confident, so sure of himself. To see him unravel like this unsettled her more than the trials they had faced.
Garrick remained by her side, his presence a steady comfort in the midst of her turmoil. He didn't press her to speak, sensing the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Isolde, too, had remained quiet, though her sharp eyes missed nothing. She had seen the tension between Elara and Marcus growing over the past few days, and tonight it had finally erupted.
After what felt like an eternity, Garrick broke the silence. "He'll be back," he said quietly, his voice low and soothing. "Marcus just needs time to process everything. This journey has tested all of us in ways we didn't expect."
Elara nodded, but the knot in her chest didn't loosen. "I never wanted him to feel like this," she murmured. "I thought we were a team—that we were stronger together. But it feels like the closer we get to the artifact, the more everything falls apart."
Garrick turned toward her, his gaze steady. "We are stronger together, Elara. But the trials have pushed us to our limits. Marcus has always been proud of his strength, his magic. When the temple rejected him, it shook him. He feels like he's lost something important."
Elara stared into the fire, her mind racing. "But why me? Why is it always me who the temple responds to? I don't understand what's happening."
"It's because of who you are," Garrick said gently. "The temple recognized your lineage, your connection to the Ancients. You were chosen for a reason, Elara. But that doesn't mean the rest of us aren't important. Marcus just needs to see that."
She sighed, resting her chin on her knees. "I don't know how to make him see it. I feel like I've already lost him."
"You haven't," Garrick assured her, his hand resting on her shoulder. "He just needs time. We all do."
But Elara wasn't so sure. Marcus's anger had been simmering beneath the surface for days, and now that it had boiled over, she didn't know how to bridge the gap between them. She couldn't lose him—not now, not when they were so close to finding the artifact.
"I'll talk to him," she said finally, her voice resolute. "Once he's had time to cool off, I'll try to make him understand."
Garrick nodded, though his expression remained serious. "Just be careful, Elara. Marcus's pride is wounded, and that can be dangerous. Don't push too hard."
"I won't," she promised, though in her heart, she wasn't sure what more she could say to heal the rift between them.
---
As the night wore on, Elara tried to sleep, but her mind refused to quiet. Each time she closed her eyes, Marcus's words played over and over in her head, filling her with doubt and guilt. She turned restlessly in her bedroll, staring up at the stars through the gaps in the trees. What had started as a quest for the artifacts had become something much more complicated, and now the weight of her heritage felt heavier than ever.
The vision she had seen in the temple—the image of her mother making the pact with the Ancients—haunted her. Aeloria had been so young, yet so resolute. The power she had gained had saved their kingdom, but at what cost? Elara could feel the echoes of that decision in her own life now, the responsibility of carrying that same burden pressing down on her.
What if Marcus was right? What if this journey was never meant to be about them as a group? What if it was all about her, and the others were just caught in the crossfire of her destiny? The thought made her stomach churn with unease. She didn't want to be the sole focus, the chosen one. She needed her friends, her allies—but it seemed the magic of the Ancients had other plans.
Finally, unable to bear the weight of her thoughts any longer, Elara rose quietly from her bedroll. She needed to clear her head, to breathe in the cool night air and let the silence of the forest calm her racing mind. She glanced over at Garrick, who was sleeping soundly beside her. Isolde was on watch, sitting cross-legged by the fire with her eyes half-closed, though Elara knew she was alert to every sound in the darkness.
Careful not to wake the others, Elara slipped into the forest, her feet moving silently over the moss-covered ground. She didn't go far, just far enough to feel the tension in her chest loosen as the trees closed in around her. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. For the first time in hours, Elara felt like she could breathe again.
She wandered for a while, her thoughts gradually settling as she listened to the sounds of the forest. But as she rounded a bend in the path, she froze. There, standing at the edge of a small clearing, was Marcus.
He hadn't noticed her yet, his back turned as he stared out into the darkness. His posture was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. Elara hesitated, unsure whether to approach him or give him space. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the storm of emotions that had been building for days now on the verge of breaking.
After a moment, she made up her mind. She couldn't leave things like this. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the clearing.
"Marcus," she called softly.
He stiffened at the sound of her voice, but he didn't turn around.
Elara approached slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. "I know you're angry," she said quietly, "and I know I've made things worse by not talking to you about it sooner. But we need to figure this out. We can't keep going like this."
Marcus remained silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
Elara swallowed, her throat tight. "I never wanted to overshadow you or anyone else. This isn't what I asked for. But we're in this together, and I need you to know that I don't see myself as more important than anyone else."
Finally, Marcus turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, Elara," he said, his voice low and strained. "It's not just about you being the chosen one. It's about what that means for the rest of us. I've always been strong—always been able to hold my own. But now… now it feels like I'm nothing compared to you."
Elara's heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "You're not nothing, Marcus. You're one of the strongest people I know. You've been by my side through everything, and I couldn't have made it this far without you."
Marcus shook his head, his jaw tight. "But what if that's not enough? What if I'm just… expendable? What if this whole journey is just about you, and I'm only here because you need someone to carry your bags?"
Elara stepped closer, her eyes pleading. "You're not expendable. You're my friend, Marcus. We've fought together, bled together. You matter to me—to all of us."
For a moment, Marcus's anger seemed to waver, but then he looked away, his shoulders slumping. "I just don't know if I can keep doing this, Elara. I don't know if I can keep pretending that everything's fine when it's not."
Elara's heart ached as she reached out, gently touching his arm. "You don't have to pretend. But please, don't walk away from this. We need you, Marcus. I need you."
For a long time, Marcus didn't respond. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Then, finally, he sighed, his tension easing slightly.
"I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you," he said quietly, "but I'll stay—for now."
Elara nodded, relief flooding through her. It wasn't a complete resolution, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.