My heart stumbled in my chest, breath catching sharply.
Did she know?
But before the thought could root itself fully, she returned to her solemn task.
"Leave your offering to the All Sight," the priestess said, her voice threading through the temple like a warm current. "Lay down that which most grieves and weighs upon you. Then, take a lotus, and go forth to Fiera's temple. There you shall be reborn anew, when the hyacinth flowers bloom at winter's end."
Did she recognize me?
I forced the panic down, pushing it into the pit of my stomach. Even if she had, priestesses did not concern themselves with royal affairs. She would not reveal who I truly was.
The High Priestess broke the circle formed above her head, her movements slow and precise. She shaped her hands into the heart once more, then shifted seamlessly into the All Sight's sacred pose. With a final sweeping motion, she extended her arms forward and cast her palms down toward the gathered crowd.
"May you remain in her eye and warmth," she said, her voice carrying with quiet authority. "Go in peace and warmth, children of the All Sight."
The ritual completed, the priestess stepped gracefully from the pool, the water sighing around her legs before settling into stillness. She disappeared into the temple's deeper chambers, her figure swallowed by the shadows and pillars.
Around the sacred pool, the worshippers moved respectfully. Offerings of flowers, tokens, and whispered prayers were laid carefully along the pool's marble edge. One by one, each person plucked a lotus from the water, the blossoms replenishing themselves through the gentle magic of the temple.
When my turn came, I was nearly alone. Only a few lingered at the edges, murmuring quietly with other priestesses beneath the muted glow of the braziers.
As a Princess, I had been taught the old rites by heart—the lore of the great gods and goddesses, the sacred forms of worship passed down through generations.
Drawing a steadying breath, I approached the pool and slowly knelt, the cold of the marble seeping up through my knees.
Instead of laying my offering on the ledge, I let the hyacinth slip from my fingers into the water. It floated briefly, catching the torchlight, before joining the others that had fallen adrift in the sacred circle.
I pressed my hands together, forming an oval over my forehead, and closed my eyes. Tilting my head back, I silently offered my prayer.
"Goddess," I whispered in the stillness of my heart, "I kneel at your altar, selfishly perhaps, and ask not only for the death of what I carry, but for the clarity of your sight in the days ahead. Guide me through this with your warmth and all-seeing eye, for I am truly lost."
I held the sacred pose for what felt like an eternity, the cold clinging to my skin, the silence of the temple thick and timeless around me. I yearned for something—anything—to stir, to prove my prayer had been heard.
"The goddess hears your tears, Princess of Irisia."
The familiar melodic voice broke through the silence, soft but undeniable.
My eyes snapped open. Slowly, I turned my head toward the sound, my hands lowering to rest atop one another in my lap.
The High Priestess stood above me, gazing down with a warmth that thawed something deep inside my chest. Her golden eyes, softer now, were more like honey than molten gold beneath the flickering braziers. She was cloaked in black now, the hood of her robe resting lightly atop her head, her silver circlet gleaming faintly.
Without a word, she extended her hand toward the sacred pool, palm up and graceful.
I followed her gesture with my gaze.
Near where I had placed the hyacinth, a new lotus had bloomed—a deep maroon blossom, vibrant and alive among the sea of pale pink flowers. Its color seemed almost to pulse in the dim light, a shade that nearly matched my hair, though perhaps even more vivid.
The priestess lifted the hem of her robes delicately. I watched, entranced, as she stepped barefoot into the water, her movements reverent and fluid. The surface rippled around her ankles as she approached the maroon lotus and plucked it free.
When she stepped back onto the marble, the soft slaps of her wet feet echoed gently in the vast chamber, small but resonant, like the heartbeat of the temple itself.
She presented the lotus to me, her hands steady and patient, offering without expectation. I reached out, tentatively at first, and cupped the blossom gently between my palms, its petals cool and slick with water.
"It has been some time since I have seen royalty within these walls," the High Priestess said, her voice rich with quiet wonder, "and even longer since I have seen the old ways honored so faithfully, or the goddess respond so strongly."
I tightened my fingers slightly around the lotus, feeling the delicate strength in its petals.
"I did not expect to be heard," I admitted softly. "I only pleaded that I would be."
The priestess's smile deepened, a quiet warmth lighting her golden eyes. She reached out and laid a reassuring hand atop my head, the gesture light, almost a blessing.
"She heard you, Princess. Now go forth and lay the lotus before Fiera. She will surely hear you as well."
I rose slowly, the weight of the moment thick in my chest, and bowed my head in thanks—the only offering of reverence I could give, for a princess bowed to none but a king, queen, or the gods themselves.
Cradling the maroon lotus close, I made my way out of the grand temple. The cold night air wrapped around me immediately, crisp and sharp against my damp skin. A narrow path, lined with flickering torches, wound down through the forest. Their flames hissed faintly in the wind, casting long, quivering shadows over the snow-dusted ground and the towering trees that whispered in the dark.
Ahead, nestled among the black silhouettes of pines and oaks, a smaller temple emerged.
It was built of smooth white stone, its walls almost hidden beneath heavy growths of vines and flowering creepers, even in the heart of winter. Soft torchlight illuminated the entrance and spilled warmly through the open archways, brushing the night with a tender, living glow.
I stepped inside, and the world seemed to hush around me.
The scent of damp greenery, fresh water, and faintly sweet blossoms hung heavy in the air. Within the temple, the statue of Fiera stood waiting—beautiful, powerful, eternal.
Her marble form was slightly bent at the waist, one hand reaching outward to her worshippers. A wide circle of green light hovered above her carved brow, casting a soft ethereal illumination over her serene, smiling face. Fine vines coiled lovingly around her legs and torso, as if nature itself refused to part from her. At her feet, a shallow pond cradled dozens of floating lotuses, their colors muted and dreamlike under the temple's soft light.
Though she was smaller than the All Sight's statue, Fiera's presence was no less commanding. There was a power carved into her marble smile—a strength that could heal just as easily as it could destroy.
I slipped off my shoes, feeling the cold marble bite into the soles of my feet. A shiver ran up my spine as I stepped forward, each footfall echoing in the stillness.
Carefully, I placed my hand on one of her immense, outstretched fingers. The stone was cool and impossibly smooth beneath my palm, and it felt almost as if some faint pulse thrummed there, deep within the marble.
I swallowed thickly, heart hammering against my ribs.
Why was I doing this?
I had never been a truly faithful devotee, never fully surrendered to belief without question. Yet something deeper than thought, deeper than fear, called me now.
"Mother Fiera," I whispered, my voice barely carrying beyond the sound of my own breathing. "I humbly bring this offering, blessed by your love and by the divine sight of All Sight herself."
With both hands, I placed the maroon lotus into the center of Fiera's open palm. It floated there, almost glowing against the pale marble.
I stepped back and knelt before her, forming the sacred circle above my head with my arms, then breaking it into the old sign—the curved C cupped by an open hand, fingers spread wide, offering everything I was and hoped to be.
"I humbly ask," I whispered, closing my eyes against the sting gathering there, "that when I am born anew at the end of this cleansing, you grant me the strength to endure. To overcome whatever comes next on the horizon."
The marble beneath my knees was icy, yet I remained frozen in the sacred pose, muscles trembling slightly from cold and reverence alike.
For a breathless moment, nothing stirred.
Then, from somewhere deep within the temple, two tiny fireflies emerged. They floated lazily through the air, swirling together in slow, golden spirals before vanishing into the darkness.
I dropped the pose, my hands falling to my lap as a shaky breath escaped me.
"Thank you, goddess," I murmured, my voice hoarse with feeling.
I slid my shoes back on, the cold leather stiff against my feet, and turned to leave the temple.
As I stepped back onto the torch-lit path, a strange, growing warmth filled my chest—small but sure, a fragile ember refusing to die.
It was time to move forward.
Not just with my mission, but with Zaydon too.
Whatever lay ahead, I prayed I had the strength to survive what we were... in order to become what we should have always been.
I yelped, stumbling back a step, as Zaydon landed abruptly in my path.
His massive black wings unfurled with a sharp snap, the thin membranes stretching wide and catching the faint torchlight. Threads of dark crimson shimmered beneath the midnight black, like veins of molten stone hidden under obsidian. They were vast, intimidating, magnificent—danger and beauty woven together in one living thing.
He folded them back behind him with a ripple of sound, the motion graceful and predatory all at once.
His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, as he stalked toward me with slow, purposeful strides.
I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. The red in his eyes had swallowed almost all the green, leaving only a thin halo around the molten core. His dark hair was disheveled from flight, wild and wind-tossed, lending him a feral edge that sent a tremor skittering up my spine.
I forced myself to stay rooted, to meet him head-on even as every instinct in my body screamed to either flee or fall into him.
In a few easy strides, he was before me.
His gaze raked over me with rapid precision, assessing, searching—taking swift stock of any wound, any weakness. When he found none, his eyes locked onto mine, pinning me to the spot more effectively than any physical touch could.
Without a word, he lifted his hand.
Two fingers slid beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. His touch was firm, the pads of his fingers slightly rough from years of wielding blade and claw, yet his grip was devastatingly gentle. He held me like I was something precious and breakable—something he was afraid to shatter, even as he barely restrained the fierce energy coiling within him.
It was almost unbearable, the tenderness hidden beneath the hardness.
He lowered his head slightly, his breath brushing my skin.
"Where have you been, my princess?"
His voice was a low, rough whisper, threaded through with something dangerous, something protective—and something painfully raw.