Chapter Twenty-Three
Mira hesitated at the shadowed mouth of the hidden path, breath held tight in her lungs. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Lucien's wrath to erupt from the dense forest behind her. Somewhere behind them, Lucien's voice still echoed—not in sound but in memory, that final declaration ringing in her ears: "She's Nimwe." The accusation lodged in her mind like a splinter, sharp and wrong, a name that couldn't belong to her yet somehow did.
What would he do to her now that he knew what she was? Whatever that even meant—she still didn't know, couldn't comprehend how she could be one of those void creatures when she was flesh and blood, when she had a father, when she'd lived her whole human life in Rivenglade. Would he even allow her to live? Or would he find ways to make her existence even more unbearable—and how could he possibly do worse than what he'd already done? The nightly violations, the systematic destruction of everything she loved, the cage he'd built around her mind and body... what torment existed beyond that?
She didn't want to find out.
The stranger's grip on her wrist tightened, firm yet wordless in its urgency. They moved deeper into the encroaching shadows, where the path revealed itself like a wound in the earth—a jagged fissure hidden behind thick moss-laden vines and sharp rock. Escape, it seemed, would demand descent.
The entrance was narrow and claustrophobic, the earth pressing in from all sides. Mira had no choice but to crouch low, her back protesting with sharp twinges as she followed her rescuer into the cold embrace of the underground. The air shifted—dense and damp, thick with the scent of moss and something unsettlingly metallic.
Dripping water echoed in the silence, each drop a lonely percussion against stone. The smell of decay clung to the damp air, layered with something faintly ferrous. Blood. Old blood, perhaps. A shiver crawled down her spine, an omen settling deep in her bones. The deeper they descended, the more it felt as though they weren't merely entering a hidden refuge but stepping into a graveyard, a mausoleum for forgotten gods.
Then, without warning, the tunnel widened into a cavernous space—a ruined temple swallowed by time, reclaimed by stone and shadow. Flickering torches placed unevenly along the walls cast dancing light across the chamber, illuminating both its ancient grandeur and its slow decay.
Colossal carvings loomed along the cavern walls—bas-reliefs of wild, untamed deities, their features worn by time yet still pulsing with raw power. Beautiful and terrible gods wielding celestial weapons amidst swirling cosmos, a blasphemous contrast to the sterile iconography of Zenith. A sharp thrill cut through Mira's fear, something dark and intoxicating. This was forbidden ground—a realm untouched by Zenith's oppressive Light.
Figures coalesced from the deeper shadows, emerging from the cavern's hidden recesses. At first they were mere phantoms shifting in the torchlight. Then, step by step, they resolved into human shapes—silent and unmoving. Their shadowed eyes bore into Mira, unreadable but wary, suspicion glowing in their depths like dying embers. Not all were welcoming. Not all faces held the promise of sanctuary. A tension coiled in the air, pressing down like a vice. This place was no haven. It was a crucible where trust was fragile and survival hinged on a delicate balance of wary alliances and unspoken threats.
One man stepped forward, grizzled and weathered, his face carved with years of hardship. He studied Mira with sharp distrust. A murmur passed through the gathered figures, rippling like dry leaves in a restless wind. Hands shifted. Weapons tightened in wary grips—crude knives, scavenged blades, each one a silent warning. Mira was an outsider. An unknown. And here, in the ruins of forgotten gods, trust was more precious than gold and far harder to earn.
The man's voice cut through the uneasy hush, low and raspy. "Wren. Who the hell is this?"
Wren, the woman who had pulled Mira from the jaws of the Beastborn, stepped further into the torchlight, her posture braced against the weight of scrutiny. The firelight carved sharp lines across her face, highlighting the defiance in her stance. "Well, Gerald, if ya gotta know—found 'er runnin' faster than a scalded hare, Lucien's Chosen bayin' at 'er heels somethin' fierce. Figured anyone Lucien's that desperate to catch can't be all bad." She shrugged with casual deliberation. "'Sides, didn't much fancy watchin' 'er get ripped apart by that Virelith roamin' the woods. Even I ain't that cold-hearted."
The man grunted, a deep sound of displeasure rumbling in his chest. His narrowed eyes flicked back to Mira, brimming with distrust. Crossing his arms, he muttered, "Still don't trust 'er," before turning away. A dark stream of spit struck the cavern floor. "Lucien's got fingers everywhere…"
Before the suspicion could fester, another figure stepped forward. Slender and pale, barely more than a girl, yet there was nothing fragile in the way she moved. Something sharp about her, keen-edged and coiled tight. Her bright eyes burned with unsettling intensity as they fixed on Mira.
Without warning, she lunged. Her fingers clamped around Mira's right wrist with iron strength. Before Mira could react, she wrenched Mira's sleeve upward, the fabric ripping with a sharp sound.
"Hey!" Mira gasped, alarm flaring hot in her chest. She yanked her arm back, revulsion surging through her in an instinctive wave. Not to be touched. Not like that. Not so suddenly, so violently, so possessively. Her breath came sharp and ragged as she recoiled, her other hand instinctively shielding the exposed skin of her wrist as if protecting an open wound.
The young girl, unfazed by Mira's panicked recoil, merely stared at her wrist, her brow furrowed in puzzled frustration. "No mark," she stated, her voice flat and clinical. "She ain't Forsaken. She ain't one of us."
A fresh wave of murmurs rippled through the cavern, louder now, edged with unease. No mark. The words echoed in the confined space, heavy with unspoken questions. Suspicion thickened the air. If she wasn't Forsaken, then why was she here? Why was Lucien hunting her with such relentless zeal?
Then, another voice cut through the rising doubt. An older man stepped forward, his face a roadmap of hard living, teeth uneven and missing in places, stringy hair clinging to a greasy scalp. His narrowed gaze flicked over Mira, shrewd and openly hostile.
"Then why was she runnin'?" he rasped, his words slurred but sharp with contempt. "If she ain't Forsaken, what's she runnin' from?"
Mira's breath caught in her throat, panic rising like a tide. Their stares pressed in on her like accusation made physical. These were not saviors. They were wary predators, circling wounded prey, debating whether to offer sanctuary or tear her apart. She tried to speak, to explain the crushing weight of Lucien's control, but the words wouldn't come. Her voice failed her, trapped in her throat.
The tension stretched thick with mounting unease. Then, from the deeper shadows, a new presence emerged. A figure stepped into the wavering torchlight, and the cavern stilled.
An older woman.
Her long dark hair streaked with gray framed a face lined with the harsh realities of a life lived in shadow. She moved with fluid grace that belied her years, her posture radiating quiet authority. When she spoke, her voice, though low, carried undeniable weight.
"Enough." The single word cut through the cavern like a blade. The murmurs died instantly. "Leave this woman be."
Her attention swept over the assembled Forsaken, a silent reprimand that brooked no argument. Then, her tone softened, though the steel beneath remained. "Clearly," she said, measured and deliberate, "she has endured much."
She turned to Mira, dark eyes assessing, studying her with an intensity that made Mira want to shrink away. Something flickered in those eyes—recognition, perhaps, though of what Mira couldn't say.
"Let us find it within ourselves to offer our new guest a modicum of respect," she murmured, her voice carrying through the cavern as she surveyed the gathered Forsaken. Stepping closer, her posture eased, her tone softening just enough to strip away some tension. "What is your name?"
Mira said nothing. Her gaze darted around the cavern, taking in the hostile faces, the weapons still held ready, the suspicion that hung in the air like smoke. Giving them her name felt like handing them a piece of herself, another vulnerability they could exploit.
"A name is not so much to ask," Meridia said, her voice still gentle but with an edge beneath it. "Unless, of course, you have reason to hide it. That would be... concerning."
Mira swallowed hard. Not answering would only make things worse. "Mira," she whispered, the word barely audible.
"Mira." Meridia repeated it thoughtfully, as if tasting the sound. "Well then, Mira. I am Meridia. And this… is a refuge for the Forsaken." She let the words settle before adding, "But it appears you are not Forsaken. So, tell us, Mira. Why were you running?"
Mira drew in an unsteady breath, the damp air dense in her lungs. "I… I ran away." The confession barely left her lips, yet seemed to echo through the cavern. She hesitated, gaze falling to the rough stone beneath her feet, shame prickling beneath her skin. "I wasn't Forsaken, but I had to escape. I—" her breath hitched, "—I couldn't be there anymore." The words felt like a dam breaking, a fragile release from the silence that had bound her for so long.
Meridia remained silent, watching, measuring. The cavern felt smaller, the weight of unspoken doubts pressing in from all sides. Finally, she tilted her head, something unreadable flickering behind her dark eyes. "And how," she murmured, her voice dropping lower, cutting through the thick air like a blade, "are we to know you're not a spy, sent to us by Lucien himself?"
"I wasn't—" Mira's voice cracked with desperation. "His men were chasing me. You saw them, they were hunting me—"
"Could all be theatrics," Meridia interrupted smoothly. "A clever performance to make us believe you're being pursued, when really you're being delivered. We accept you without question, thinking you're a victim, and Lucien has his spy exactly where he wants her."
Mira's throat constricted. She had to be careful—so careful—about what she revealed. But she needed to give them something, some truth that would make them believe her without exposing everything.
"Lucien is..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, "he's not what everyone thinks he is. He's not the calm, holy man who brings salvation." Her hands trembled at her sides. "He's a monster underneath that mask. He's evil, and I—" The words caught in her throat, but she forced them out. "I was going to kill myself if I had to stay there another day."
The admission hung in the air, raw and desperate.
Meridia's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, her dark eyes studying Mira with new intensity. Something had changed in the way she looked at her—as if recognizing something familiar, though Mira couldn't guess what.
"And why," Meridia asked slowly, "would Lucien's cruelty be directed at you specifically? What makes you special enough to drive to such desperation?"
Mira's mouth opened, then closed. She couldn't answer that without revealing everything. Her silence stretched too long, and she saw Meridia's eyes narrow with growing suspicion.
Then, sudden commotion erupted at the cavern entrance. Hushed voices. Hurried footsteps. Two figures emerged from the tunnel, their silhouettes outlined against the faint glow of the forest beyond.
Meridia's rigid posture eased almost imperceptibly. A flicker of relief smoothed the taut line of her lips. Turning toward the newcomers, a small smile ghosted at the corners of her mouth. "Ah! Dominic! Jay! You are returned, and safely, praise the Wild Gods! Such welcome news." Her tone sharpened with subtle urgency. "Tell us—how did the mission go?"
The two young men stood breathless, faces smudged with grime and soot, sweat glistening on their skin. Dominic grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Worked like a charm, Meridia," he said, breathless but triumphant.
Jay, still catching his breath, nodded eagerly, dragging a sleeve across his soot-streaked face. "The bombs… they worked great," he added, his voice edged with exhilaration.
Dominic gestured vaguely toward the tunnel entrance. "The precious Zenithian Hall is probably still burnin' hotter than Solara's pyre as we speak."
Mira's stomach dropped. The words slammed into her like a physical blow. Bombs. Burning. Zenithian Hall. The sermon. The explosion. The chaos that had become her escape. The pieces clicked together with sickening finality.
They were responsible.
For the inferno engulfing Rivenglade.
For the destruction.
For the catalyst that had set her desperate flight into motion.
Dominic, finally noticing Mira amidst the gathered Forsaken, tilted his head, his brow furrowing in silent question. "And… who is this?" His gaze swept over her, assessing, lingering on the pristine white of her robes—so starkly out of place in this shadowed refuge.
Meridia turned back to Mira, her expression unreadable, dark eyes calculating. For a long moment, she said nothing, letting the question hang in the air. Then her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Dominic. Jay." Her voice cut through the cavern, clear and deliberate. "This is Mira." A pause—laden with meaning. The entire cavern seemed to hold its breath. Then, like the drop of a blade:
"Lucien Altheris' wife."
The words detonated in the silence.
A collective gasp rippled through the cavern. Those who hadn't known stepped back instinctively. Even those who'd suspected couldn't hide their shock at hearing it confirmed.
Dominic and Jay froze, their triumph vanishing instantly, replaced by open-mouthed disbelief. The dancing firelight cast long shadows that stretched and swayed, bearing silent witness to the impossible revelation.
Then, realization dawned in Jay's wide eyes. "Oh, man," he breathed, his voice thin with awe. "That mob… they were after you, weren't they?" A nervous laugh escaped him, brittle and disbelieving. "And here we were, runnin' for our lives, thinkin' Zenith's Chosen were huntin' us down for torching their precious Hall."
Dominic's shock gave way to colder concern. He stepped forward, his entire posture shifting to rigid alertness. His eyes snapped to Meridia, his voice dropping to an urgent murmur.
"Meridia. We can't trust her. We can't. She needs to be sent back out. Now." His words were edged with quiet conviction. "Her being here? It's a risk. A dangerous one. Our mission comes first."
He searched Meridia's face, waiting for her to see what he saw, to issue the command that would rid them of this danger. But the command never came.
Meridia held his gaze, unwavering and unreadable.
Dominic's frustration surged, now laced with desperation. He drew a sharp breath, and with a sudden motion, thrust a finger toward Mira.
"We don't owe her a godsdamn thing!" His voice rang through the cavern, reverberating off the stone.
Meridia didn't react immediately. She let the silence stretch until the tension coiled tighter. Her eyes gleamed with something sharp as she finally tilted her head.
"Yes," she mused, her tone measured. "And maybe you're right, Dominic." She stepped forward, her voice dipping lower, smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath. "But first… please enlighten me. How long has it been since we had an advantage?"
Silence pressed down on the cavern.
Dominic's jaw clenched. He hated that she was right.
His finger slowly lowered, curling into a fist at his side. The fight in his stance didn't disappear—but the certainty did.
Their eyes locked, firelight dancing between them like a battle of wills waged without words.
Finally, with a slow exhale, Dominic glanced away, his shoulders tight with reluctant acceptance.
Meridia exhaled slowly, studying Dominic. "Dominic, think about this for a moment. We have Lucien Altheris' wife, practically delivered to us like a gift we never asked for, and you're telling me we should just throw that away?" She let the words hang in the tense quiet, watching the strain in his stance.
She stepped closer, her voice silk-smooth but firm. "You're too focused on the risk. I need you to focus on the opportunity. She's valuable, whether we like it or not. And when the time comes to make a move—when the walls close in—she's our ace card."
A pause, sharp and deliberate. Then, lower: "Trust me. She's worth the risk."
As the words settled, she and Dominic turned in unison, both looking back at Mira with expressions now eerily alike—calculating and utterly devoid of warmth.
Mira's heart plummeted. A pawn. That's all she was. Not a person seeking sanctuary. Just another piece in their dangerous game. Ice spread through her veins as the horrifying realization took hold—she had escaped one cage only to stumble into another. And this one might be even more perilous.
Oh, Wild Gods, what have I done?
A whisper of panic fluttered at the edges of her consciousness. What if they sent her back? Back to Lucien? Would that be better? Worse? She didn't know. Her breath hitched, strangled by fear. She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat.
Meridia's voice cut through the crushing silence, firm and resonant.
"Mira," she declared, surveying the gathered Forsaken, "will be staying with us. For a time."
The words hung in the air, deliberately ambiguous. Her stay was conditional, her value temporary.
"Is that understood?"
She looked across the cavern, commanding attention. Heads nodded swiftly. Eyes lowered, expressions carefully neutral. But then she fixed her attention on Gerald. A long beat passed between them, tension crackling in the air. His jaw clenched, eyes still narrowed with distrust. But finally, reluctantly, he gave a curt nod.
Satisfied, Meridia turned back to Mira. The shift was subtle—her posture softened, her expression almost kind. Something briefly human passed through her features. Her hands settled on Mira's shoulders with surprising gentleness. Mira fought the instinct to recoil.
"Welcome, Mira," Meridia murmured, her voice smoothing into something soft. "Welcome to our sanctuary. You will stay here. Regain your strength." A pause. "I will show you to a bed where you can sleep peacefully, at last."
Mira only nodded, mute and unseeing, unwilling to meet Meridia's eyes.
The weight of every stare pressed against her as she followed Meridia deeper into the underground sanctuary, her steps slow and leaden.
By the time she set her satchel beside a rough-hewn bed carved into the cavern wall, her mind was reeling. She looked around—at the silent figures watching from the shadows, the ancient stone walls, the vast darkness that seemed to press in from all sides.
A fresh wave of dread crashed over her, cold and overwhelming.
What in the Wild Gods' name have I gotten myself into now?