Chyrie's vision blurred as she sat back along the carved steps of Niukka's Temple. She eyed the goddess statue warily as she gave into the ghost of exhaustion haunting her, tired from searching the cases shielding each historic weapon.

No scrolls left tucked beneath the glass, no inscriptions beyond the names of her forgotten relatives. Nothing.

Though the sanctuary had become a memorial to her family, she wondered if the Emberian fae had ever crossed paths with the Ceirvani elves. If their bloodlines ever crossed, the tree had been buried with her elders.

But Chyrie couldn't escape the nagging bite in her heart, telling her to search out the truth. Anryth lost someone.

Someone trusted and dear.

The grief might've even driven him mad as he lashed out across the continent.

She believed his vengeance was born somewhere and clung on to the small pieces of hope that he once felt his soul.

Permanent lights illuminated the rows and pyres of crystal around as she sank into that deep seated fear. Her mind isolated those torrential thoughts and cornered them, dissecting them without remorse.

Chyrie crawled to a thin quartz platform before Niukka's brimstone eyes and crossed her legs.

Focusing on the soft ripple of wind through the cavern, her senses honed in on the slow dribbling of magma and the dense energy accumulating around the room. Near the outskirts of her aura, she could sense Dailes' sadness pooling by the hearth.

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to exhale.

Chyrie cleared her mind of everything, shoving out those raging thoughts and feelings until all that remained were the glowing gems around the room, ebbing with life.

She concentrated on the illuminated silhouette with a voice of molten honey, conjuring the image from memory and calling out. The woman who appeared as her mother stepped forward in her vision, discarding the false skin for one of warm brown and an amber eyes.

Her memory of the statue flickered forward, casting details into the vision such as a long flowing skirt and sheer bodice tapering against Niukka's shoulders.

"You've come here once before," Chyrie whispered into the silence. "You held my bond with Dailes in your hands... I've need of your help again, Niukka."

An empty feeling washed through the room, purging the air before flooding with static.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

"Please," she begged softly. "I've nowhere left to turn."

"Your home is under attack, Heir of Steel," a feminine voice replied. "Your parents worry."

A sense of relief began to form in her chest.

"What am I supposed to do?" Chyrie asked, daring to look the goddess in those burning eyes. "Dailes is injured, Anryth has sacked the city and stolen the throne, stolen my own power with the blood from this oath. I am lost, I don't see the way."

"The drakeling will heal with time, his bones were set quickly," she said, her gaze roaming over Chyrie's body. "As for your path... The Ceirvani's men are coming to collect you in two days time, preparations have been made for each duel."

Attempting to master her fear, she felt her eyes clench tighter. "Anryth is older, stronger than I am... No amount of training will save me without magic."

The goddess approached, reaching down to tip her chin upward.

Chyrie opened her eyes, stunned to see Niukka standing before her in celestial brightness. The gentle expression lining her features was beautiful and soothing, even as fierce edges of concern sharpened them.

With a knowing look, Niukka whistled, turning her attention to the cavern tunnel where Dailes crept through slowly.

Though his pain was evident from his slow, stiffened movements, Dailes bowed his head to Niukka and came to sit beside Chyrie. He looked between her and the goddess carefully, his wing settling weakly beside him.

As if they continued in private discussion, her soul-bonded nodded again.

"I cannot sever the oath you swore in a moment of survival," Niukka explained calmly, smiling at the drakeling. "However, Dailes has consented to a ritual of sorts. One which would allow you to forge at full strength and face Anryth head on."

Chyrie's brows furrowed, her attention flashing between them.

"It is safe," Dailes said.

"What are you saying?"

"As your soul-bound, Dailes' soul can merge with your own, allowing you to hold his strength and power and blessing his with the ability to heal while inside you."

"I-Inside me?" Chyrie stammered, patting her chest. "How on earth would he fit insi—"

"Not in the truest sense," she answered, chuckling. "His soul would flow into your and allow him to sleep here, in my Temple, while he recovers."

"Will it work...?"

Niukka took a moment to consider, glancing around the room. Her attention landed on her fathers sword, still encased. "It will protect you."

"But will it be enough–"

The goddess leveled her with a pointed look.

Chyrie sighed and dropped her head into her hands, trying to collect herself. Her thoughts seemed to nag and pull her in every direction, constantly trying to corrupt the connection.

"Anryth... Did my father truly send weapons to his enemy?" Chyrie asked, choosing her words carefully. "I need to know, I need to understand the feud if I am to face him head-on."

Niukka smiled at her, laying her palm atop Chyrie's head. Her image began to brighten, echoing the colors of autumn fire.

Dailes stood, pressing his nose into her cheek lovingly before curling into a ball against her knees.

"I need to know—"

"Anryth is driven by madness, steered only by the loss of his love. His country corrupted by his own hand. You needn't worry about the rest."

But she did.

Chyrie worried about the ramifications of not knowing the truth.

About how violent Anryth would become if he slipped further from sanity.

But the goddess appeared unfazed by her burning questions, continuing to crown her head and slowly stroke Dailes' as well.

A beautiful purple orb robbed her of breath and thought as it lifted from Dailes' body and streamed into her chest. Gorgeous lilac smoke swirled and ebbed until strength healed her tired muscles and filled her cramping belly.

Her companion melted against the floor, tension draining from his young form.

As she felt the new hearth burning within her, churning and ready to be born—her mind tickled with another presence. A familiar, playful energy with a fierce protective instinct.

Dailes' raw channel of power was more focused and finite than hers. Where she could manifest with smoke and flame, his well of magic grounded her in molten earth.

As if even gravity answered to the young drake.

Chyrie concentrated, trembling like an active volcano when the newfound magic settled within her.

"You've two days yet, Chyrivelle Vespurn. Prepare for the men that come for you. Study their hearts and win with your mind."

Dailes snored quietly, the only sound remaining as Niukka disappeared in a burst of hot mist. She smelled of summer spices and baked earth, a scent which washed over Chyrie's bare arms and healed any leftover cuts.

Alone again.

The drakeling's spirit sunk deeper inside her as his limbs healed.

"I'm with you always," a voice answered. Dailes sounded distant and tired, his presence warming her bones. "You are never alone."

Since her capture, Chyrie believed him.

Xiran would be in Courmasse, waiting for her.

Her brother, her court, and her people would all be waiting for her.

Dailes would remain by her side until their last breath, she was sure of it.

That knowledge had become more soothing than a mother's nursery rhyme, protecting her from those dark thoughts and Anryth himself.

Taking inventory of her energy, she found her way back to the forge, careful to cover the Temple's entrance one last time. Her energy sang with life, prepared for the final push.

Gripping her old canvas wraps, she wound them over her palms and prepared to file off any lingering rust from their stolen weapons.

One more time.

She needed to polish one last tool.

Then when the men came to take her away in chains, Chyrie would be ready for them.