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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There was always a lingering presence of his wolf in her mind, one she slowly began to crave. It became a form of comfort, one she never realised she relied on. Those low toe-curling growls. His deep hum of a voice. The prowl of his wolf against her aura in her psyche. Now, there's no one to calm her ever-perilous creature inside of her. Her heart begins to hammer, but how can she slow it down when she's locked in a world without him?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow! she cries down her bond. She just needs to hear his voice, even if it's only a few words.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her eyes flicker open. The last she recalls is the hellhounds ripping their claws into her wings—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her wings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Pain ripples from one of her shoulder blades, and she reaches a hand back to the base of her wings, only to find it wrapped in a poor bandage. She gives them a good flap, only to feel one in response.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No," she whimpers, clawing at the bandage. One of her wings is missing, and if one is gone, she won't ever be able to fly again. Tears sting her eyes. "No!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The hellhounds couldn't have taken her ability to fly. She needs her wings, just like she needs the sky.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen topples out of a bed. A bed? Where is she? Where is Thorn? Her silver hues scan the room. The air remains stale and dank, but her vision catches the outlines of the ornate furnishing. She needs her light magic to oppose the darkness, a hum that disappeared when she needed it most. Only now, her magic answers her call. The hum beneath her skin awakens and allows her fingers to forge a spark.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To her surprise, beside her bed is an old candelabra made of gold. She snatches it, lighting each of the half-melted candles with her ancient fire. The room lights up enough so she can see every wall and corner.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She stares ahead of her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎All she sees are pairs of blight eyes stare back.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She screams, falling backward and knocking over the bedside table. She lands on her ass with a thud, the gaping wing wound on her back spasming with the impact.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen swings the candelabra in front of her, gritting her teeth to swallow the pain. "Stand back! I know you hate the light!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎One of the blight figures approaches her slowly, their feet never making a sound on the rickety wooden floorboards. She swings the candelabra again, ancient fire blazing between her silver hues and those blackened soulless dead eyes lacking any white around the rims. With every step, Elowen notices a little more about them, or rather, her. Her long velvet black hair is wiry against her dark skin, tucked behind her pointed ears. Ancient. She must be. Aside from her eyes, she's not scorched from the blight. Her clothes are a ratty gown, no shoes; the only accessory she has is a black pendant around her neck like a collar.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The woman approaches until she's only a foot away from where Elowen cowers. She leans in towards the candelabra, extending her fingers to touch the fire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He hasn't drained you yet," her voice is quiet, mousy.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Who are you?" she whispers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The woman says nothing, but tilts her head to look at something beyond the light. She gestures to Elowen's single white wing, motioning for her to spin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head. "Get away from me!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You will not live long if you are wounded," the woman says. "He will not spare you like he did us."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The woman points to the others sheltered in the shadows of her room. They too start to gravitate towards the light, their blight eyes widened in awe at the illuminated candelabra. They're all so different, so scrawny and weak, but there is one common trait amongst them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They're all women. And they're all descendants of the ancients.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen stares between them all, then back to the woman just yearning for a taste of her fireglow. "Where the hell am I? Where's Thorn?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Morrow. She desperately wants to reinstate her link with Morrow, but still can't find those lost strings.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He has brought you back to the Acropolis," the woman says. She tilts her head, studying Elowen from beyond the candlelight. "He knows that you've awakened, and he will be here soon with his proposition. Agreeing to him will ensure your survival."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I won't agree to anything that bastard has to say."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Shhh," the woman urges, reaching out as if to calm her like a scared rabbit. Elowen flinches, avoiding her touch. "You're in the same condition as his son. It's probably why he's taken interest in you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I don't know what you're talking about."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The woman opens her mouth to speak when the door swings open. All the women in the room cower back to the shadows, all except for the one before her. She spins around meeting the figure in the doorway—another woman with the same dark blight eyes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She enters in, her presence different than the others, but one that seems to ease the tensions slicing through them. She approaches the candlelight, kneeling next to the other female stranger. Her golden honey hair is tied back in a half-up half-down bun, stray pieces of fine locks cascading against her temples. She's not young, but she's far from old age, despite the fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes and forehead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you think he's going to kill her, Mariel?" the dark-haired woman whispers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The golden haired woman, Mariel, winces at the question. "I'm not certain what Rhimme's plans are for her, Selah, but he's waiting for her arrival down in the hall. He sent me to fetch her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's going to end up like us, drained of her magic and reduced to nothing but a bloody whore."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mariel says nothing to Selah's words, but extends her hand to Elowen's single wing. She tenderly drags her fingertips through the white feathers. "Does it hurt?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nods. "A little..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I did my best with the wrappings to stop the bleeding, but I couldn't salvage what was left of your wing." Her features melt in sympathy. "I'm... I'm sorry he took away your flight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen always said that she would cut her wings if she had too, but there was always an underlying fear of sacrificing a core part of her being. It would mean she'd have to lay to rest something she was to become something she wasn't. Now, she's one wing down and about to be sold to the deadliest ancient in all the kingdoms.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mariel takes her arm, her touch oddly warm and gentle. "Who sent you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No one," she retorts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You came here willingly?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Someone had to come and try to save Aelethia, and no one could pass through the borders."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Aelethia," she mumbles in thought, but quickly dismisses whatever came across her mind. "We have to go. Rhimme doesn't like to be kept waiting."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen slowly gets up to her feet, the candle still in hand. Mariel studies the fire with an equally burning intensity. The orange glow rakes against her features as she shakes her head, prying the golden candelabra from her grasp.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He'll certainly kill you if you dare bring out your light," she urges. "You'll have to go in the dark."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen leaves the candles behind in the room, despising that she has to dwell in the shadows, as Mariel guides her out into the hall. Out there, she notices the glass roof hanging above them, nothing but textured dark clouds hovering above. No sun. No moon. No stars. It's impossible to tell the time of day. The disorienting nature of it all leaves her lightheaded and out of focus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At least she knows she's in the Acropolis. This is where she and Thorn were supposed to go, and now all she wants to do is escape, an escape that might end in her imprisonment. She can't fly, can't use her magic unless she wants to be killed by Rhimme, can't even navigate the hallways—she's doomed, unless she finds the torch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mariel keeps her eyes locked ahead of her as she guides Elowen through the maze of the Acropolis.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What brings you here?" she asks. "It's not often an ancient comes into Pailon, only my... only a select few."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen bites her lip. She hardly knows this woman, and she's clearly tainted with Rhimme's darkness. Is it obvious she's come to relight the torch and rid Aelethia of the blight? Or does Rhimme think she's come to beg for his eternal darkness?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How often does Rhimme get visitors?" Elowen counteracts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Never in Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You say that like he's elsewhere."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He is," the haunting look Mariel gives her sends chills through her. Those black blight eyes only remind her that Rhimme is lingering in these shadows, and even in their smalltalk, his presence remains heavy in the air. Mariel drops her voice low. "You're a fool to think that Rhimme would sanction himself off to one place. He desires more than just your kingdom. He wants the beyond. Nespar, Edrana, Blau—all the lands across the sea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She remembers what Thorn told her, that no one can ever defeat Rhimme, no one but a celestial ancient. Her best chance is to convince him to go elsewhere, but how can she convince him of that when he's already there?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm warning you now," Mariel mutters. "He will try to make you like them, his puppets, but if you put up too much of a fight, he will not hesitate in suffocating you with his dark magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen swallows, envisioning the girls in her room when she awakened. "What did he do to them? Do they have the blight?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Not exactly. He drains their ancient magic and infuses them with his darkness in those goddamn collars. They're under his control whenever he pleases. They're of sound mind now, but when he summons them..." Her voice trails, ending on such an eerie note.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's just enough light in the corridor that Elowen can catch more details about Mariel. She would've been beautiful when she was younger, a golden rod in a meadow, but the lack of light has paled her, and Rhimme's dictation over her has resulted in feeble bones and a scrawny physique that gets lost under her garments. She too, wears one of those collars, a sign of imprisonment to Rhimme.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She watches as Mariel tucks a lost strands of hair behind her ear, a simple gesture that has Elowen's mind stopping to halt.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Unlike the others, Mariel's ears aren't pointed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's not ancient.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't have ancient's blood," Elowen breathes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mariel meets her eyes. "I do not."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But how are you here? Only ancients can cross into Pailon."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They reach a set of large doors carved with ancient prophecies, one marred from an age so long ago. From beneath the cracks, black ether leaches out to haze the air like choking smoke. It brushes against Elowen's skin, the contact turning her blood to the icy frigidness that belongs to the dark. She doesn't need to ask who awaits beyond that door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She swallows and takes a step forward, but stops when she notices Mariel's hesitation.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ancients of the highest order in the Acropolis can bring outsiders in," she says. "It's a twisting set of alchemy that Rhimme has mastered. I've seem him do it a thousand times before. When warriors make it this far, he tends to find something to hold as ransom. He always gets what he desires."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What makes you think I'm a warrior?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's a fight in you," her weathered palms find Elowen's, clasping her warped fingers betwixt hers with tender care. "Whatever Rhimme wants from you, don't let it break you. He may have cut your wing, but you have to find something else that will allow you to fly again. It's what I had to do."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're wyng?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Mariel's mouth opens to speak, but the entire posture of her body changes in an instant, as if someone was pulling her strings like a marionette. Her spine becomes stiff, her movements almost automated as she steps towards the door.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Hinges groan as she heaves open the sacred entryway. Beyond that door lies pools of gloom masking out all light, all except for a moonbeam breaking through the mist and clouds. There's a large dining room table with only two chairs set up: one at the far end, and another just a few feet from where Elowen and Mariel stand. Glass windows line the walls and roof of the otherwise empty room, if it weren't for the dominating presence of one man.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He stands through the swirling veils of dark ether. He's tall, his body toned and sculpted just like a god's should be. His high pointed cheekbones frame his elegant features, all while his golden blonde hair remains slicked back from his bewitching sulfur eyes. His skin remains olive, a surprising tan considering he's a being who despises sunlight and warmth. He dresses in dark robes littered with golden thread.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And in all honesty, he looks rather bored as he tools a finger around a plume of ether, twirling it into a spiral.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lifts those sulfur eyes to Mariel and Elowen, and a rather charming grin spreads across his lips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Ah, there's the one the Aelethian's sent to pardon them," Rhimme's voice curls. "I've been waiting for you."

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i did the thing where i decided to make this into two chapters :)  i also did the thing where elowen's wing got snipped because it got ripped off by hellhounds. and she's alone. and she wants morrow. and she doesn't know where thorn is. i know i'm cruel. 

a few more chapters to go until the end! don't worry - i'll warn you when we're down to the final two or three. 

and happy new year!

ivy <3