The night that followed was long and restless. Sarynne woke with a muffled scream, her hand pressed against her forehead where a throbbing pain had taken hold. She was in the old map room of the palace, which Caelan had turned into an improvised bedroom for her.
"Another dream?" Caelan asked, already awake and watching her from the doorway.
Sarynne nodded, taking a deep breath. "She's trying to use me as a… bridge. But every time she does, I feel as if something is watching me from the other side. Something hungry."
Lysarion entered the room, his face marked by lack of sleep. "We need to establish some kind of system. We can't keep reacting to every whisper or moving shadow."
Rhaevan appeared behind him, holding two cups of a hot drink. "And what system do you suggest? How do we organize communication with a… cosmic entity?"
"Starting by not calling her a 'cosmic entity,'" Sarynne said softly. "She's still Elyria. I can feel her personality, her emotions. She's just… trapped on a larger scale than we are."
That was when the shadows in the room began to behave strangely again. This time, instead of forming silhouettes, they began to gather in a specific corner, creating a patch of darkness deeper than the rest.
Lysarion approached cautiously. "Elyria, if it's you… show us something useful. Something we can use to help you."
The shadow pulsed, and then small points of light began to appear within it—like stars in a miniature night sky. The points arranged themselves into patterns, forming constellations that Sarynne recognized.
"They're the symbols of the anchoring ritual," she whispered. "An ancient ritual that the priests used to keep disembodied consciousnesses connected to the physical world."
Rhaevan looked at the patterns, trying to memorize them. "She's telling us how to build a more stable way to communicate?"
"It seems so," Lysarion replied, his eyes following the slowly shifting patterns. "But look here—these symbols…" He pointed to a series of runes that glowed more intensely. "They indicate a cost. Something about… shared vital energy."
Caelan, who was watching from a distance, frowned. "Does that mean someone would have to donate part of their own life force to sustain the connection?"
Before anyone could answer, the door to the room burst open. One of the guards Rhaevan had posted at the palace entrance stood there, his face pale.
"General, there are… problems in the city. People are seeing things. Shadows moving on their own, whispers coming from empty places. Some are already talking about curses."
Rhaevan sighed, rubbing his eyes. "How long until they connect this to us? To Elyria?"
"Less time than we'd like," Lysarion replied dryly. "We need to control the narrative before panic spreads."
Sarynne stood up, still a bit unsteady. "Maybe… maybe we can use this to our advantage."
They all looked at her, confused.
"If people are seeing and hearing things," she explained, "we can say it's a sign from the gods. That Vyrnathar is being blessed in its new beginning."
Caelan seemed to consider the idea. "Turning a problem into an opportunity. Interesting. But risky."
"Everything is risky now," Rhaevan said. "Let's try it. Lysarion, you and Caelan work on an explanation that will calm the people. Sarynne, you and I will study these symbols Elyria showed us."
As they split up, Sarynne felt a sudden chill run down her spine. She turned and saw that the shadow with the constellations was still there, but now something was written on its surface—a clear, simple message:
Only you. Dangerous. But necessary.
Rhaevan saw the message as well. "She wants only you to make the connection."
Sarynne nodded, a mix of fear and determination in her eyes. "It makes sense. I'm the priestess. My connection to Nyxara has always been stronger. And if there's a cost of vital energy… well, it's a price I'm willing to pay."
"But not alone," Rhaevan insisted. "We won't allow you to carry this burden by yourself."
Then the shadow dissolved completely, but it left behind one last image floating in the air for a second before fading away—an image of Elyria, or something like her, with tears of stars streaming down her face.
The message was clear: Elyria was afraid as well. But she also saw the necessity.
The days that followed were a delicate balance between politics and the supernatural. While Lysarion and Caelan worked to stabilize the kingdom—gathering the remaining nobles, establishing a provisional council, dealing with the widespread damage caused by the collapse of the palace—Rhaevan and Sarynne began working on the ritual.
They used an underground chamber that had survived the collapse, an ancient private chapel of the kings of Vyrnathar. On the stone walls, Sarynne began to paint the symbols Elyria had shown, using a mixture of ordinary ink and her own blood—an ingredient required, according to the ancient texts.
"On the third symbol, my hand began to tremble," Sarynne told Rhaevan on the night of the second day. "It wasn't just fatigue. It was as if something was… drinking my energy."
Rhaevan watched her with concern. "We can stop. Find another way."
"There is no other way," Sarynne replied firmly. "She showed me. This is the only road."
Meanwhile, on the surface, Lysarion faced his own challenges. A group of nobles, led by an old duke named Orin who had survived Valthor's regime through sheer cunning, demanded to know what had happened to the king.
"Dead in a ritual that went wrong," Lysarion explained for the fifth time, keeping his voice calm and controlled. "A risk he chose to take himself."
"And the young Varnholt?" Duke Orin asked, his eyes narrow and suspicious. "They say she was involved. They say she became… something unnatural."
Lysarion felt a chill run down his spine. Information was leaking faster than they had expected. "Lady Elyria made a sacrifice to save the kingdom. Any rumor to the contrary is disrespectful to her memory."
But even as he spoke the words, Lysarion knew they were only a temporary salve. The truth would eventually come out. And when it did, they would need to be ready.
On the fourth day, Sarynne completed the final symbol. She was visibly weaker, with deep dark circles under her eyes and a pallor that worried everyone.
"It's ready," she announced, her voice weak but determined. "We need to wait for twilight. The moment between day and night is when the Veil is thinnest."
Rhaevan helped her sit in a chair he had brought into the chapel. "What will happen when you activate the ritual?"
"If it works… I'll establish a stable connection with Elyria. I'll be able to speak with her, hear her clearly. Maybe even… see her in some way."
"And if it doesn't work?"
Sarynne smiled, a sad gesture. "Then I'll lose a bit more of my vital energy and we'll try again tomorrow."
But they both knew it wasn't that simple. The ancient texts spoke of risks—of connections that could not be broken, of energies that drained until death, of things that could pass through the connection if it was not properly protected.
When twilight finally arrived, they were all in the chapel—Rhaevan, Lysarion, Caelan, and Sarynne. The candles were lit, the symbols on the walls glowed softly with their own light, and Sarynne began to chant the words of the ritual in a language so ancient that even she did not fully understand its meaning.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the air in the chapel grew cold, very cold, and the shadows began to stretch toward the center of the room, where Sarynne sat. She closed her eyes, her breath becoming visible in the frozen air.
"Elyria," Sarynne whispered. "We are here. Speak to us."
And then, for the first time since her transformation, they heard Elyria's voice not as an echo in their minds, but as a clear whisper in the air of the chapel:
"I am so afraid."
It was her voice, but laden with a wisdom and a sorrow that had not been there before. It was the voice of someone who had seen the seams of reality and knew how thin they truly were.
Rhaevan fell to his knees, tears finally breaking through the control he had held for days. "Elyria… my love…"
"Rhaevan." The voice seemed to come from all directions at once. "Lysarion. I miss you. I miss being… human."
Lysarion stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Can we bring you back? Is there a way?"
A heavy silence filled the chapel before the answer came:
"Yes. But the price… the price is too high."
And before they could ask more, Sarynne screamed—a sound of pure agony—and the connection shattered. She collapsed to the floor, unconscious, as the symbols on the walls flared brightly one last time before fading into complete darkness.
The ritual had worked. But as Elyria had tried to tell them—everything came at a price.
And they did not yet know how high that price would truly be.
To be continued…