Julian
The night came swiftly, like a living thing. Its suffocating presence laid heavy shadows across the low hum of chants and incantations that filled the room. Candlelight flickered across the walls and the faces of those moving within, painting them in trembling gold. Every gesture, every flick of a hand, seemed part of the ritual itself. The flames danced in uneven rhythm, bending and curling like they too were caught in whatever force ruled this place. The walls seemed to breathe with them.
The air was thick and heavy, saturated with herbs and smoke, laced with something else I could not name. It carried a metallic taste, sharp and biting, that made my lungs ache each time I drew breath. The longer I sat there, bound and helpless, the more the air itself seemed to resist me. It was as if the room had become a living entity, intent on pressing me into silence.
Hours seemed to stretch and fold upon themselves, each moment bleeding into the next until time no longer had meaning. The ritual continued without pause, relentless and cruel. They did not stop when I tried to break free. They did not stop when Asteria screamed. They did not stop when her voice broke and she cried out in pain so raw that it cut straight through me.
I hated them for it. I hated their calm faces, their steady chanting, their blind devotion to whatever power they served. I wanted to hurt them, to make them feel what she felt. Again and again, I imagined it, because imagining was the only power left to me.
Her head was thrown back now, the soft curve of her throat glistening in the shifting light. Blood trickled from her nose and ran down to her lips. Her chest rose and fell with ragged effort, each breath a struggle. Sweat beaded on her skin, and her trembling fingers clawed at the ropes that bound her wrists.
"P-Please…" she whispered, her voice fragile as glass. Her head fell to the side. She tried to lift it once more, but her strength failed her. A moment later, she went still.
They paused, not out of mercy, but to exchange quick, tense words. I could not make out all of them, only fragments: "not working," "too strong," "stabilize." Yet even as they spoke, they never broke formation. Their hands remained linked, their circle unbroken, as if letting go might undo them entirely.
Orin's eyes lifted toward the man who had haunted the doorway since the beginning. Their gazes locked. No words were spoken, but something passed between them, a silent agreement, a plan. He gave a single, deliberate nod. The air shifted. The chants changed, weaving into a new rhythm that vibrated through the floorboards and into my chest. The words meant nothing to me, but their sound made my skin crawl.
Orin and Ignes stepped closer to Asteria, kneeling on either side of her. Their movements were almost gentle as they placed their fingertips against her temples.
The other women closed the circle around them once more, their whispers merging into one pulse of sound that filled every corner of the room. It was not a chant anymore. It was something older, something that carried weight and consequence.
The air thickened until it became hard to breathe. The candle flames stretched upward, shooting tall and violent, their light flickering between gold and white. The walls glowed like they were alive. The women began to grimace. Some bit their lips, others clenched their teeth. Whatever they were summoning demanded pain in return.
Then Asteria's eyes opened.
They were all white. No pupils. No color. Just blinding, hollow light. Her head remained tilted back, her mouth parted, but no sound came out. The room erupted in a chorus of cries as the women doubled over, clutching at their chests, their voices breaking under invisible pressure. The storm outside answered, roaring to life as if the sky itself had been split open.
Wind slammed against the cottage, shaking the windows. Rain hammered the walls with violent insistence, like nature itself was trying to stop what was happening. The candles flickered wildly, their light bending under the weight of unseen energy. The air was no longer air; it was a living force pressing against my skin, rattling my teeth, making every heartbeat feel too loud, too fast.
Asteria's body convulsed. Her limbs shook, her breath came in silent gasps, her eyes still blinding white. And yet she made no sound. That silence was worse than the screams had been. It terrified me in a way I could not describe. The world felt stretched too thin, the edges of reality trembling around her.
The smell of smoke and blood clung to the back of my throat. I wanted to look away, but I could not. Every instinct screamed to run, to tear free, to stop them, but I was bound and helpless, trapped inside my own fury. My fists clenched so tightly that my nails broke skin. I felt the sting of it, warm and grounding, but it was useless. I could do nothing but watch.
The tension reached a breaking point. The women clutched their heads, faces twisted in agony, as if something was clawing its way through their minds. Their screams rose and merged with the wind, with the fire, with the pulse of the storm. Then, in a single deafening moment, everything broke.
A final cry ripped through the air, sharp enough to split it apart. And then silence. The candles went out all at once, leaving only thin spirals of smoke that curled upward and disappeared into the dark. The fireplace dimmed to a dull, dying glow. The last few coals pulsed weakly, fading like a heartbeat too tired to go on. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, motionless, shadows pooling around them like spilled ink.
Asteria was still in the center, her body limp, her skin pale against the dark floorboards.
And the man in the doorway had not moved. He stood framed in the storm's fury, watching her with the same calm intensity as before. Lightning flashed behind him, carving his silhouette into something unreal.
My gaze locked on Asteria, desperate to find the rise and fall of her chest. I counted seconds in my head, waited for the smallest movement, but the world was still. The silence pressed against me until I thought it might crush me. My body went cold. The edges of my vision blurred. It felt like the life was draining out of me as surely as it had from them.
"No…" The word came out broken. "Why…" My voice caught in my throat and disappeared. I could no longer tell if I was crying or if it was just the sting of smoke in my eyes.
The man stepped forward. He moved through the fallen bodies with indifferent grace, his boots silent against the floor. When he reached her, he knelt. His face was unreadable as he brushed her hair away and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. Then, without effort, he lifted her into his arms.
I watched him in silence, hollowed out and still. My mind was screaming, but no sound reached my lips. The ringing in my ears drowned out everything else. Rage, fear, grief, all of it collapsed into emptiness. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The world had stopped spinning.
He turned toward the door, Asteria's limp form in his arms. As he passed me, he paused. His eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, I saw something human flicker there, something small, fleeting, and gone before I could name it.
"She's still breathing," he said.
The words cut through the haze, a thin thread pulling me back from the edge. They were steady, deliberate, and I clung to them like they might save me.
Then he was gone. The darkness swallowed him whole. The storm roared, and yet the silence in his wake was heavier than before.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway. I did not know if what he had given me was mercy or cruelty. Maybe it was both, a fragment of hope, or another kind of torment.
Darkness filled the room completely, thick and unmoving. I tried to steady my breath, but it came in shallow bursts. Every muscle trembled with exhaustion. Lightning flared through the windows, casting the room in brief, harsh light. For an instant, I saw the bodies again, pale and still, before the darkness swallowed them once more.
Then a sound broke the silence—a soft, broken whimper.
I blinked through the blur of tears and smoke. Orin was moving, slow and disoriented, her hands trembling as she pushed herself upright. When she saw what surrounded her, she froze. The realization came in pieces, her eyes darting from one still form to another, until the truth struck. A gasp tore from her throat. She covered her mouth, shaking her head in disbelief. Her cry rose sharp and desperate, a sound that cut straight through the heart.
She called names. She begged. She pleaded with voices that would never answer. The bodies around her did not stir. Her grief filled the room like the smoke had before, thick and suffocating.
A few moments later, Ignes stirred too, her face streaked with tears and soot.
The two women found each other in the center of the ruined circle and clung together, sobbing quietly beneath the trembling stormlight.
They had paid their price.
And though the scene before me was ruin and sorrow, a fragile, selfish relief spread through my chest.
Asteria was alive.