Part 3
The farewell to Casa Sorell took place under a pale blue sky, with the afternoon breeze carrying the subtle scent of the flowers of the gardens. Lord Vaelric and Lady Altheria stood side by side, exchanging formal handshakes and words of courtesy with the Marquess, who kept his polite smile and calculating eyes fixed on the noble couple.
While her parents said goodbye to the host, Elyandra met with Arcturus and Callen. The young Sorell, true to his effusive nature, grasped Elyandra's hands with enthusiasm.
"Lady Elyandra, it was wonderful to have you here!" I hope you come back soon for more adventures and, who knows, to study together at the Academy! Don't forget the magic cards!
Elyandra returned the squeeze with a polite smile, though her mind was still engrossed in the silent promises exchanged with Callen.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Arcturus. His company was... memorable. And I will certainly remember the magic cards.
Beside Arcturus, Callen kept his mask cold and distant, his eyes meeting Elyandra's only for a brief instant, a barely perceptible nod sealing the understanding between them in front of the others.
"Lady Elyandra," he said, his voice neutral and formal, "I wish you a safe journey.
"Lord Callen, be well." Elyandra replied, her tone equally formal, but with a nuance of meaning that only the two of them could understand.
After the protocol farewells, Lord Vaelric moved away from the Marquis and found Dalia, who was waiting near the carriage with her usual vigilant posture.
"Any abnormality, Dalia?" Lord Vaelric asked in a low voice.
Dalia shook her head negatively.
"No suspicious movement in the vicinity, Lord Valemortis. However," she hesitated for a brief moment, "I noticed an unusual flow of deliveries and withdrawals of large quantities of provisions and other goods since the day of our arrival. A volume that seems disproportionate to the normal consumption of a single house, even though it is as large as the Sorell's.
Dalia's words made Lord Vaelric frown, his eyes turning to the Marquis, who was still waving calmly in his direction. A shadow of doubt crossed his countenance.
"I understand, Dalia." Stay alert. Prepare the entourage for departure.
With a last nod to the Marquis, who returned the gesture with his calculated cordiality, the Valemortis entourage set in motion, the carriages following the road that would take them back home, leaving behind the opulence and secrets of House Sorell. Elyandra's mind, however, remained trapped in the silent promises and secret alliances that had been forged under that noble roof. The journey back would be long, but Elyandra's determination to achieve her goals had been further strengthened by the complexity and new pieces that were now part of her game.
The Valemortis carriage snaked down the dirt road, gradually moving away from the imposing silhouette of House Sorell, which dwindled in the distance like a specter of power. The surrounding landscape was a verdant mosaic of tall, dense trees, with rays of sunlight filtering through the canopies and painting the forest floor with golden flecks.
Elyandra, sitting by the window of the carriage, watched the forest pass with a faint, genuine smile adorning her lips. It was a childlike joy, devoid of the strategic complexities that usually consumed his mind. Siris, sitting next to him, noticed the girl's smile and kept her own serene and affectionate expression, her brown eyes fixed on Elyandra with a silent tenderness.
Lady Altheria, who had been observing the interaction between her daughter and her maid for some time, decided to break the silence with a direct but gentle approach. Lord Vaelric, sitting in front of him, seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the conversation that was beginning.
"Siris," Lady Altheria began, her calm and warm voice echoing inside the carriage, "you seem to enjoy serving Lady Elyandra very much."
The statement, although direct, did not contain any tone of accusation or arrogance. It was a curious remark, made with genuine kindness. Elyandra, upon hearing the mention of her name, turned quickly, her golden eyes wide in surprise, watching the exchange of glances between her mother and Siris.
Siris, confronted by matriarch Valemortis's question, kept her composure, her smile only becoming a little softer.
"Lady Altheria," replied Siris, her voice quiet and melodious, "serving Lady Elyandra was something that, I confess, initially made me apprehensive. The responsibility of caring for someone so... special... worried me. But from the moment I began to serve her, I felt a sense of peace and unexpected joy blossom within me.
She briefly looked away from Elyandra, a warmth evident in her eyes.
"I felt it the moment I saw her for the first time. When I opened the door to her room and found her sleeping so peacefully... My heart seemed to beat in a different way. Seeing that little piece of cloud asleep, so vulnerable and serene, awakened something in me. A deep desire to protect, to care... of simply embracing that little cloud.
Siris's words filled the interior of the carriage with a warm and affectionate atmosphere. Elyandra, in turn, felt her cheeks gradually warm, a mixture of shame and a strange comfort invading her chest. She looked away to the window, trying to disguise the blush on her cheeks, as her mind processed the unexpected words of her servant. "Little piece of cloud? Does she really think that about me? That's... somewhat embarrassing, but... also... strangely pleasant."
Lady Altheria sighed softly, her gaze now fixed on Elyandra, carrying a deep concern. The beauty of the forest that passed through the window seemed a grim contrast to the thoughts that afflicted her. Lord Vaelric remained engrossed in the landscape, a respectful silence hanging over him as his wife opened up.
"You know, Siris," Lady Altheria began, her voice now lower and more charged with emotion, "the Ancient Blood... It is both a blessing and a curse to our family. Since Elyandra's birth, I have lived with a constant fear for her future. The paths of the Saint... I attended church in my youth, I saw the fervor and selflessness that this life demands. It is an arduous path, full of sacrifices. I confess that I have always wished for a more... normal for my daughter.
His voice choked slightly.
"My worry even consumed me. There were dark nights when depression enveloped me like a shroud, terrible thoughts... Terrifying... crossed my mind. The idea of losing Elyandra to such a fate... unique... It was unbearable.
A wet glow rose in Lady Altheria's violet eyes, and her voice became a whisper laden with love.
"But then... There was that moment. The instant I held Elyandra's tiny hands for the first time, when she was just a helpless baby. I felt a wave of love so pure, so overwhelming... At that moment, all my darkness dissipated. That little life... She became my light, my reason for being.
A single tear streamed down Lady Altheria's pale cheek, a silent testimony to the depth of her love and her fears. Elyandra, who until then had been watching the conversation in silence, felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest. A single warm tear welled up from one of his eyes, sliding down his white cheek. The feeling was strange, disconcerting. She didn't understand that sudden emotion, that pang of pain and... Anything else? Something like... connection? She raised her small hand and touched the tear with her fingertips, her golden eyes fixed on the glowing drop, trying to decipher its meaning. "What... What was that?" She thought, confused and slightly disturbed by that unexpected reaction.
Siris, noticing the lonely tear that ran down Elyandra's face and the girl's confused expression, leaned in concern.
"Lady Elyandra?" Is everything okay? He whispered, his hand seeking the little noblewoman's.
Lady Altheria, for her part, quickly wiped away her tears with a delicate handkerchief, recomposing her posture with the dignity inherent in her lineage. A brief glance at Lord Vaelric indicated that she preferred not to prolong the matter.
Lord Valemortis seemed to notice the charged atmosphere and opened his mouth, as if to utter a few words of comfort or question his daughter's well-being. However, before any sound could escape his lips, the carriage shuddered violently, squealing in a sudden stop.
An instant of tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the surprise breath of the Valemortis. Before they could exchange glances or question what had happened, Dalia's face appeared in the side window of the carriage. His expression, although calm and professional as always, carried an undeniable seriousness.
"Lord Valemortis," Dalia said with formal courtesy, but in a tone that left no doubt about the seriousness of the situation, "we have problems."
The abrupt stop of the carriage threw a tense silence inside the vehicle, broken only by the surprise breath of the Valemortis. Lord Vaelric, maintaining his noble composure even in the face of the unexpected, was the first to move. With a fluid and controlled movement, he opened the door of the carriage and descended onto the dirt road.
His eyes, accustomed to assessing threats and analyzing situations quickly, immediately turned to the front of the entourage. The scene that unfolded before him was disconcerting.
Blocking the way stood two imposing male figures. Their garments were peculiar and sinister: long cloaks of deep black, which seemed to absorb the very light of the forest, concealing their forms under heavy folds. The most disturbing detail, however, was the masks that covered their faces. Each wore a mask made of a deep red fabric, like clotted blood, adorned with a golden cross embroidered in the center. Equally red hoods obscured their heads, casting even deeper shadows over their already hidden faces.
Lord Vaelmortis frowned slightly. Those garments were unfamiliar to him. They did not belong to any known military order, nor to any of the noble houses in the region. There was something strangely ceremonial and menacing about his appearance.
Lady Altheria, worried about the sudden stop, leaned out of the carriage window, her violet eyes fixed on the same enigmatic figures. A subtle pallor took over his face.
"Vaelric... Do you recognize them? She asked, her voice charged with growing apprehension.
Lord Vaelric kept his gaze steady on the masked figures before answering, his voice deep and measured.
"No, Altheria. I've never seen clothes like these.
Lady Altheria observed the golden crosses on the red masks with a fixed, worried gaze.
"It's not the garments of the Church," she said with conviction, a tone of certainty in her previously hesitant voice. "They do not belong to the Church at all. There is something... terribly wrong here.
The apprehension inside the carriage intensified as they witnessed the appearance of more identical figures, sprouting from the shadows of the trees like specters of the forest. These new individuals wore the same heavy robes and hoods, but their masks were a deep black, without the golden cross of the two leaders at the front. The siege tightened, and the numerical disparity between them and the masked strangers made the situation undeniably dangerous.
"Dalia!" Lord Vaelmortis' deep voice echoed firmly, an unspoken command that instantly put his elite guard on high alert. The knights escorting the retinue drew their swords with a menacing metallic sound, their faces impassive, ready to defend their lords.
Dalia, demonstrating the loyalty and readiness that characterized her, dismounted from her horse with an agile movement. In his hands, a sturdy club emerged, its dark metal surface gleaming faintly in the filtered light of the forest. Without hesitation, she positioned herself next to Lord Vaelmortis, both advancing a few steps ahead of the entourage, facing the two red-masked figures who led the group. The tension was palpable, the silence of the forest amplified by the imminent expectation of a confrontation.
Inside the carriage, Elyandra and Siris watched the scene with wide eyes. The once-tranquil atmosphere of the return trip had turned into an ominous harbinger. The young noblewoman, despite her young age, felt the gravity of the moment, while Siris maintained a protective posture by her side, her senses sharpened, ready for any eventuality. The fate of the Valemortis entourage now hung on the next word, the next move of those mysterious masked men.
Lord Vaelmortis's deep, towering voice broke through the tense silence of the forest.
"Who are you and where did you come from?" What are your goals in blocking our path?
The two masked in red remained motionless for a moment, like sinister statues under the canopy of trees. But before any words could be uttered in response, one of them, the one on the right, moved with astonishing speed. A dark blade flashed in his hand as he suddenly charged towards Lord Vaelmortis.
The Lord, to the surprise of those watching, did not move. His posture remained unshaken, his expression impassive, as if the attack were a mere inconvenience. However, Dalia reacted with feline agility. In an instant, she placed herself in front of her Lord, her metal club spinning in a swift and precise arc, intercepting the knife's blow with a metallic shock that echoed through the clearing.
At the same moment that the attack was repelled, an intense glow appeared behind the masks in red. Flames danced and concentrated in one spot, ready to be hurled toward Lord Vaelmortis and Dalia. But the Lord was already prepared. With a swift flick of his hand, a barrier of solid, translucent ice emerged out of nowhere, rising like a shimmering shield that intercepted the torrent of flames, extinguishing them with a hiss of steam.
That was the signal. Without further hesitation, all the masqueraders, both those in red and those in black robes, advanced in unison, throwing themselves against the Valemortis entourage. The silence of the forest was broken by the clash of steel against steel, the battle cries of Lord Vaelmortis's guards, and the grunts of the masked attackers. The tranquility of the afternoon had turned into violent chaos, the fury of battle echoing among the ancient trees. The ambush had begun.
The interior of the carriage became a stage of dancing shadows and violent noises. Elyandra, clinging to Siris' hand, saw figures crashing at high speed outside. The masked men fell, one after the other, in sharp, silent movements, but the agility and precision of his father's elite soldiers were almost invisible to his childish eyes. The speed of the combatants was a confusing blur, leaving her dumbfounded and disoriented.
Suddenly, a group of masked men dressed entirely in black turned away from the main battle and moved forward with determination towards the carriage. The next instant, one of the knights of his father's guard, with swift and lethal movements, intercepted the group. His sword gleamed in the dim light of the forest as he struck down the attackers with a cool efficiency, masked bodies tumbling on the damp earth.
However, one of the black masked men demonstrated surprising agility. With a leap propelled by unexpected force, he rose above the range of the guard's sword. His mask differed from the rest: it was bone white, with a small black cross adorning his forehead. The blade he wielded glowed with a greenish aura, the magic of the wind crackling around him. In a swift and calculated movement, he struck the roof of the carriage with his enchanted sword. A sonic blast tore through the wood and fabric, opening the roof of the carriage in half with a terrifying crash, exposing Elyandra and Siris to the chaos of battle.
The roof of the carriage collapsed with a crash of cracked wood, and Lady Altheria screamed, her body trapped under the wreckage, though apparently uninjured. Through the brutal opening, the white-masked man reached toward Elyandra, his fingers twisted like hungry claws.
But Siris reacted with surprising speed and fury. In a fluid movement, she placed herself between the masked man and Elyandra, delivering a powerful punch against the attacker's covered face. The impact resounded, and the masked man was thrown backwards, staggering out of sight.
"Siris!" Care! Lady Altheria cried, her voice charged with terror. "Their target could be Elyandra!" We are trapped here!
Looking around, Siris assessed the situation with a calculating coolness. The battle raged around the carriage, Lord Valemortis's guards fighting bravely but visibly overwhelmed by the growing number of masked attackers. The pressure on the escort was intense, and Siris realized the truth in Elyandra's mother's words: inside the wrecked carriage, they were easy targets, caught in a deadly trap.
Without hesitation, Siris took Elyandra in his arms, holding her firmly to his chest. His eyes frantically swept the surrounding forest, seeking an escape route. She spotted a gap between the combatants, a relatively enemy-free path that led into the dense vegetation. With fierce determination stamped on her face, Siris leapt out of the carriage, shielding Elyandra with her own body, and rushed towards the darkness of the forest, carrying the little noblewoman away from the chaos of battle. "I'll protect you, Lady Elyandra!" She swore, her voice firm and resolute as they disappeared among the trees.
Running through the dense forest, Elyandra's heart beat wildly in her chest. The brutal violence he had just witnessed, the clash of swords, the muffled screams, the terrifying sight of the masked men... Everything was so different from the simulated combats and abstract strategies that populated his thoughts. "That's it then... a battle royale. Is... terrifying." His mind, usually so active and analytical, was momentarily overwhelmed, struggling to process the raw reality of the situation. She didn't even notice Siris' supernatural agility, the way her feet touched the ground without making a sound, the speed with which she dodged branches and obstacles as he carried her through the dark woods.
Suddenly, reason, like lightning in the midst of the storm, burst into Elyandra's confused mind. Panic swept over her with full force.
"Siris!" She exclaimed, her voice choked with fear. "My father... my mother... they were left behind!
Siris didn't slow down, his eyes fixed on the path ahead, his breathing steady despite the effort.
"They'll be all right, Lady Elyandra," she replied with a conviction that tried to mask the uncertainty of the situation. "Your mother didn't seem to be the main target. And his father... Lord Vaelmortis is not a fragile nobleman. He is an experienced combatant, just like Dalia and her guard. Our priority now is to ensure your safety. We need to escape.
His voice was firm, determined, echoing through the forest as his feet continued to run tirelessly. Suddenly, a shadow appeared beside him, moving with an ominous speed. A black-robed masked man brandished a sharp blade, delivering a well-aimed blow toward Siris.
With impressive agility, even carrying Elyandra's weight, Siris deflected her body at the last moment, the blade cutting only through the air. In a fluid, swift motion, she launched a precise, powerful kick at the masked man, hitting him squarely and hurling him away, back into the impenetrable darkness of the dense woods, where he disappeared without a sound.
The white-masked man moved forward a few steps, his fanatical voice echoing through the narrow canyon.
"From the blood of the Saint... The true light must be revived! Give them the child, an unclean servant, and his death will be swift. Do not dare to hinder the awakening of the new era!
Siris didn't even hesitate. The determination in his brown eyes was unwavering. Without uttering a word, she charged forward with astonishing speed towards the masked five.
The combat began with a silent fury. Siris moved like lightning, her two knives dancing in her hands with lethal precision. The first masked man who faced her tried to swing a sword, but Siris was quicker. A precise cut to his throat silenced his commands before they could be uttered, and he fell without a groan.
The second attacked with a heavy mace. Siris dodged the blow with agility, his knives tracing quick arcs. One blade found the tendon of his knee, causing him to fall with a scream of pain, while the other pierced his heart.
The third and fourth charged forward together, their guns trying to encircle her. Siris used the narrowness of the canyon to his advantage, moving between them like a shadow. She blocked a blow with one of her knives, using the momentum to spin and plunge the other into the second attacker's unprotected flank. Simultaneously, she kicked the first one in the face, breaking his nose with a dry snap, before finishing the second with a well-aimed pull of his blade.
In the midst of their deadly dance, Siris seemed invincible, her movements fluid and relentless. However, his attention was focused on the four immediate attackers, protecting Elyandra behind him. In a moment of a fraction of a second, an appearance faster than the others, appeared coming out of an invisibility created on the basis of wind magic. The white-masked man, taking advantage of Siris' concentration on his companions, advanced silently from an unexpected angle. Two quick, precise stabs struck Siris's side, his dark blades finding the flesh in his ribs. A silent moan escaped Siris's lips, and a gleam of intense pain crossed her eyes for a brief instant.
Even with the searing pain radiating from his ribs, Siris acted instinctively. With a quick, powerful kick, she propelled the broken-nosed masked man to the edge of the canyon, sending him into the darkness below with a muffled scream. She spun around immediately, her knives ready to face the white-masked masked man, but he had moved again, disappearing into the shadows like an apparition.
Concentrating despite the pain, Siris clasped her fingers together, weaving threads of dark magic that spread around her like a dense mist. His goal was to sense the presence of the masked man, to track him through the vibrations of the shadow. But the instant his perception located him, a sharp, cutting pain exploded in his abdomen. A third blow, well-aimed and deep, struck her, undoing the concentration of her dark magic in a spasm of agony.
The white-masked man appeared before her, his gloved hand covering Siris's mouth, silencing any scream. He removed his blade with cruel slowness, his cold eyes fixed on hers. With an icy, triumphant tone, he whispered words that cut through the air like ice:
"Your strength has only postponed the inevitable, servant."
And with a brutal shove, he threw Siris' body against the rough trunk of a tree, where she fell with a dull thud.
Elyandra watched the entire scene in a state of paralyzing shock. His body trembled uncontrollably as his wide eyes followed every brutal movement. When the white-masked man turned his cold gaze in her direction, an icy terror invaded her. He turned slowly, walking toward him, and Siris, wounded and incapacitated, had no strength to stop him. Elyandra's mind burned in searing despair, the sight of Siris's wounded countenance etched into her memory as the menacing figure of the masked man approached. Fear paralyzed her, but deep in her childish eyes, a new, dark determination began to ignite.
The white-masked man stood before Elyandra, his imposing, menacing presence hovering over the small, terror-paralyzed figure. With a gloved hand, he grabbed one of Elyandra's thin arms, lifting her up as if she were a porcelain doll. The childish face, once adorned by mischievous curiosity, was now petrified by fear, its golden eyes fixed on the white mask that hid the face of its captor.
"The destiny of the Saints," hissed the masked man, his voice charged with a cold fanaticism, "is to revive the true divine light, not to utter their name in empty words.
He put his blade away with a dry motion, his intention clear: to take Elyandra with him. However, something about his posture caught his attention. The girl's loose arm followed her small closed hand, held firmly against her chest as if protecting a secret.
The scene then shifted briefly to a distant memory, the stern words of Elyandra's tutor echoing in the girl's mind: "If you weren't tough enough, Lady Elyandra, the burst of magic you created from that simple bubble might have destroyed your hand. Dominance is control, and control is survival."
Back in the present, still trembling with shock, Elyandra raised her arm to the masked man. Slowly, with a childlike determination that defied her paralyzing fear, she opened her hand. There, floating above his palm, pulsated a sphere of divine energy, a white, incandescent glow circled by frenzied instabilities of spirit magic, veins of power crackling like lightning in a contained storm.
Her lips quivered, but her voice, though fragile, carried an unexpected resolution.
"No," Elyandra whispered, her eyes fixed on the white mask, "I'm not meant for any of that."
In the next instant, the sphere of energy in his hand exploded. A wave of white and gold power erupted, bathing the masked man's face in a blinding light. The force of the explosion, concentrated at such a close point, was devastating. There was no scream, only the sudden disintegration of the white mask and the flesh underneath, reduced to glowing ash in an instant. The masked man's body staggered backwards, inert, before falling lifeless to the floor of the canyon. The deafening silence that followed was broken only by Elyandra's trembling breath.
Elyandra stared at the masked man's inert body, the white mask now reduced to darkened fragments. A wave of nausea washed over her, her stomach twitching violently until she vomited right there, on the bloodstained earth. Her eyes scanned her own dress, now dyed in part by the dark blood of her attacker, and hot tears began to stream down her face.
But in the midst of shock and horror, a twinge of reason struck her like lightning. She staggered to her feet, her eyes searching for the figure of Siris, still propped precariously against the rough bark of a tree. Elyandra then ran to her, stopping abruptly in front of her maid, fear stamped on her childish features.
Siris had a vacant stare, his breathing a little heavy and irregular. Upon noticing Elyandra's presence, a faint and relieved smile curled her pale lips.
"My little piece of cloud..." Siris whispered, his voice hoarse and weak. "That's good... that you're fine.
His trembling and weak hands slowly rose, reaching Elyandra's face. With a gentle touch, his delicate fingers dried one of the countless tears that ran down the girl's cheeks.
"Siris, please... don't close your eyes," begged Elyandra, her voice choked with tears and despair. A fleeting memory of her studies of divine magic struck her. "Divine magic... can heal... other people.
With small trembling hands, Elyandra tried to stop the bleeding visible in Siris' wounds by pressing her palms against the soaked tissue. Siris let out a slight painful laugh, a faint, broken sound.
"This... tickle, my Lady...
"Don't play, Siris!" Elyandra scolded, her voice high-pitched and desperate. "Please... Do not close your eyes. I'll heal you. I need to heal you.
From Elyandra's fingertips emanated a faint, unstable glow, her divine magic desperately seeking to heal Siris's wounds. But power, once so vibrant in its small acts, now seemed hesitant, unable to reach the depth of need.
A sound of hurried footsteps broke the anguished silence. Lady Altheria, her face scarred by worry and dust from battle, emerged from the forest, followed closely by Dalia. His violet eyes scanned the shocking scene: the masked man's lifeless body, Elyandra bathed in blood, and Siris, pale and wounded, leaning against the tree.
Without losing a moment to the horror, Lady Altheria assessed the gravity of Siris's situation. His determined gaze turned to Dalia.
"Dalia!" Run! Go get help right away! Bring anyone who can cure her!
The guard nodded without hesitation and disappeared again into the dense woods, their quick footsteps echoing in the distance. Elyandra, her convulsive sobs shaking her small body, couldn't take her eyes off Siris, her hands still shining faintly over the servant's wounds.
"Mom... please... Help! You were once a priestess... you used divine magic! Help Siris!
Lady Altheria knelt beside her daughter, her face filled with deep sadness. His voice, though soft, contained a painful firmness.
"Elyandra, my dear... the moment you were born... my connection... broke. I lost access to divine magic. I can't help her that way.
Despair gripped Elyandra, her eyes wide in disbelief.
"No! It can't be! You have to help! She can't... she can't die! I... I need more time with her!
Siris, growing weaker, his breath was in a faint thread, moved his hand with difficulty and touched Elyandra's face again, a faint and serene smile on her lips.
"It's okay, my little ray of sunshine...
"No! It's not okay! Elyandra's voice was a cry of anguish. Tears flowed profusely, wetting Siris' face.
Lady Altheria crouched behind Elyandra, her soft hands resting on her daughter's trembling shoulders. His voice, now charged with an almost sacred weight, whispered in his ear:
"Concentrate, Elyandra. Feel her pain... fragility... the effort to stay here. Focus only on that. Imagine... Imagine alleviating that suffering. Let your love for her guide your magic, not despair. Think not of healing completely, but of... comfort... to give a relief... even if brief. Focus on lightening her burden.
Elyandra persisted in her desperate effort, her small hands trembling as she focused her divine magic on Siris's wounds. With each second, the sparkle in his servant's eyes seemed to fade, her breath becoming an increasingly faint thread. But Elyandra didn't give up, her mana being channeled with a childlike but determined intensity. Slowly, very slowly, the edges of the deep wounds seemed to draw closer, flesh retracting under the hesitant touch of his magic.
Siris's eyes, once so full of warmth and tenderness, now clouded, the darkness of death beginning to veil them. A weak, painful smile curled his pale lips.
"Serving you, my little light..." Siris whispered, her voice barely audible, "was one of the most... warm and happy I've ever done. When I met her... I was already lost... into the darkness of my own acts. I'm grateful... so grateful to Lord Valemortis... for giving me a chance to be useful... one last time.
At that moment, the forest seemed to swallow the sound of distant battle. Dalia emerged among the trees, her face strained with urgency, followed closely by Lord Valemortis. At the sight of Siris's body, the paleness of her face, and the stillness that enveloped her, a shadow of genuine concern clouded her austere features. Behind them, two soldiers of the guard, whose robes bore discreet blue embroidery, quickly approached. They were experts in water magic, an element known for its healing properties.
The two soldiers who specialize in water magic circled Siris's motionless body, their faces tense and focused. Her hands, adorned by silver rings with small sapphires encrusted, stretched out over her, emanating a soft, pulsating blue glow. Low, rhythmic murmurs escaped his lips as they channeled their magic, the vital water seeking to restore the vanishing life.
Lady Altheria held Elyandra in her arms, the girl's small body tense and rigid. His golden eyes remained fixed on Siris' inert body, following every hesitant movement of the healers' hands. She didn't blink, she didn't speak, imprisoned in a silent and deep shock.
And then, amid the blue glow of magic and the whispers of the soldiers, Elyandra saw. A single tear, clear and lonely, ran down Siris's pale face, treading a melancholy path on her skin.
End of Chapter 16