Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
A sudden chill swept through the clearing.
Not the cool breeze of evening, nor the promise of rain but something deeper, sharper. Dar stiffened at once, instinct flaring. He leaned over Elara, shielding her with his body, one arm braced protectively across her as if she might still feel it.
“Enough,” he warned, his voice low. “She has suffered—”
Then he felt it.
A presence.
He lifted his head slowly.
The dark, ethereal form hovered several paces away, its shape shifting like smoke held together by will alone. No features were visible beneath the raised hood, yet pale strands of hair—blonde, luminous—spilled free, stirring as though moved by a wind only it could feel.
The figure raised a slender hand.
It pointed at him.
Then, with a small, deliberate motion, it gestured for him to move away from Elara.
Dar hesitated only a heartbeat.
He rose slowly and stepped back, every instinct screaming at him not to move, not to leave her side. His voice broke as he pleaded, “Please. Bring her back to me.”
The figure did not answer.
It drifted closer to Elara, hovering above her, the darkness folding in upon itself like a living veil. Dar could only watch, helpless, breath held tight in his chest.
Time stretched.
Moments passed—too many, not enough.
Just as fear began to claw at him, just as he felt the last fragile thread of hope begin to fray—
Elara gasped.
The sound was sharp, sudden, unmistakable.
Dar surged forward, dropping to his knees beside her as the dark form lifted, retreating slowly. The hood turned once toward him just enough for him to sense intent, not threat, and then… the figure dissolved, breaking apart like mist caught by dawn.
The forest was still once more.
Dar gathered Elara to him, breath ragged, heart hammering, afraid to believe what he had heard, afraid it might vanish if he dared to hope.
But she breathed.
Dar barely dared to breathe.
Elara lay against him, her chest rising shallowly beneath his hand. He felt it, slow, uneven, but there. Real. He tightened his grip as if she might slip away if he did not hold fast.
Her lashes fluttered.
“El… a… ra,” he whispered, his voice breaking on her name.
Her lips parted. Breath came in short, fractured pulls. “Dar… I—” She stopped, drawing in air, eyes squeezing shut as if the effort cost her dearly. “It was… Muir… and the wanderer…”
“Easy,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “Do not speak. Breathe. I know.”
Her brow creased faintly. “You… know?”
“Aye,” he said softly. “They are gone. They will not harm you again.”
Her breath shuddered, relief washing through her in a fragile wave. He felt her fingers press weakly against his chest, as if testing that he was real.
Dar closed his eyes, cherishing the feeling of her hand against him. He lifted her carefully into his arms, every movement deliberate, reverent. The weight of her against him—warm, alive—nearly shattered him. She let out a small sound and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him with what little strength she had.
His arms locked around her.
For a heartbeat, he could not speak.
“I thought,” he said finally, voice thick, “that I would never feel this again.” His hold tightened, not crushing, but desperate. “Your arms around me. I thought the world had ended.”
She shifted slightly, gathering enough breath to answer. “When I thought I would die…” Her words came slowly, each one fought for. “My only thought… was you.”
His chest hitched.
“That I would never feel you hold me again,” she continued, lifting her face to look at him. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but fixed on his. “And then… I remembered something.”
“What?” he asked, barely louder than a breath.
“Safe,” she said simply. “You gave your word that you would always keep me safe.” Her lips curved in the faintest smile. “So, I waited for you.”
Something broke in him then.
He bent his head and kissed her—gently, as though afraid the moment might fracture if he pressed too hard. Her mouth was cool, her response faint but there, and it was enough. More than enough.
When he lifted his head, his brow rested against hers.
“There is much you must know,” he said quietly. “Much that waits for us.”
“Later,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed at once. “Later.” He shifted her closer. “For now, I only want to hold you.”
A flicker of blue light darted through the trees, catching his attention.
Dar looked up to see Amelia, her wings beating fast, urgency written in every movement. Behind her, his horse emerged from the forest, reins dragging, ears alert. And beyond that—
Lord Oaken stepped into the clearing, flanked by several men.
Dar looked down at Elara in his arms, wonder and fierce pride filling his chest.
“It’s time,” he said softly, shifting her in his arms, “you meet your grandfather.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Driochmor
Elara’s Grandfather’s Home
* * *
The path wound gently through the garden, pale stone half-hidden by fallen leaves and the creeping reach of late-blooming herbs. Lavender brushed Elara’s skirt, its scent softened by autumn air, while marigold and yarrow caught the low sun in splashes of gold and rust. Beyond them, a large stone manor rose from the land as though it had always belonged there—solid, patient, watching over Driochmor as it had for generations.