Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Aurya 18th 468 AC

Raena Silverthorne

Raena and Gema entered Raena's room, Gema sitting in the only chair gestured for Raena to sit on the bed.

"Your magic, Raena. It is a part of you, but like any weapon, it must be mastered. We will begin with breathing." Gema paused, her eyes meeting Raena's. "The breath is the anchor of the soul, the rhythm of life itself. When your magic stirs, it disrupts that rhythm, throws it into chaos. We must learn to steady it."

She shifted in the chair, her posture becoming more instructional. "Sit up straight, Raena. Feet flat on the floor."

Raena obeyed, her back straightening, her hands resting lightly on her thighs.

"Now," Gema continued, "close your eyes. And breathe. Not shallow, hurried breaths, but deep, slow ones. Inhale through your nose, hold for a count of four, exhale through your mouth for a count of six. Feel the air filling your lungs, expanding your chest, then emptying them, leaving you light."

Raena followed her instructions, the rustling of the straw mattress a soft counterpoint to the quiet rhythm of her breathing. The scent of leather and steel faded into the background, replaced by a growing sense of calm.

"Good," Gema said, her voice a low murmur. "Now, as you breathe, imagine your magic. Not as a raging storm, but as a lit candle. Each inhale draws the energy inward, fueling the flame, each exhale steadies it, prevents it from flickering wildly. Feel it respond to your will, your control."

Gema continued to guide Raena, her voice a soothing cadence, as Raena explored the depths of her own power, the slow, deliberate breaths anchoring her to the present, to herself.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Raena was able to calm her inner storm. She breathed carefully as instructed. Slowly, feeling her magic settle, she opened her eyes, looking first at her arms then at Gema.

“Yes, your flames have settled for now. You'll need to learn to deal with your emotions. Tell me a little about yourself, your life,” Gema commanded gently. “I need your complete honesty, I need to know how you first touched your magic.”

The words scraped raw from Raena's throat, a defensive wall erected against prying eyes. “Thirteen years,” she croaked out, the number a jagged shard of memory. “They're gone. Kimmel and Stepping Wolf are all that remain. There's a darkness there, Gema, a depth I'm not ready to touch with you. Not yet.” Her gaze, sharp and wary, held a silent warning.

Gema's own eyes, though softer, held a seasoned understanding. “Loss leaves scars, Raena, that much I know. But wounds fester in the shadows, and sometimes, the only way to heal is to bring them into the light.” She paused, letting the silence hang heavy between them. “Start with your family. What happened?"

Raena's jaw tightened, the memory a raw, bleeding wound. “It was the night of the goblin attack. They came in force, a tide of green savagery. My father… he fell. I don't know exactly how. I was too young, too panicked, to see. I just know he was gone, swallowed by the chaos. But that wasn't the worst of it.” Her voice trembled, the carefully constructed wall beginning to crack. “That night… something inside me broke. A power I didn't know I had, something wild and untamed, erupted. It was like a storm, a raging inferno, and my mother and sister... they were caught in the heart of it.”

Gema's expression shifted, a flicker of horror in her eyes. “You mean…”

Raena nodded, her gaze dark and haunted. “I killed them. Not with a blade, but with… with this.” She gestured vaguely, as if indicating an invisible force. “The goblins, their attack, it triggered something. It was as if their violence unlocked something within me. I destroyed them, Gema, in the same night I lost my father.”

A heavy silence fell between them. Gema's gaze was filled with a mix of pity and dawning understanding. “Raena… that's…”

“Unforgivable,” Raena finished, her voice flat and cold. “There's no excuse, no justification. I carry their deaths with me, every single day. That is why I can not share much more. That is why I only have Kimmel and Stepping Wolf. Please respect that.”

Gema was caught off guard, the raw pain in Raena's confession a physical blow. Words faltered on her tongue, inadequate and clumsy. Her heart ached, a deep, visceral sympathy for the young woman before her. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but firm. “What happened was not your fault, Raena. Your magic, that power you speak of, it protected you. It was a desperate act of survival. Your mother and sister... they were an unintended consequence, a tragic accident. If you'd had control, if you'd been trained, the outcome would have been different. No one, least of all you, should have had to endure such a loss."

Golden eyes, filled with a profound empathy, held Raena's green ones, seeking to convey the sincerity of her words. “You were a child, Raena, caught in a storm of violence and fear. You can't blame yourself for surviving."

Raena's defenses wavered, the hard shell around her heart cracking slightly. “I... I was the only survivor,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, the weight of that isolation settling heavily upon her. “Everyone else... gone. I don't know why I lived, and they didn't.” The sincerity in Gema's eyes, the warmth of her gaze, made it harder to maintain the wall she had built. A tear threatened to escape, and she quickly blinked it away, her jaw tightening once more. “But that doesn't change anything. I still did it.”

Gema shook her head gently, her expression filled with a quiet intensity. “Oh dear, Raena, it changes everything. Your magic awakened in you at an incredibly young age. Usually, magic doesn't 'wake up' until one reaches puberty, which happens much later for elves and half-elves. To all intents and purposes, you're still a child, magically speaking, given your elven heritage.” She paused, her gaze thoughtful. “That kind of raw, untamed power, unleashed at such a vulnerable age... it's a miracle you survived at all, let alone retained any semblance of control.”

"How old are you, Raena?” Gema asked, her voice soft but insistent.

"Twenty-six years,” Raena replied, the number sounding impossibly large in the face of her lingering trauma.

Gema's brows furrowed, a flicker of surprise in her golden eyes. “Twenty-six? Yet you look barely sixteen. The lingering effects of the magic, no doubt. The stress of the trauma. Your body and magic are in conflict. You are a miracle, Raena. A anomaly that you are alive. And you survived a traumatic event that would have destroyed most others.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice laced with a gentle urgency. “You carry a weight that isn't yours to bear. It's time to put it down, Raena. At least, to begin to.”

Gema stood, the movement decisive, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them. “Now,” she said, her voice regaining its practical edge, “we should go join the men. They'll be wondering where we've disappeared to.” She offered Raena a reassuring smile. “And remember, if you feel that power, that magic, beginning to stir within you, don't hesitate. Use the breathing exercise I showed you. It will help ground you.”

Raena rose as well, the lingering tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She nodded, her gaze meeting Gema's. “Thank you.” She led Gema out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway, the sounds of the guild hall filtering up from below.

As they walked, Gema placed a hand on Raena's arm, a gesture of quiet support. “Also, Raena,” she said, her voice soft but clear, “if you need anything, anything at all, I've taken the eighth room on the left, on the third floor. Don't hesitate to come to me, even if it's the middle of the night. You're not alone in this.”

Raena nodded, her response a silent acknowledgment. She was still unsure what to make of Gema Dawn, this woman who had seen into the deepest, darkest corners of her soul. A hesitant trust warred with years of ingrained isolation, and she couldn't quite bring herself to voice a firm agreement. Instead, she simply followed Gema, her footsteps echoing softly on the worn wooden steps.

As they descended, the sounds of the guild hall grew louder, a cacophony of clanking cutlery, the heavy thunk of tankards, and the scraping of chairs against the stone floor. Murmurs and laughter, a low, comforting hum, filled the air, a stark contrast to the silence they had just left. The single oil lantern, suspended high above the common area, cast a warm, golden glow, its brilliance amplified by the flickering flames of the fireplaces at either end of the hall. The combined light danced across the rough-hewn tables and the faces of the guild members, illuminating their boisterous camaraderie.

As the main hall came fully into view, Raena's gaze instinctively scanned the room, searching for the familiar figures of Stepping Wolf and Dean. She found them seated at a table slightly removed from the boisterous clusters of other adventurers, an island of relative quiet in the sea of noise. Dean, animated and expressive, appeared to be regaling the group with a tale, his words holding the other men rapt. Their attention was so focused that they didn't notice Raena and Gema's approach. However, Kimmel, ever vigilant, spotted them on the stairs. He raised a hand in a silent greeting, a small, almost imperceptible wave that beckoned them over.

Raena and Gema navigated the crowded hall, weaving between the tables filled with boisterous adventurers. The air was thick with the smells of roasted meat, ale, and wood smoke. When they finally reached the men's table, a chorus of nods and murmured greetings welcomed them. The men, momentarily distracted from Dean's tale, offered smiles and brief acknowledgments.

Dean, ever the hospitable one, gestured towards two platters placed strategically at the edge of the table. “Here,” he said, pushing them forward. “We got you both a plate of what was available.” The platters were laden with generous portions of roast beef, its dark, crispy edges promising savory delight. Beside the beef, mounds of creamy mashed potatoes, swimming in rich, dark gravy, awaited. Fresh green beans, glistening with a garlic butter sauce, added a vibrant splash of color to the meal.

Raena, her stomach suddenly reminding her of its emptiness, hadn't realized how ravenous she was until she saw the steaming plates of food. A wave of hunger washed over her, and she eagerly took a seat, her fingers closing around the cool metal of a fork. With a quick, almost imperceptible nod, she gestured for Dean to continue his story, her eyes already fixed on the tempting roast beef. The aroma alone was enough to make her mouth water.

Dean, pleased with the attentive audience, cleared his throat and resumed his tale. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the Gilded Gryphons.” He paused for dramatic effect, his black eyes twinkling. “This was back when Kimmel here was just a pup, still wet behind the ears. Before he became the stoic, serious fellow we all know and... tolerate.” He grinned, earning a playful glare from Kimmel. “We were hired to escort a merchant caravan through the Alder Pass, a notorious stretch of road crawling with bandits and worse.”

Dean paused again, his eyes scanning the faces of his audience, ensuring he had captured their undivided attention. A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes as he savored the moment. "We were hired to escort them through the pass because it was a shortcut to the next city, and they were carrying time-sensitive goods. You know, the kind that rot or spoil if they don't arrive on schedule.” He took a long, deliberate sip from his tankard, the clinking of the metal echoing in the relative quiet of their corner. “So, this pass… it's named Alder Pass, because of the ancient alder forest that spans its entire length. A winding, twisting path through the trees, like the coils of a great serpent. Now, back to my story…”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Dean leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, drawing everyone closer. “We were deep in the heart of Alder Pass, the ancient trees closing in on us from every side. The road, a narrow, winding track, looked more like a tunnel carved through the jungle-like forest. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the silence was almost… oppressive. Then, all of a sudden, it shattered.” He paused, letting the suspense hang heavy in the air, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the tale. “We were surrounded. Bandits. Dozens of them. They'd set an ambush, a carefully planned trap, and we'd walked right into it.”

Dean shook his head, a low whistle escaping his lips. “The bandits outnumbered our party by at least four to one. I swear, when I saw them, I really thought we were the dead walking. Goners, every last one of us, in my book. I was just a kid, you see, barely fourteen. An apprentice, green as they come. I was shaking in my boots, ready to soil my breeches.” He paused, letting the image sink in, the contrast between his youthful fear and the imminent danger palpable. “But no. Kimmel… Kimmel rallied the men. And me, a boy, no older than fourteen! Just an apprentice.”

Dean's eyes widened, his voice filled with awe. “Kimmel… he took out the bulk of them. That man is like death incarnate on the field of battle. He moved like a whirlwind, a blur of steel and fury. His sword and axe, flashing in the dim light of the forest, became instruments of swift and brutal justice. No shield. He didn't need one. Every bandit that dared to step within his reach fell just as quickly as they'd appeared. It was terrifying… and magnificent.” He paused, his gaze fixed on Kimmel, a silent tribute. “It didn't take long before those surrounding Kimmel started to flee, their courage broken, their fear palpable. This rallied our men, ignited a fire in their bellies. We fought harder, fiercer, fueled by Kimmel's example.”

"After what seemed like an eternity, an entire day of blood and steel, but was only a few hours, the bandits that remained were either dead or dying, the rest scattered like rats into the undergrowth.” Dean paused, taking another long drink from his tankard, the liquid sloshing against the metal. “It was then, in the aftermath of that carnage, that I knew. I knew I wanted to be trained by Kimmel. To learn to move like him, to fight like him. After we finished our mission, I pestered him relentlessly, like a damn gnat, until he finally agreed to take me on as his apprentice.”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the table, the tension of the tale dissolving into good-natured amusement. Dean, grinning broadly, raised his tankard in a mock salute. Kimmel, shaking his head with a wry smile, chuckled softly. “A bit exaggerated, Dean,” he admitted, “but you definitely pestered me after that incident. Every time I turned around, you were right there, like a persistent shadow, asking about sword stances and axe swings.”

"What can I say?” Dean replied, his smile widening, a hint of playful mischief in his eyes. “I was an impressionable youngster, and you impressed me greatly. I witnessed a master at work, a force of nature. I had to learn from you, to absorb some of that… that raw, brutal efficiency. It was a matter of survival, really. Besides, who else was going to teach me how to properly swing an axe and not chop off my own foot?”

Dean and Kimmel shared a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the hall, and the rest of the group smiled, enjoying the camaraderie. “You could have learned from the master-at-arms, like the rest of the new recruits,” Kimmel explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But no, you singled me out, like a hawk spotting its prey, and pestered me until I finally gave in. You were the first person I ever taught, you know. I was still a young man myself, barely eighteen or nineteen. I'd only been with the Gilded Gryphons for two or three years. You were a tenacious little whelp, Dean. I'll give you that.”

Gema snorted with laughter, her golden eyes sparkling with amusement. “He's still tenacious!” she declared, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. “The man is stubborn as a mule. Once he sets his mind on something, there's no budging him. It's a wonder any of you survived his apprenticeship.”

The other men around the table snickered, exchanging knowing glances and chuckling at Gema's remark. Raena, pausing in her meal, looked up at Dean, her green eyes filled with a quiet curiosity. “Kimmel trained me, as well,” she said, her voice soft but clear. A flicker of shared experience passed between them. “Did he… did he make you run laps until you puked, too?” she asked, her brow furrowed slightly, as if seeking confirmation of a particularly brutal rite of passage.

Dean winced, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over him. “Many times,” he groaned, his voice laced with a mixture of resignation and grudging respect. “Many, many times. I still don't know what it had to do with sword and axe play… all Kimmel would tell me at the time was it would build character and a strong body should have a strong mind.” He shook his head, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “He was relentless. A true taskmaster. But…” he paused, his gaze softening slightly, “he was right. I'm stronger for it. Both physically and mentally.”

The evening unfolded in a enjoyable rhythm, a tapestry woven with shared stories and burgeoning camaraderie. Laughter echoed through their corner of the hall, punctuated by the clinking of tankards and the scraping of cutlery. Kimmel, his stoic facade softened by the warm atmosphere, recounted the tale of how he met Jonathan, Jimmothy, and Darius, the unlikely alliance that blossomed into a formidable adventuring party. He spoke of their early days, the trials they faced, and the bonds forged in the crucible of shared danger.

Jimmothy, his eyes twinkling with fond memories, regaled them with stories of his and Jonathan's childhood, growing up in a small town a few days' journey away. He spoke of his mother, a woman with a heart as warm as her hearth, who had instilled in him a love for cooking, a skill that had served him well on their travels. He described their parents, hardworking innkeepers who had instilled in them the value of hospitality and the importance of community.

Darius, his voice low and steady, spoke of his time as a scout in the Graelyn military. He recounted tales of long patrols, of tracking elusive enemies through treacherous terrain, and of honing his senses to a razor's edge. He spoke of the discipline and the camaraderie of his fellow scouts, and of the skills he had learned that had served him well in his adventuring career. The tales he wove were filled with the quiet intensity of a man who had spent long hours in the wilderness, observing and understanding the subtle language of the natural world.

Jonathan, his voice warm and filled with affection, spoke of his family: his mother, his father, and his older brother, Jacob. He painted a vivid picture of their life, growing up in a bustling town, the middle son in a loving, if somewhat chaotic, household. He shared anecdotes of sibling rivalry and shared adventures, of the lessons learned and the bonds forged. He spoke of his lifelong fascination with the wilderness, and how he had joined the Rangers as soon as he reached adulthood, eager to explore the untamed lands beyond their town's borders. He described the thrill of tracking game, the satisfaction of protecting the innocent, and the quiet joy of living in harmony with the natural world.

Gema, not to be outdone, chimed in with her own tales, her voice filled with a quiet confidence. She spoke of her early days, when she first began to explore the depths of her magical abilities, the challenges and triumphs of mastering a power that was both wondrous and potentially dangerous. She recounted how she had met Dean, a chance encounter that had blossomed into a steadfast friendship, a bond forged in mutual respect and shared adventures. And she revealed how, when she had found herself in need of a reliable bodyguard, someone she could trust implicitly, Dean had been the first to step forward, his loyalty unwavering. She explained that she normally traveled with two guards, but that her other companion was currently on leave, visiting family, leaving Dean to hold the fort.

Raena, listening to the others' tales of camaraderie and shared experiences, felt a small pang of loneliness, a subtle ache in her heart. Their lives, filled with laughter and adventure, seemed so different from her own. She couldn't help but compare her fractured past to their seemingly seamless histories. Yet, she also felt a pull to join in, to connect with these people who had shown her such kindness. She decided to share a few fragments of her own childhood, the brighter moments that hadn't been swallowed by darkness.

She spoke of her mother, her hands strong and steady as she taught Raena to draw a bow, the sharp twang of the string and the satisfying thud of an arrow hitting its mark. She described her father, his eyes filled with gentle wisdom as he taught her the secrets of the forest, the names and properties of the plants that grew wild and free. And she spoke of Cara, her older sister, a whirlwind of energy and laughter, their childhood games echoing through the quiet woods, a time when the world seemed innocent and boundless.

The evening deepened, the warmth of the guild hall and the shared stories creating a congenial, almost familial atmosphere. The men continued to drink, their laughter echoing through the room, their voices weaving tales of past adventures and present camaraderie. They caught up on old news, exchanged playful jabs, and forged stronger bonds with each passing moment. The tankards emptied and refilled, the ale flowing freely, fueling their lively conversation.

When it came time for another round of drinks, Raena politely declined the ale, her nose wrinkling slightly at the pungent aroma. “I'll have a cider, if you have it,” she requested, her voice soft but clear. Ale wasn't to her taste, its bitter tang clashing with her palate. The sweet, crisp scent of cider, however, was far more appealing, a taste of autumn and orchards that brought a fleeting sense of comfort.

The night wore on, the hours slipping by unnoticed as the stories flowed and the laughter echoed. Raena found herself drawn into the warmth of the group, enjoying the easy camaraderie and the shared sense of belonging. The tales they told, though often filled with danger and adventure, painted a picture of lives lived with purpose and passion. She felt a sense of peace settle over her, a quiet contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time.

However, as the clock ticked closer to midnight, the weight of the day began to settle upon her. The warmth of the fire, the lingering effects of the cider, and the sheer exhaustion of her journey began to take their toll. Her eyelids grew heavy, and a yawn escaped her lips, a silent acknowledgment of her weariness. The lively conversations, once so engaging, began to blur at the edges, the words becoming a soothing, almost hypnotic drone.

Gema, noticing the late hour and Raena's growing fatigue, rose from her seat, her movements graceful and fluid. “Alright, gentlemen,” she announced, her voice clear and respectful, “this has been a splendid evening, truly. But I, for one, am feeling the weariness of the day. And I suspect Raena is as well.” She offered a warm smile to the group. “So, if you'll excuse us, we'll retire for the night. We can continue these delightful tales another time.”

Raena, grateful for Gema's thoughtful intervention, seized the opportunity to make her own excuses. She stood, her movements a little slower, a little more deliberate than usual. “I'll be off myself,” she echoed, her voice soft but firm. “It's been a long day, and I'm ready to find a soft bed.” She offered a polite nod to the group, her gaze lingering for a moment on each of their faces.

A chorus of good nights and farewells followed them as they turned to leave. The men, though reluctant to see the evening end, respected their decision, their voices warm and welcoming. “Sleep well,” Jonathan called out, a friendly smile on his face. “We'll see you both in the morning.”

Raena and Gema made their way towards the stairs, the worn wooden steps creaking softly beneath their feet. The remnants of laughter and conversation faded behind them as they ascended, leaving the warm glow of the common room behind. As they reached the landing between the second and third floors, Raena paused, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “My room's on this floor,” she said, gesturing towards the hallway that branched off to the left. “Good night, Gema. I'll see you in the morning."

Gema nodded, her golden eyes reflecting the soft light of the hallway lantern. “Good night, Raena. Sleep well. And remember,” she added, her voice soft but firm, “if you need anything at all, don't hesitate. My room is on the third floor, eighth door on the left.” With a final, reassuring smile, she continued her ascent, her footsteps echoing softly on the stairs as she disappeared from view.

Raena entered her room, the familiar scent of wood and linen welcoming her. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her tired muscles sighing in relief. A small smile touched her lips as she noticed Jimmothy had thoughtfully brought up her saddlebags, pack, and bow from the stables, neatly arranged near the foot of the bed. She'd have to remember to thank him in the morning, a small gesture of gratitude for his kindness.

With a sigh, she rose again, her movements slow and deliberate. She stripped off her travel-worn clothing, folding them neatly and laying them across the back of the chair, a small act of order in the midst of her chaotic thoughts. Then, she climbed into bed, the cool linen sheets a welcome comfort against her skin. She settled beneath the covers, her body sinking into the soft mattress, and closed her eyes.

The events of the past few days replayed in her mind, a whirlwind of emotions and experiences. The journey to the guild hall, the unexpected warmth of her new companions, Gema's probing questions, and the lingering echoes of Dean's and Kimmel's stories. A sense of unease mingled with a fragile hope, a hesitant feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she had found a place where she could finally belong. With these thoughts swirling in her mind, she drifted off to sleep, her breath evening out as she sank into the depths of slumber.