Chapter Twenty

A twig snapped beneath her boots as Elara walked through the Northern Temple’s garden, her gloved fingers brushing across the snow-dusted hedges. The frost clung to her before melting into the threads of her gloves, soaking through with cold. She didn’t flinch.

She had grown used to it.

Winter had returned, marking a full year since she’d arrived—sent away under the guise of protection.

Elara had grown accustomed to the routine of the Northern Temple: waking at dawn to the sound of the bells, kneeling in the cold stone sanctuary for prayer, sweeping floors alongside girls who never smiled her way. She no longer corrected them when they whispered.

“The noble girl.”

“Abandoned.”

“She thinks she’s better than us.”

She wasn’t. Not here.

In Emberlund, she had status. But here, she was simply Elara. One of many. And not one of them.

Thankfully, Amelia remained at her side. Elara didn’t know what she would’ve done without her maid’s presence—the warmth of her company at night, the way she always seemed to sense when Elara needed comfort. When the days felt too heavy, Amelia would simply brush her hair in silence and let her breathe.

She had kept in touch with Naomi through occasional letters. Naomi had been injured during the bombing a year ago, but her most recent letter had been full of her usual energy—teasing Elara about the cold, asking if monks had turned her into a snow maiden yet. Elara smiled every time she read it.

Her parents also wrote—short, formal letters. Her mother always asked if she was behaving. Her father always reminded her to focus on her studies and reflect on her future. They never mentioned the current state of Emberlund nor the prince.

But neither did Elara.

She hadn’t heard from him. Not once in the past year.

Some days, she imagined he’d simply forgotten her.

Some days, she prayed that he hadn’t.

She often wandered the outer edges of the temple, seeking quiet. Some days, she collected smooth pebbles along the snow-covered path—soft, frost-polished stones that she kept in a pouch beneath her cloak. She didn’t know why she collected them. Perhaps because they were the only things that didn’t judge—quiet, ordinary stones that felt real in her hand when everything else around her felt uncertain.

By the time the others knelt in prayer beneath the golden arch of the temple’s main hall, Elara would quietly slip away. Her footsteps echoing against the corridor walls, she’d sneak into the abandoned west courtyard—long forgotten, overgrown, and blanketed in white.

There, she practiced.

The first time it happened, her palms had begun to glow—not with heat, but with light. It had scared her at first. She thought it was another hallucination. Another ghostly orb like the one she saw the night in a storm.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

But then she remembered the book.

She had found it wedged behind rows of old hymnals in the back corner of the library. “Sacrae Lux: An Account of Lightbearers”, the spine read. Its pages were brittle, the ink faded—but there, she had found it: descriptions of magic fueled by emotion. Of light that healed… and hurt. Of those who were chosen.

She hadn’t been hallucinating. Not then. Not now.

She had light magic.

'Just like the High Priestess.'

While standing in the courtyard, her mind drifted off to their first meeting—Elara, new to the temple, clutching the hem of her traveling cloak, her hands trembling from the cold and uncertainty. The temple halls had loomed around her like ancient giants, and every face that passed seemed distant, unreadable.

Then the High Priestess had entered the room—tall and graceful, her long blonde hair flowing over a robe of silver and white, a cloth of embroidered silk veiling her eyes. She moved without hesitation, guided not by sight, but by something else entirely. The candlelight had flickered as she approached, making her seem almost otherworldly.

Elara had expected to be dismissed—or ignored entirely.

Instead, the priestess stopped before her.

“I see without seeing,” the woman had said, her voice calm and resonant. “And I sense what lies dormant in you.”

There had been no further explanation. Only that one moment, one sentence, that lingered in Elara’s memory long after.

She had not spoken of it again. But Elara sensed a familiarity in her—an unspoken bond that made her wonder if the priestess, too, carried the same light.

But now, here in the quiet of the courtyard, Elara reached inward—toward that same flickering warmth beneath her ribs. It glowed softly in her palms, a white-gold shimmer that didn’t burn, only hummed with life.

She raised her hands, letting the light swirl like threads between her fingers. It danced through the air like fireflies, responding to her will, fragile but growing stronger.

She didn’t notice the presence in the window above the courtyard.

Far across the temple, beyond the frost-glazed glass, the High Priestess stood still—her blind eyes lifted slightly toward the sky.

She couldn’t see the light Elara conjured.

But she could feel it.

And the girl below… was growing stronger.

***

That night, the halls of the Northern Temple were as still as the snow-covered forest outside. Candlelight flickered gently in Elara’s small chamber, casting soft gold onto the stone walls.

She sat on the edge of her bed, still wrapped in her cloak, her fingers cold from the courtyard air. A knock sounded, followed by the gentle creak of the door.

“Still awake?” Amelia’s voice came softly, familiar and steady.

Elara glanced up and managed a small smile. “It’s too quiet.”

Amelia stepped inside, carrying a folded blanket. “You always say that after your little walks,” she said with a knowing look, setting the blanket beside her.

“I didn’t sneak,” Elara said quietly, her tone laced with playful defiance. “They were busy praying.”

“And you were glowing,” Amelia added, arching a brow. “You always come back with that look in your eyes—like you’ve touched something not of this world.”

Elara looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as though trying to catch the last traces of warmth from the light. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “It’s like… something wants to grow inside me. But it’s uncertain. Hesitant.”

“It’s not the magic that’s hesitant,” Amelia said, settling beside her. “It’s you, Elara. But even uncertainty can bloom with time.”

Elara leaned her head gently on Amelia’s shoulder, her breath soft against the quiet. “They don’t say it to my face, but I hear them. Some think I’m cursed. Others say my family threw me away.”

Amelia took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “People fear what they don’t understand. You weren’t cast aside. You were set apart—for something they’re too small-minded to see.”

Elara was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant. “If I hadn’t been sent here, do you think I would’ve changed?” she asked. “Would I still be wandering snowy paths, collecting pebbles like they’re pieces of something I’m missing?”

“You would’ve changed no matter where you were,” Amelia said gently. “But here… here you’ve started becoming someone of your own choosing. Not who others chose for you.”

Elara nodded faintly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you think Sebastian’s alright?”

Amelia hesitated, then spoke softly, “I hope so. He’s strong—but even strong boys can break if they carry too much.”

They let the silence settle between them again. The kind that didn’t ache but wrapped itself around them like the blanket Amelia had brought.

Elara reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out one of her smooth pebbles—pale gray with a thin streak of silver, soft and cold to the touch. She placed it on her bedside table like a charm.

“I’ll figure it out,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.

“I know you will,” Amelia replied, and in her voice was not just hope, but certainty.