Angels Grave

~ Chapter 3 ~

The months without Feyre visiting past slowly.

Zhysa hadn't realized how much she depended on the girl to tell her happenings in the village like a mew marriage or another child being born into this desolate place.

Apparently, Feyre's sisters had somehow gained unmeasurable wealth once again and moved back into the old estate they used to own. Zhysa went past one day. They seemed relatively happy.

She had become a constant in the elder's life and every minute she cursed herself for being a coward.

Being unable to overcome her fear of Amarantha and of Hybern threat. Every other fae thought this would be over soon. Someone – some hero would slay the evil faerie and free the innocent. But Zhysa was probably one of the very few that knew that what would come next would be even worse.

Those years that she had spent in that immaculate library of the Day Court had all but proved her thoughts. All those 7 years, not being able to leave, stuck, the library changing its shape whenever she attempted to leave. Although she also thanked it because if she had left, she would have most likely either been killed or enslaved.

Like all the others.

Maybe it knew. Like some offset of the Cauldron. Subconsciously, of course.

Shaking off that thought Zhysa retreated into the shed beside her house filled to the brim with fae weapons that she had pilfered from the Day Court before she had fled for the mortal lands.

She immediately went for her khopesh sealed in its leather casing, a foreign design that she had commissioned from her mother before she had passed. The handle was dyed a black leather while small deep purple peeked from under the leathers.

She pulled off the casing letting it drop to the grass covered floor with an ungraceful thump.

The blade was silver in colour, hardened steel, and held a blunt blocking edge and a sharp cutting edge on the inside, remnant to a sickle in shape. It had always been her favoured weapon. Easy to redirect attacks and break through shields. Great for offense.

The 20 years in the Day Court armada allowed her to fine tune her skills however she still practiced the sword almost every single day, as to not fall behind if she were to be attacked. It was always a possibility.

They did come past every now and then, either flying over or some stupid younglings trying to dare there friends across the wall before the guards came back.

She directed her sword into a cutting motion above her head, hand drawing back with an impressive amount of force. She repeated the movement. Once. Twice. Twelve times. Forty-six times. She lost track then.

Physical magic – like fire or water manipulation – had never been her strong suit. Zhysa was more suited to mental magic's like curse/spell cleaving and delving into people's minds to control them – Daemati.

And her healing magic was sub-par compared to her mothers, barely being able to stanch bleeding and reduce swelling.

She changed her swing type, this time directing it toward the tree – like she was cutting of a males head. She repeated this multiple times until she felt a pull on the magical artefact protecting Feyre mind.

She dropped the sword, it landing straight up into the soft ground.

The artefact started pulsing, drawing its owner to the invasion. She immediately followed the tug, coming face to face with Feyre's memories. Unlike other daemati that would need to open a door into her mind, Zhysa could automatically enter without permission.