Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter Eight《

A lie.

From his hardened gaze, Xiran knew it too.

Chyrie couldn't consider the train of thought again, lest it kill them both.

They waded in silence for a moment, riding the steady waves as they passed. She expected them to move or swim for the shore, but he waited there. Watching her.

Patient, calm.

Still.

Chyrie's eyes stung with emotion and exhaustion.

"No matter what I do, there will always be a reminder of what he's done..." Chyrie whispered, her hand tracing the back of her neck. She was grateful for the fire-sealed top covering her chest now that any fabric had been scorched away. "Anryth branded me and even if I kill him, the scar will remain."

She expected him to nod, to hold space for her broken truths and continue on as he always did.

Xiran held her stare intently.

"I was the youngest son of a great king, third in line to the throne. I would never rule nor inherit, so I trained. Honed my skills until I became Captain of the Guard," he explained so quietly she strained to listen. "But when the Sinmar corrupted our lands, it was already too late. Our cities, our people, our country fell into the abyss—magic so strong it sunk to the bottom."

Chyrie blinked. "Where was this country?"

She couldn't remember her father ever speaking of such a place, no news of a fallen kingdom.

"A week's journey east."

"There is no land between here and Rymedör."

"Not anymore," he said, eyes clouded with grief. "There is no one and nothing left."

Chyrie knew there was no apology in the world to encompass such an agony. Her chest tightened, heart squeezing against the confines of her ribs. Nothing could mend the loss.

"Their stories live on within me, songs that will haunt me always," Xiran continued, attention at last fixing on the shore. "Not all brands speak to the eye, but they live on inside the heart."

Utterly speechless, Chyrie took in the winding sleeve of runes inked into his arm. She wondered if they instead were lyrics, a song written for his people long since lost. The characters stretched over his neck and disappeared.

She knew his meaning.

Forever scarred, even if only the burns told her story.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, praying to Setryr those innocents found their passage safely. "To those before and after."

A verse her mother taught her, often echoed by Asa when she found herself overcome. She'd heard it murmured over graves in peace, offered as an acknowledgement to the immortal soul.

Xiran nodded, eyes softening once more as he drifted to her right and placed a hand on her back. Guiding her to the shore. His presence grew reassuring as she continued to pump her arms, fighting against the current and her weakness.

When the edges of her vision darkened again, they'd reached the shore.

Strong arms hooked under her legs, scooping up her soaking frame and striding onto the rocky beach. She could barely memorize the crunch of sand underfoot before the waves rocked her back to the void.

Heavy, cemented sleep stole her away, swallowing her mind whole.

~ ⚔️ ~

The scent of crisp sage and molten ore wafted over Chyrie's face on a subtle wind, calling her home.

Her groggy mind took in the soft, lumpy pad supporting her waist, accompanied by a thick woolen blanket she'd never seen before trapping warmth.

A large palm pressed to her bare stomach made her tense.

"Relax," a feminine voice caressed the inner boundary of her mind. "Without your magic, you wouldn't stop shivering. He's only near to warm you."

Chyrie peaked one eye open to find a large wyrm staring back. Noxa's piercing green eyes stared back, curiosity and warmth lurking there.

"I nearly froze?"

The wyrm chuffed, as if agreeing.

Her head turned to the small coil of gray and violet curled by the forge. Dailes' breath brushed against the floor in puffs of smoke, his anger and frustration emanating from him even in sleep. Concern too. She knew that argument might come.

"He's worried."

Chyrie nodded, her cheek squishing uncomfortably on top of the thick pillow. She felt the thick sweater covering Xiran's chest and knew he'd made sure to dress before warming her.

Her cheeks heated.

"Look," Noxa purred again, the roll in her voice oddly comforting. Her nose tipped to Chyrie's anvil.

Resting against the flattened surface was a stack of barks, three separate bundles of leaves, and a bundle of flower bulbs.

"He could not remember which part of the tree was the asset," she said, rumbling in amusement. "So he cut pieces of each."

Shocked, Chyrie couldn't believe the leaves of the silverbane tree lay just within her grasp. Without magic, extracting the syrup from the veins might prove challenging, but soaking the leather wrappings of each hilt would prove a godsend should Anryth get his hands on them.

The idea of his power shriveling to the touch made her smile.

The tree had been deemed endangered long ago, rare to see and even harder to obtain.

"Thank you," Chyrie breathed aloud, nervous to wake both Xiran or Dailes. "They are a blessing."

Noxa leaned forward, gently nudging Chyrie's foot before retracting. An endearment, she assumed.

"Your magic will replenish, but I suggest you rest."

Despite nodding, Chyrie's gut churned with anxiety at the thought of Anryth returning. She was lucky enough he hadn't been waiting for her after the dip into the ocean.

Even if she wished to recall what the outside was like, spanning with possibility and life, her heart was bound to the forge.

It took every bit of concentration she had not to rise up and resume her smithing. Even more so to close her eyes.

Chyrie counted the crackling breaks in magma, the snores escaping poor Dailes, and even the crickets outside.

The only thing that seemed to help was concentrating on her breathing—on matching her inhale with Xiran's.

With each synchronized exhale, her body relaxed.

When slumber consumed her again, Chyrie did not wake.