Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter Fourteen《

With a knowing look, Niukka whistled, turning her attention to the cavern tunnel where Dailes crept through slowly.

Though his pain was evident from his slow, stiffened movements, Dailes bowed his head to Niukka and came to sit beside Chyrie. He looked between her and the goddess carefully, his wing settling weakly beside him.

As if they continued in private discussion, her soul-bonded nodded again.

"I cannot sever the oath you swore in a moment of survival," Niukka explained calmly, smiling at the drakeling. "However, Dailes has consented to a ritual of sorts. One which would allow you to forge at full strength and face Anryth head on."

Chyrie's brows furrowed, her attention flashing between them.

"It is safe," Dailes said.

"What are you saying?"

"As your soul-bound, Dailes' soul can merge with your own, allowing you to hold his strength and power and blessing his with the ability to heal while inside you."

"I-Inside me?" Chyrie stammered, patting her chest. "How on earth would he fit insi—"

"Not in the truest sense," she answered, chuckling. "His soul would flow into your and allow him to sleep here, in my Temple, while he recovers."

"Will it work...?"

Niukka took a moment to consider, glancing around the room. Her attention landed on her fathers sword, still encased. "It will protect you."

"But will it be enough–"

The goddess leveled her with a pointed look.

Chyrie sighed and dropped her head into her hands, trying to collect herself. Her thoughts seemed to nag and pull her in every direction, constantly trying to corrupt the connection.

"Anryth... Did my father truly send weapons to his enemy?" Chyrie asked, choosing her words carefully. "I need to know, I need to understand the feud if I am to face him head-on."

Niukka smiled at her, laying her palm atop Chyrie's head. Her image began to brighten, echoing the colors of autumn fire.

Dailes stood, pressing his nose into her cheek lovingly before curling into a ball against her knees.

"I need to know—"

"Anryth is driven by madness, steered only by the loss of his love. His country corrupted by his own hand. You needn't worry about the rest."

But she did.

Chyrie worried about the ramifications of not knowing the truth.

About how violent Anryth would become if he slipped further from sanity.

But the goddess appeared unfazed by her burning questions, continuing to crown her head and slowly stroke Dailes' as well.

A beautiful purple orb robbed her of breath and thought as it lifted from Dailes' body and streamed into her chest. Gorgeous lilac smoke swirled and ebbed until strength healed her tired muscles and filled her cramping belly.

Her companion melted against the floor, tension draining from his young form.

As she felt the new hearth burning within her, churning and ready to be born—her mind tickled with another presence. A familiar, playful energy with a fierce protective instinct.

Dailes' raw channel of power was more focused and finite than hers. Where she could manifest with smoke and flame, his well of magic grounded her in molten earth.

As if even gravity answered to the young drake.

Chyrie concentrated, trembling like an active volcano when the newfound magic settled within her.

"You've two days yet, Chyrivelle Vespurn. Prepare for the men that come for you. Study their hearts and win with your mind."

Dailes snored quietly, the only sound remaining as Niukka disappeared in a burst of hot mist. She smelled of summer spices and baked earth, a scent which washed over Chyrie's bare arms and healed any leftover cuts.

Alone again.

The drakeling's spirit sunk deeper inside her as his limbs healed.

"I'm with you always," a voice answered. Dailes sounded distant and tired, his presence warming her bones. "You are never alone."

Since her capture, Chyrie believed him.

Xiran would be in Courmasse, waiting for her.

Her brother, her court, and her people would all be waiting for her.

Dailes would remain by her side until their last breath, she was sure of it.

That knowledge had become more soothing than a mother's nursery rhyme, protecting her from those dark thoughts and Anryth himself.

Taking inventory of her energy, she found her way back to the forge, careful to cover the Temple's entrance one last time. Her energy sang with life, prepared for the final push.

Gripping her old canvas wraps, she wound them over her palms and prepared to file off any lingering rust from their stolen weapons.

One more time.

She needed to polish one last tool.

Then when the men came to take her away in chains, Chyrie would be ready for them.