Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
On the walls, archers test their bowstrings and squint into the distance. The forest and swamp lie hidden by whirling flurries.
The trap is set.
All we need now is for the enemy to come. The waiting is a slow torment, each second stretching like hours, and the longer it takes, the more fear seeps into my marrow.
A hush spreads through the halls, a hush that gnaws at my nerves until they’re left exposed. Soldiers march quietly along the corridors, the metal of their swords and spears dulled with soot and ash to prevent unwanted gleams. Some of them check and recheck their rifles and ammunition. I see a young soldier, barely more than a teenager and so painfully mortal, fumbling with the straps of his breastplate. He sets his jaw, trying to hide trembling fingers.
We all wait.
We are all afraid.
A familiar hum of energy fills the air, and I glance sideways to see the Magician emerging from the gloom of the castle and out into the weather. He glides toward me with that silent grace of his, snow gathering on his hood. If he knows what will happen tonight, will he say anything? When it was us in the forest, I felt closer to him than ever before, but ever since we’ve arrived at the palace, I’ve felt distance between us. I know it’s because we’re both busy, but I still need him, especially in ways I don’t quite understand.
“Lovia,” he says, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry. He stands close, and my shoulders immediately drop with relief, grateful for his presence. Everyone else is too wrapped up in fear to offer comfort. He’s still calm and distant, yet somehow reassuring.
“You know what’s coming,” I say softly, studying the swirl of impossible stars, “don’t you? Will you tell me if we survive this night? Can you tell me if I survive this night?”
A faint shift of colors plays across the darkness within his cowl—indigo to silver, constellations rearranging themselves. He tilts his head. “You know I can’t,” he replies gently. “Some futures must remain uncertain, even to those who can see them. To speak them aloud would risk changing their course.”
Of course, he would say that. I clench my jaw. I want to beg him for reassurance, for a hint that all won’t be lost, but I know better than to press. He’s made of secrets and cosmic riddles and things far beyond my limited understanding. It’s who he is.
The tension in my chest doesn’t ease, though. The wind picks up, tugging at my cloak, sending a flurry of snowflakes dancing around us. My fingertips are numb against my sword’s hilt. “I hate this waiting,” I admit softly, voice shaking a little. “I hate standing still, letting fear crawl under my skin like bugs.”
The Magician raises a hand as if to comfort me, but he hesitates, uncertain. Then, as if making a quiet decision, he steps closer. The scent of old books and smoldering fire clings to him, or maybe that’s just my imagination. He lifts his other hand, fingertips brushing gently against the curve of my jaw. It’s a small, unexpected kindness in a night filled with dread.
“You carry too much weight, Loviatar,” he murmurs. “Courage and doubt are both heavy on your heart.” His voice, so calm and quiet, seems to still the snow for a moment. “I wish more than anything I could show you the path ahead, relieve you of this burden, but I cannot. To do so would change what needs to be.”
I growl internally at his cryptic prose. I want to cry, to demand he stop talking in riddles, to just tell me something real and certain. But looking at him, I see understanding in that shifting darkness, as if he truly cares.
Before I can respond, he leans in and presses his lips to mine—a sudden, gentle kiss, warm and unexpected in the icy night. For a heartbeat, I yield to it, closing my eyes, forgetting the storm, the enemy, the weight of everything. The world narrows to the soft press of his lips, a spark of beauty in a chaos of gods and monsters.
He pulls back slowly, galaxies still swirling in that hood. I’m breathless, heart pounding. I knew he was solid thanks to his hands, but I’d never touched his face before, let alone his lips. As I stare at him, I find no features at all, but I felt his lips like I would any other.
He’s manipulating matter to become real.
He’s becoming what I want him to be.
What I need him to be, even if just for a moment.
“Thank you,” I whisper, voice cracking slightly. I don’t know what I’m thanking him for—the kiss, the moment of comfort, or for just being present in a landscape of uncertainty. Maybe all of it.