Yet Elena walked through it as though she were born from its very stones, as though the city itself bent toward her. She did not hurry. She did not fumble. Her steps were measured, steady, confident even in betrayal.
She lifted her hand at one point to gesture toward a marble fountain in the center of a square. Its waters, though muted in the moonlight, caught a silvery sheen, rippling faintly.
“The Fountain of Dawn,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s where the Sun God’s blessing is renewed each equinox. Children toss in coins for luck. I did, too—when I was still a child who thought coins bought miracles.”
Her voice was distant, but not without affection. It startled me, that tenderness. To me, this fountain was a symbol of blind faith. To her, it was memory, bittersweet and fragile.
“You never struck me as the coin-tossing type,” I said softly, trying to cut through the heaviness I heard in her tone.
A faint smile touched her lips, quick and gone. “I wasn’t. I only did it once. But I remember clutching the copper so tightly it left a mark in my palm.” She looked down at her hand, flexing her fingers. “I thought if I prayed hard enough, the Sun God would bring my parents back. Foolish.”
Something twisted in my chest. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t foolish. That even I, long ago, had prayed to the night for thingsit never gave me. But the words stuck in my throat. My shadows had no use for comfort.
We passed through another district, narrower now, the homes pressed shoulder-to-shoulder like anxious villagers clinging to each other. Here, the air carried the scent of spices—faded remnants from merchant stalls long since shuttered for the night. Elena touched a wooden post still marked with faded banners.
“This street… it used to be full every morning with silk merchants, jewel traders. I knew all their names.” Her shoulders stiffened. “But when the drought worsened, most of them left. The city thrives still, but only at its center. Out here, it frays.”
I studied her face, the tautness around her mouth. She carried every crack in these walls as if it were carved into her skin. She did not simply live in Solaris. She bore it.
“You love this place,” I said at last, my voice rough.
Her golden eyes flicked toward me, sharp as the sun itself. “Yes,” she said simply.
We reached the heart of Solaris, its plazas vast and hushed, each one adorned with statues of her god, the Sun, his form towering and imposing, bathed in the silver light of the moon.
“This is where we hold the Festival of Light every year,” she murmured as we passed a grand square, her voice tinged with bittersweet pride. “The entire city gathers here to honor the Sun God, to celebrate the light that guides us.”
There was a wistfulness in her tone, a quiet sadness that lingered beneath her words.
“Do you think…” I began, my voice quiet, almost hesitant, “That after this, you’ll still lead the priests? Will still lead the temple?”
She paused, her gaze distant as she considered my question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice soft, raw. “I believed in the Elders for so long, believed that they were guiding me,protecting me. But now… I see how blind I was. I trusted them with everything, and they betrayed me.”
I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder. “You’re stronger than they ever gave you credit for,” I murmured, my voice rough with unspoken emotion. “And whatever happens, you’ll survive this.”
She looked up at me, her gaze meeting mine, and for a moment, we were back under the trees and the distance between us felt like nothing more than a whisper, a soft, fragile thread that connected us in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she simply nodded, a quiet determination settling in her gaze, a resolve that reminded me of why I had been drawn to her in the first place.
By the time we reached the Sun Temple, the sky had begun to lighten, the first hints of dawn casting a faint glow over the grand stone façade.
The temple was vast, its golden spires reaching toward the heavens, the walls etched with intricate carvings of the Sun God and his followers.
Elena glanced at me, her expression somber as she gestured toward the entrance. “Are you ready?”
I met her gaze, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “I was born ready.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile on her lips. Without another word, we slipped into the temple, moving through the grand hallways with practiced silence, our footsteps muffled against the marble floor.
The interior of the temple was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of Elena’s magic, casting long shadows across the ornate walls.
As we moved deeper into the temple, I felt the familiar pulse of ancient magic under our feet, a low, thrumming energy thatresonated through the walls, guiding us toward the underground tunnels that lay hidden beneath the temple’s foundation.
It was the kind of dark magic I had used when I was alive, the kind that spoke of arrogance and darkness.
Elena led the way, her movements confident and purposeful.
When we reached the entrance to the tunnels, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the stone wall that concealed the entrance, her expression pensive.
