Aurelia stared at Seraphielle, scarcely daring to breathe. The High Priestess had finally begun speaking—not in riddles, not in veiled warnings, but with the quiet certainty of someone revealing a truth she had carried alone for far too long.
If she interrupted now, if she let anger or disbelief take over, the woman might retreat behind that infuriating silence again.
So she endured. She ignored the ache in her bound wrists, the burning in her shoulders where the restraints bit into her flesh, and the relentless pull of the spell forcing her onward through the forest.
She endured...and listened.
Seraphielle's voice fell almost to a whisper. "You were chosen that day." She paused, her brow knitting ever so slightly, as though even she disliked the words that were about to leave her lips.
"Not only by Ignarion, but by another." She inhaled slowly. "By a forgotten god..." Her expression tightened.
"No." She corrected herself with a faint shake of her head. "Not a god."
