Zaliayh felt the vibration of Harun's armor against his cheek, the warmth of Iruna's hand clutching his own, and the chilling sensation of the stars watching him. But inside, his body was no longer his own.
The Celestial Core, having been forced into a defensive mode, was refusing to settle. It felt as though he had swallowed a dying sun.
By the time the carriage reached the Castle , Zaliyah's skin was radiating a heat so intense it was melting the frost off the carriage windows. When Harun lifted him to carry him inside, the guard winced as the heat was beginning to penetrate his thick leather and plate armor.
"B-brother.. ...he's burning up" Iruna cried, her voice echoing through the silent, midnight halls. "Get the physician! Move!"
They burst into Zaliyah's bedchamber, laying Zaliyah on the bed he had so recently tried to escape. The maids rushed in with basins of ice water, but the moment the cool cloths touched Zaliyah's forehead, the water evaporated into steam.
The castle physician hurried to the bedside. He hovered his hands over Zaliyah's chest and immediately pulled back, his face twisting in confusion.
"I... I cannot read his pulse," the physician stammered, his eyes darting to Harun. "His internal temperature is high enough to cook a normal man from the inside out. But since he is not a full blooded demon. My tonics, my cooling herbs... they are designed for shadow-blood. This is Light. Pure, volatile Light. If I give him a demon's sedative, it might act as an accelerant. I don't know what to do!"
"Then find someone who does" Harun roared, his hand gripping the physician's collar.
"There is no one," a cold, smooth voice interrupted.
Xulthas stood in the doorway. He had changed into a high-collared robe of deep green silk, his black hair pulled back, his green eyes darting around the room.
Right now he didn't look like a warrior , he looked like the High Warlock he was.
"Leave us," Xulthas commanded, gesturing to the maids and the physician.
"We aren't leaving him," Iruna snapped, standing like a shield between Xulthas and the bed.
"If you stay, you will only be in the way," Xulthas said, walking toward the bed with a indifference. "He is having a Celestial Rejection. His core thinks it is still on the mountain fighting monsters. It is pumping out energy to protect a body that is no longer in danger. If I do not bind his aura, he will burn himself and the child to ash before dawn."
Harun looked at Zaliyah's pained face and then at Iruna. He nodded slowly. They backed away to the corner of the room, their hands on their hilts, watching Xulthas's every move.
Xulthas sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and placed his hand directly over Zaliyah's heart. He winced as the heat seared his palm, but he didn't pull away.
Instead, his green eyes began to glow, and a series of geometric runes began to crawl down his arm and onto Zaliyah's skin.
"Be still," Xulthas murmured.
Zaliyah tossed and turned, his head thrashing against the silk pillows. His voice, usually a soft suddenly broke into a melodic, haunting chant.
The words weren't Demon Tongue, and they weren't Human. They were ancient-tonal.
Xulthas froze. His eyes widened as he listened to the syllables. The Language of the First Elves.
"What is he saying?" Iruna whispered from the shadows.
"He isn't 'saying' anything," Xulthas replied, "He is singing the child's soul back into place. The flare nearly detached the baby's spirit from its body. He is... he is anchoring it."
As Xulthas worked to weave his dark magic around Zaliyah's golden fire, the room began to change. The shadows in the corners of the room were blinded by the golden light spilling from Zaliyah's pores.
It casted images onto the ceiling, scenes of white cities, golden wings, shimmering tales and a great, silver tree.
Xulthas watched these images with a curiosity he couldn't hide. He realized then that Zaliyah wasn't just a "Celestial." He was a direct descendant of a lineage the Underworld thought it had extinguished a thousand years ago.
"You are quite the prize, Zaliyah," Xulthas whispered, so low the twins couldn't hear. "No wonder Malachi broke the underworld to keep you."
As the hours ticked toward the dawn, the fever finally began to break. The golden glow dimmed. Zaliyah's breathing slowed, the chanting died down to a soft, exhausted sigh.
Xulthas stayed. He didn't move his hand until the last of the emerald runes had settled into Zaliyah's skin, acting as a "lid" on the boiling pot of his core. The warlock looked exhausted, sweat beaded his own brow, and his hand was red and blistered from the contact.
He stood up, adjusting his robes. He looked at the twins, who were still standing guard, their faces pale from worry.
"The fever is gone," Xulthas said. "He will sleep for a long time. Do not wake him. His body needs to rebuild the marrow he burned to create that light."
"Will he be... the same?" Iruna asked.
Xulthas looked at the sleeping Zaliyah. The boy looked fragile again, his silver hair fanned out like a halo. "No one is ever the same after they find out they can move mountains, Iruna. He knows he has a voice now. And he knows his voice has power."
Xulthas walked to the door, but paused. "The nursery you were building... move the blue items to the front. He seemed most focused on the blue light while he was dreaming. It kept him calm."
With that, the warlock vanished into the hallway, leaving the room in a peaceful silence.
The rest of the night passed in a quiet, sacred stillness. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm orange glow over the mountains of baby bags and the half-assembled cribs.
Harun and Iruna didn't go to their own chambers. They couldn't. The fear of almost losing him on that mountain was still too fresh.
Iruna pulled a stool to the left side of the bed. She was too tired to even brush his hair, so she simply leaned her head against the bed, her hand resting near Zaliyah's foot.
Harun took the right side. He sat on a low chair, his back against the bedframe, his head resting back against the silk sheets.
His armor felt heavy, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes, his ears tuned to the sound of Zaliyah's heart.
They were his shadows, and for the first time in a week, the shadows were back where they belonged.
The next morning, the sun filtered through the frost on the windows in a soft, milky white.
Zaliyah's eyes flickered open.
He didn't feel the "sun" in his chest anymore. Instead, he felt a strange, hollow lightness, as if he had been emptied out and scrubbed clean. His throat felt clear, and his mind-for the first time since the banquet free and at peace.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy.
He turned his head slowly to the left.
There was Iruna. Her mouth was slightly open, her brown hair a mess across the silk coverlet, her hand still protectively close to him.
He turned his head to the right.
There was Harun. The stoic, terrifying guard was fast asleep in an awkward, upright position, his breathing deep and steady, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword even in his dreams.
Zaliyah watched them for a long time. A soft, genuine smile spread across his face. He reached out, his movements slow and careful, and placed a hand on each of their heads.
He had been angry at the world. He had been disgusted by the demons and their auctions. He had been terrified of his own forgotten past. But as he looked at the two people who had nearly frozen to death in a cave and then sat through a magical fever just to make sure he woke up, he realized something.
He wasn't alone in the wasteland.
He closed his eyes again, savoring the warmth of the room and the steady presence of his two pillars. He was home. Not in the Human Realm, and not in the palace but right here, in this room, between the two people who loved him more than they loved their own lives.