Embers to Flames (Fates Entwined #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

The temple looms ahead, its ancient walls echoing with the whispers of time. I can’t help but feel the weight of countless lives that have passed through these hallowed halls, each one drawn here by the promise of answers or the desperate need for salvation.

It’s as though spectral shades linger still, their desperate prayers and yearning pleas for mercy etched into the stone. The air is thick with history, each breath I take filled with a different tale, a different sin, a different redemption. Snowflakes drift lazily through the air, settling on the ground and adding to the eerie stillness. The painted frescos, faded from time, stand as stalwart guards, their stony eyes fixated on me—assessing whether I am worthy.

A grand staircase lies before us, the steps blanketed by a cascade of winter roses frozen in full bloom. The petals are like delicate shards of glass, casting an eerie glow in the light of the moon. As we ascend, each footfall on the icy blooms causes tiny cracks to form under our weight—a disconcerting sound that breaks the silence like brittle bone.

At the top of the stairs lies an enormous door carved from dark, foreboding wood. Multi-headed ravens are etched deeply into its surface, their beady eyes seeming to follow our every move. The handle is a monstrous claw encased in ice and as I reach out to grasp it, I feel Eulee tense beside me.

The door creaks open with grating reluctance and beyond lies an expanse shrouded in darkness. But even amidst the gloom, I can make out outlines: towering shelves lined with dust-laden books and scrolls; jars filled with mysterious liquids; and an altar at its heart.

A hush falls over the temple. From the shadows, three figures emerge, their robes as dark as the raven’s wing. They are the Raven Witches, guardians of the ancient wisdom and keepers of the trials. Their eyes, reflecting the faint torchlight, fix upon me with an intensity that pierces the soul.

The first witch, her voice a mere whisper, speaks, “Seeker of truths, Rosanhi Hepburn… you stand at the threshold of enlightenment. But the path is fraught with peril, not to be tread lightly. ”

The second witch continues, “The trials you face reflect life’s own tribulations. They are necessary to strip away the veils of illusion, to test the purity of your quest.”

The third witch concludes, “Only through these challenges can one be deemed worthy to hold the knowledge we protect. They are the crucible in which your spirit will either forge its strength or shatter like glass.”

Their words hang in the air, a solemn reminder of the gravity of my undertaking. The Witches’ forms seem to blur and shift, as if they are not entirely of this world. With a final, collective nod, they retreat into the darkness, leaving behind a silence that eloquently conveys the gravity of my choices in this moment.

I steel myself, my heart pounding in my chest as the weight of their words settle upon me. The air in the temple grows thick with anticipation, each moment stretching out into eternity. Eulee positions herself between my legs, her presence is a grounding force amidst the swirling uncertainty.

Suddenly, the ground beneath us begins to tremble violently, sending shockwaves through my body. Shadows writhe and twist around me, whispering malevolent secrets that seem to coil around my very soul. The darkness presses in from all sides, as if it has a mind of its own, insidious, and all-consuming.

Just when I think I can bear no more, the ground’s tremors subside, and an eerie stillness descends upon the temple. Eulee’s fur stands on end, sensing the shift in energy. A faint glow beckons from ahead, drawing me towards it like a moth to a flame. As I emerge from the temple’s confines, the landscape transforms before me.

I find myself in a realm unlike any I have ever seen—an ethereal forest tinged with shades of perpetual dusk. Ancient trees loom over us like gnarled sentinels, their twisted branches reaching out like grasping claws towards what little light remains. A thick mist hangs low to the ground, its tendrils curling around my feet as I make my way forward. The scent of pine and something darker—something primal that makes my skin crawl—lingers through the air. Phantom figures flit and dart between the trees, taunting and teasing with glimpses of Theo before disappearing into shadows. My heart clenches at the sight of him ensnared by darkness, his face twisted in silent agony. These visions play upon my deepest fear—losing Theo to the clutches of evil or the finality of death.

With each step, the illusions grow more vivid, more insistent. The phantoms whisper seductively, tempting me to embrace the darkness and end the relentless torment. But I know this is the trial—a test of my resolve. I must not falter, must not succumb to despair. With Eulee at my side, her presence a steady pulse against the creeping chill of fear, we navigate through the forest towards the faint glimmer of truth that beckons us forward.

Pressing on, the phantoms begin to fade away, their power weakening in the face of my unwavering determination. The forest itself seems to let out a sigh of resignation as the evening sky brightens ever so slightly. The Trial of Sight may be over, but our journey is far from done. But now I know that even in the darkest depths of my fear, I can find the strength and courage to persevere and reach for the light.

The passage through the forest leads us to the mouth of a cavern, its entrance framed by stones that hum with a deep, resonant frequency. The air here is dense, vibrating with the echoes of a thousand whispers. I pause at the threshold, Eulee’s ears twitching in response to the sounds that spill forth from the darkness. The whispers coalesce into voices, each one vying for attention, a cacophony of promises and warnings. The voices of those long gone and those yet to come intertwine, creating a tapestry of sound that threatens to ensnare the mind.

Among the myriad of voices, one rises above the rest—familiar and heart-wrenching. It’s Mikyl, his voice a balm to my soul yet a dagger to my heart. “Why did you let me go?” he asks, his tone a mix of accusation and longing. “There’s still time to save me, to change the past and our future.” The temptation to respond is overwhelming. Every fiber of my being yearns to call out to him, to bridge the gap between what was and what might be. But this is the trial—to move in silence, to resist the allure of easy answers. Mikyl’s voice follows me, a constant presence that I dare not acknowledge.

With each step, I focus on the sound of my own breathing, the steady rhythm of Eulee’s paws against the stone floor. We move as shadows, silent and determined, the whispers unable to find purchase in our resolute silence.

The further we travel, the fainter Mikyl’s voice becomes, until it’s just another whisper among many, indistinguishable and powerless. The end of the cavern comes into view, a light that signifies both an exit and a victory. As we step out of the cavern and into the light, the silence is no longer oppressive but liberating, verification of our discipline and strength. The Trial of Sound is behind us, and with it, the ghost of Mikyl’s voice. We have passed through temptation and emerged unscathed; our resolve unbroken by the echoes of the past.

The final trial unfolds in a chamber where the silence is a canvas for the unuttered words of ages. The walls, etched with the echoes of countless tongues, hold the chains of speech, each link proof of the power held by the spoken word. I step into the sanctum, feeling the chains resonate with a latent energy, a symphony of silence that awaits the breath of voice to spring to life. At the chamber’s heart, a pedestal cradles an open grimoire, its pages aglow with a soft, otherworldly luminescence. A pure, clean white quill lightly floats above it.

A voice, neither male nor female but encompassing both, fills the chamber with a riddle that weaves through the air like a delicate thread of silk. “What force binds without chains, guides without stars, and whispers destiny into the hearts of all?” it asks, the words hanging in the balance, yearning for resolution .

As I stand before the grimoire, the chamber’s silence is a deafening roar in my ears. The riddle posed by the Witches, echoes in my mind, a cryptic puzzle that tugs at the very essence of my being. Love and destiny—two forces that have guided and tormented me in equal measure. My thoughts race, a tumultuous storm within the calm of the chamber. Love, I know, is a force both gentle and fierce. It has the power to heal and to harm, to free and to bind. And destiny—is it not the path I tread, the unseen hand that guides me through the darkness? My heart beats a frantic rhythm, a drum of war and peace, as I grapple with the riddle’s depth.

With a clarity that cuts through the chaos of my thoughts, I realize that ‘faith’ is the chainless bond, the compass that guides without stars, the whisperer of fates. It is the silent architect of destinies, shaping our paths with invisible hands.

I take the quill, its feather a weightless burden in my grasp, and with a touch as light as a lover’s caress, I trace the symbol upon the page—a spiral, the very same spiral Meemaw had etched into the floorboards above her hidden compartment. I feel a significant connection to this symbol as a representation for the journey of self-discovery and the continuous growth of faith in oneself—faith in myself. As I draw it, I am reminded of Meemaw and the wisdom she imparted.

The chains fall silent, the riddle’s answer accepted. A warmth fills the chamber, an affirmation of the truth that faith is the unseen force that binds us, guides us, and shapes our destinies. The grimoire’s pages turn, revealing wisdom of the heart, inscribed in prose that speaks of the intertwining of love and destiny in the tapestry of life.

With the Trial of Speech concluded, the chamber’s once heavy air now breathes a sigh of relief. Words, the vessels of power and creation, now feel like gentle guides on the journey of life. I step forth from the chamber, Eulee by my side, carrying with us the understanding that faith can shape our love and, in turn, our destiny.

The oppressive darkness recedes like a tide, revealing a grand hall bathed in the soft light of countless candles. At the far end, seated upon thrones carved from ancient ebony, are the Raven Witches, their eyes gleaming with the wisdom of the ages.