Chapter 10- Lyraea

Chapter 10: Shadows of Ash and Bonds Forged in Fire

The cold air clawed at my skin as we pushed forward, the ash-laden wind seeping through every layer of fabric like some relentless phantom. It wasn't the kind of cold you could shake off—it burrowed deep, numbing everything. I adjusted my cloak tighter around my shoulders and turned to glance back at the group.

96 of us- my squad, Leo's and whatever remaind of Mara's-, each face etched with the weight of the journey. Some wore grim expressions, others forced smiles to keep spirits high, but the exhaustion was in all of us. We moved together, powers pooling to make the trek faster, but even with our combined abilities, the terrain fought us every step of the way.

I must say that the timing of the journey couldn't have been more perfect. Its almost as though the Hugh Lumina knew that all the major kingdoms would have their efforts centered on Eidralis, the City of peace. The Royal commission arranges meetings from time to time to discuss matters that affect the lands. It involves the King's and leadership of the five kingdoms as well was representatives from the continent.

One thing I can't seem to wrap my head around is how the High Lumina knew the date of the commission meeting. The meetings are only ever announced to the attendees quite literally the moment they are to make the trip to Eidralis and no one in particular determines nor knows of the date before hand. It was designed to ensure that no one has time to plan something crafty as Eidralis is a truce zone and any retaliation against a neighbour is strictly prohibited. Powers don't even work there and whatever goes on in those meetings is tightly warded off from seers and the like by ancient magic making it impossible to tamper with or probe.

So how did the High Lumina know?

My attention is soon stolen by Leo as he strode confidently at the front of the group, his sandy blond hair sticking out in wild tufts beneath his hood. His energy was as unstoppable as ever, even with the ash staining his boots. He tossed a wink over his shoulder at Jazz, whose scowl was practically a permanent feature of her face by now.

"Keep glaring at me like that, Jazz," Leo called, "and I might start thinking you've got a crush on me."

Jazz didn't dignify him with a reply, though her eyes narrowed even further. "Shut up, Leo," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

He grinned like he'd won some grand victory. "Ah, music to my ears. Sweet nothings whispered in my direction."

"I'll shove my boot up your ass if you don't stop running your mouth," Jazz shot back, her voice sharp.

"Promises, promises." Leo's laughter echoed in the stillness.

I shook my head, suppressing a smile. "You are insufferable, you know that?" I said as he fell into step beside me.

"True," Leo replied, completely unbothered. "But you'd all be miserable without me."

"I doubt that," Jazz snapped from behind us.

The banter wasn't just mindless noise. It kept us grounded, gave us something to hold onto when the reality of our situation threatened to suffocate us.

---

The children were huddled with their father, Callan, near the middle of the group. Kael, the older of the two, kept glancing nervously at the horizon, while Liora clung to Callan's cloak.

Dane, our company commander, crouched beside the children during one of our brief halts, a stark contrast to his usual commanding presence. In the war-torn battlegrounds, he was a figure of unyielding authority, his sharp decisions and unwavering resolve guiding us through chaos. Yet here, among the children, his steel exterior melted into something tender and unexpectedly gentle.

He smiled at Kael, his easy warmth dissolving the tension that seemed permanently etched on the younger boy's face. "Don't worry, little one," Dane said softly to Liora, his tone carrying none of the sharpness he used to issue orders. "If any nasty beasts come sniffing around, I'll scare them off."

Liora giggled, her tiny fingers tugging playfully at the hem of his coat. "You're not scary," she said, her grin mischievous.

Dane gasped in mock indignation, pressing a hand to his chest as if wounded. "Not scary? How dare you! I'm terrifying—ask anyone!"

"You're absolutely ridiculous," I muttered as I passed, though the faintest smile tugged at my lips despite myself. It was hard not to feel the warmth radiating from the scene, even in a world so grim.

Dane's laughter rumbled low, his presence a calming balm in a time where fear was an ever-present shadow. Callan's tense shoulders eased as he glanced at me, a flicker of gratitude in his gaze. Dane had a way of pulling us back from the edge, of reminding us what we were fighting for. And though I rarely said it aloud, it was moments like these that made me trust him.

For all his skill with a blade and his uncanny ability to command, it was his kindness that defined him in ways he likely didn't realize. And maybe, just maybe, that's why I found it so difficult to keep my guard up when it came to him.

---

By midday, the group had found a rhythm. Jazz's fire abilities kept the cold at bay during breaks, her flames flickering steadily as she warmed frozen hands.

"Don't get used to this," she warned when Leo sidled up to bask in the heat.

"Relax," Leo said, smirking. "I'd say thank you, but I know how much you hate praise."

Jazz shot him a look that could have melted stone, but she didn't extinguish the flames.

Further ahead, Mara was tending to someone who'd twisted their ankle on a patch of uneven ground. Her hands glowed faintly as she worked, the soft hum of her healing magic filling the air. Mara is a Necromancer, but she chooses to use her power for good, and so she took on the permanent role of one of our Guard's healers along side three others who also worked hurriedly through the crowd.

"You need to be more careful," she scolded the man, though her tone was gentle.

"Hard to be careful when the ground's trying to kill you," he muttered, wincing as she set the joint back into place.

I siphoned energy as we moved, pulling from the faint traces of life still clinging stubbornly to the barren, ash-choked landscape. The act always left a bitter taste on my tongue, the flavor of decay and loss lingering long after, and an emptiness that settled deep in my chest. It wasn't pleasant, but it was necessary. It kept us going.

Within our guard, only one other siphon remained, much younger than me and barely aware of the weight their gift carried. Siphoning was one of the rarest forms of magic—disregarded, feared, and hunted. That made us the King's favorite targets, our lives forfeit the moment we were discovered. Most of us never lived long enough to make an impact. Perhaps that's why I'd been made squad leader so quickly—there weren't many of us left to compete for the position.

In the worst of my nightmares, I relive the first time I siphoned. I remember the raw thrill of it, the momentary joy of discovering I was gifted, that I wasn't powerless. But that joy… it didn't last. It couldn't. Not when my power marked me as something to be erased.

I remember the long days of pretending to be a healer, of wearing a mask just to survive. It worked for a while, until it didn't. Until my power slipped free and painted me as a target.

Siphoning keeps me alive, but every time I use it, I feel the weight of that first loss. The hollow ache of what could have been, of a life I might have had if only I'd been born with a magic worth protecting.

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