Page 58 of Daughter of the Serpent

To Sylvie, Runa's voice felt distant, like a faint echo lost in the depths of her consciousness. She was enveloped in an otherworldly trance, her senses overwhelmed by an unseen force pulsating through her being. She felt...gold. Radiant, resplendent gold, infusing every fiber of her being until she herself seemed to embody its brilliance. She couldn't comprehend, only experience. The power surged withinher, merging seamlessly with her essence, blurring the lines between herself and the magic that coursed through her.

Yet, amid the ethereal haze, Sylvie became aware of Runa's strained voice, drawing her attention back to the world around her. The once - crowded space had thinned, bodies now being tended to or carried away, the air thick with groans of pain. Sylvie's gaze fell upon a figure lying motionless beneath a sacred stone, a silent plea for aid echoing within her.

Instincts seized, propelling her forward as the power surged within her once more.

"Help her," it whispered, a command that resonated through her very soul.

Coming to the figure’s side, her eyes filled with recognition. It was Thyra, the girl who had raised issue earlier in class, except now her face was drained of all color, eyes devoid of their usual spark. Blood pooled beneath Thyra's head, a grim reminder of the severity of magic used unwillingly. Touching her face, Sylvie felt a sharp pain echo through her snapping her senses alert as she assessed the damage. It was as if the energy coursing through her allowed her to tap into Thyra's life force, to assess the injuries with a clarity that bordered the impossible. The knowledge of Thyra’s injuries rose to the surface swiftly; there was no confusion, no question to answer - all was inevitably clear.

If she didn’t act now, the blow to her head would certainly cause her to fade til death claimed her, and she knew she only had but a matter of minutes.

Sylvie remained strangely calm, filled with an unshakable certainty that all would be well.

"I fell," Thyra managed between ragged breaths, pain evident in her strained voice. “I cast, and then I felt…the power…surge me backward.”

“It’s ok, I’m here.” Sylvie soothed, her hand instinctively coming to the side of her head, stroking her long blonde braid.

“Thyra will rise.”

“Thyra will be well.”

“Thyra will heal.”

The magic spoke, every word echoing off the walls of her own mind, intonning truth and power. The magic enveloped the body before her, and she could see the tension melt from Thyra’s eyes. It was as if Sylvie was absorbing her pain, transmuting it into pure white light. All she could feel was everflowing sunlight, pouring out from every pore, every orifice, and every space between.

Time ceased, leaving her suspended in an eternal moment where haste held no sway, and urgency faded into insignificance.

There was only light.

As Sylvie looked at Thyra now, she could see beneath the surface of her mortal flesh to her very essence, her very soul. Within it danced the echoes of laughter, every joy, and earthly innocence suppressed by veils of apprehension, yearning to break free. Every one of her thoughts unfurled before her, a once tangled knot, now laid out in a radiant tapestry of luminous threads bathed in golden light. She felt the echoes of old wounds, scars of separation, and the pain of familial absence, a torrent of memories threatening to engulf her whole.

In this moment she was granted access to Thyra's innermost self, where every emotion, every pain, every joy lay bare. The energy ebbed and flowed, slowly moving deeper and deeper into the subtle layers of Thyra, unraveling the shields her bones and flesh did hide. Tears welled in Sylvie's eyes as she glimpsed a face, so pure, so sweet, and she felt the extent of Thyra’s love bursting to the surface. Her dear brother Kal, whom she was forced to leave behind. She could see his little cheeks, ripe with the red of a teething toddler, and that little smile that had the power to light up the room around him. How she missed him - Kal.Oh sweet Kal.

Thyra’s emotions were her own.

As she looked at Thyra now, she saw not a girl who she barely knew, but a soul who was one with life, one with her own, andeverything and everyone that ever was. Everything was wrapped in a golden cord of unfathomable love.

Energy shot out, a gold halo of warmth enveloping the girl beneath her effortlessly until she too was encased in sparkling golden light. A green aura encircled the wound, like emeralds flashing deep and vibrant, miraculously stopping the bleeding and sealed the wound shut.

Love.

There was so much love.

A voice thrummed in the deep.

“Welcome home.”

Runa’s expression was unreadable as they stood facing each other in her private quarters.

Sylvie could still hear the commotion outside, the moans of pain echoing throughout the halls, the palatable urgency lacing every corridor as the remaining injured were rushed to the healers, one by one.

At least she had the solace that Thyra would be alright.

After the magic had finished its work, Thyra had recovered within minutes, leaving Sylvie and the remaining students stunned into silence. She had been quick to call Haldor to help Thyra to the healers just to be sure - yet there had been no denying that magic had been at work.

Though the glow had faded, traces of it still lingered, pulsing faintly beneath her skin. The power within her now ebbed, retreating like the tide, its presence diminishing with each breath. What had once been an ever - flowing wellspring of love now ran shallow, leaving her hollow, her body becoming weary with exhaustion.

“Come closer.” Runa’s voice sliced through her thoughts, beckoning her forward. “We must speak.”