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I sit in the tavern, lost in thought, until even the regulars have stumbled into the night in search of rest. The taverner shelves the last flagon and points at the door.

Once I am in the street, I feel like something has shifted within me, something I cannot put into words. So often, Ellehra would speak of similar things, but I was too proud to listen. What need did I have for Elyon when my life functioned fine without him? But now, this stranger has reminded me of the things she said, the things I have long forgotten. And I am broken enough to hear them.

So much has happened in thirteen years. I am not the same man I once was.

Elyon, forgive me.

Before I understand what I am doing, silent words pour out in a torrent of prayer. Oh, how long my spirit has been bound by bitterness. But now, a ray of mercy has pierced the hidden dungeon of my soul. My griefs drain away, and hope fills the void. Words of confession become whispers of praise. As my feet move through the streets of Utsanek, I exchange guilt for forgiveness, resentment for thanksgiving, turmoil for peace.

My chains fall off. My heart isfree.

Without a lantern to guide my way, the ténesomni is nothing more than a passing shadow. I make it back to our cottage without difficulty. It is no longer a place of oppression; rather, it is a promise of a new start. Even in its sadly neglected state, it welcomes me in.

What an amazing, astounding, incomprehensible love.

As I take up the old routines of caring for the goats and chickens, fetching water, and lighting a fire in the hearth, one troubling question remains. How can I possibly keep silent as Myrzeth distorts the Vale to his purposes? And if I do oppose him, like my heart compels me to do, what will it mean for my daughter?

27. Wehna

TÉRON

WHEN I OPEN MY EYES, a mosaic of impossible colors hangs above my head. For one disoriented moment, I think I’m seeing the stars again—until I blink, and they come into focus.

Much too close to be stars. The timid flicker of hope puffs out.

“You are alright, dear. Just relax.”

Something soft cushions my head, but the rest of my body aches from the unyielding surface on which I am lying. My brows scrunch together when a throb of pain floods my forehead. I press a palm into the pain.

“Where am I?”

A strange sound makes me pull my hand away. I blink into the gentle lights again. A woman with compassionate eyes stands off to the side, under a canopy of branches covered in multicolored bolétis. She smiles and holds out a hand. I hesitate before taking it. Carefully, she pulls me upright. My legs swing down, and my feet are steadied by a hard surface.

“You’re somewhere we should have brought you weeks ago.” She sits down beside me on the bench, and a dirty blond braid slips off her shoulder and swings gently. “But we didn’t want to risk your parents returning to an empty house.”

There’s that sound again. High-pitched shrieking, mingled with sounds of ...joy. Children playing.

“Arvo.” I gasp, my whole body springing up.

The woman puts a hand on my shoulder to still me, and her touch brings the threat of tears to my eyes.

“It’s alright,” she says, her fingers tightening when I try to get up again. “He’s here.” Her green eyes are a peaceful shade, less vibrant than Arvo’s. I fix onto them like a lifeline. “My husband searched for him after you took a turn, and he didn’t need to look for long.” Something feels like it’s trying to pry out of my lungs, but I lack the courage to give it utterance.

“He’s safe,” she says, eyebrows going up with the word that calms my fears.

Melodic laughter fills the courtyard as a troop of seven or so kids tumbles in under the reach of the tree. My eyes dart around until they fall on a small shape, with curly hair that bounces and a smile that fills the whole world with unquenchable light.

The tears come, hot and fast and without mercy. I do not protest when the woman pulls me into her embrace, and she does not protest when I drench her shoulder.

We don’t have to be alone.

PART THREE

COME

You have heard the call,

“Come out of the darkness,