Page 109 of The False Pawn

“Maybe . . . just maybe,” she whispered to herself, fingers brushing over the inscriptions. Drawing out her dagger, Anthea began working on the sealed entrance. The stones were frustratingly resilient. Hours went by, the sun’s position shifted, and her muscles ached with fatigue.

Panting, she halted her efforts and looked at the small progress she had made.

Three stones. Just three.

Taking a deep breath, she continued chiseling at the barriers that stood between her and Illiyara’s mysteries.

After what felt like an eternity, she had managed to pry out two more stones. Darkness had crept in, and exhaustion weighed her down. She decided to retire to one of the huts. She spread out her sleeping mat and wrapped Eldrion’s cloak around herself—his familiar scent still lingered.

It was a crypt.

Anthea got into the sealed cave late in the afternoon. The stone shards from the broken wall crunched under her feet as she ventured further into it. The air was heavy with a musky odor, a mix of old stone and decay. She found herself in front of a beautifully detailed sarcophagus, where the figure of a woman, carved with precision and care, lay in rest. The features were delicate, the hair intricately braided, and the gown flowing down the stone form seemed so lifelike it almost appeared as though the carved woman might just sit up and look at her.

Anthea reached out a tentative hand to touch it.

“I have been waiting for you,” an eerie voice, whispery and feminine, echoed in the silent crypt.

Anthea screamed, her hand going to the hilt of her dagger. “Where?—“

A spectral figure began to materialize—a regal woman with fierce eyes and a crown of braided hair. She wore armor made of shimmering metal.

Startled, Anthea stumbled back. It looked exactly like the sarcophagus.

“I am Illiyara,” the woman said softly, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

“What do you want from me?” Anthea managed to ask, trying to keep her voice steady as she took tentative steps back.

Illiyara’s expression was a mix of sadness and hope. “To help you fulfill your destiny,” she whispered, making Anthea halt her retreat. “And perhaps, in doing so, you can help lay my own spirit to rest.”

“What . . . what do you mean?” Anthea stammered, eyes wide.

“My grandmother foresaw your arrival to this realm. You are the one who will wake the dragons again. You are the savior.”

“Wake the dragons?”

Illiyara’s eyes held a glint of deep longing. “Beyond the western sea, there is an island. Hidden, untouched, and forgotten by many. There, on an island in a lake, lies a sphere. It holds the power to awaken the slumbering dragons—the children of the ancients.”

“Children of the?—”

Illiyara stepped closer, her eyes boring into Anthea’s as she cut her off. “They are among you. They might not even know of their lineage, but their souls remember.”

“But how will I know these children? How do I find them?”

“You will know them when they touch the sphere. It will wake the blood of their lineage.”

“Why me?” Anthea whispered, feeling overwhelmed. “Why not someone else, someone more . . . capable?”

Illiyara’s expression softened. “Isluma’s history is drenched in blood. You do not carry the weight of our history. Your heart is unburdened by past enmities.”

“Is that why I am here? Why I was sent here?”

The ghostly figure of the queen approached, her hand reaching out to touch Anthea’s face. “I guess that could have been anyone, but fate has chosen you. You are here, and you have the strength within you. You must unite Isluma again. You must restore the balance.”

“But . . . but how do I control these dragons . . .” Anthea trailed off as she saw Illiyara’s face go stern.

“You do not control a dragon.” Her voice grew softer, sadder. “You love a dragon.” Her eyes paused on a faraway point. “I loved my dragon fiercely. And if you find the sphere and awaken the dragons again, so will you. That is your destiny.”

“What?”