Page 56 of Unravelled

Danlea crossed the room with a slow elegance. She poured tea into a delicate cup, the fragrant steam curling with lavender and chamomile. When she placed it in Mira’s hands, the warmth of it startled her. Real. Steadying.

“Drink,” the Queen whispered. “This will help.”

Mira lifted the cup to her lips. The tea was soft, floral, grounding. A deep breath followed, steadier than the last. Across from her, Danlea folded herself into her seat, graceful and unhurried. The Queen smiled, cradled her own teacup in both hands and closed her eyes for a moment.

Danlea’s voice broke the quiet, low and reverent, as if reciting something sacred from memory.

“Kharad was a slave in the darkened halls of the Ironhold. His days were a symphony of iron against stone, his nights filled with the weight of chains and the cold bite of a world that did not remember kindness.”

She wasn’t looking at Mira as she spoke, her gaze distant, fixed somewhere beyond the room. The flicker of candlelight caught in her eyes, turning them to liquid gold. The words fell from her lips like an old prayer.

"The masters of the Ironhold were as cruel as the mountains they mined, and they sought to break him, to turn his spirit to dust beneath their heels.”

Mira didn’t move. Something in Danlea’s tone held her still. She felt suspended, as if the air had thickened around them. The pain in her chest hadn’t vanished, but it dulled under Danlea’s voice, like waves smoothing jagged stone.

“But within Kharad burned the spirit of a storm. One evening, as the sun sank beneath ash-colored clouds, he saw his chance. His chains, once his prison, became his weapon. He shattered them against the rock, the iron breaking with a sound like thunder. His strength, forged through years of backbreaking labor, became his sword.”

The silver-blue firelight flickered softly, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

As Danlea spoke, the flames seemed to shape themselves around the story.

Iron chains snapped and danced in silhouette.

A figure rose, tall and defiant, the tremble of the flames turning his movement into myth.

Behind him, other shadows followed, smaller but growing, like hope taking root in darkness.

“The path to freedom was not kind,” Danlea continued “The roads were twisted, the thorns sharp, and the rivers rose to swallow them whole.

But Kharad never faltered. When the waters rose, he tore trees from the earth to build bridges.

When wolves circled, his roar alone sent them fleeing.

His strength was not only in his arms but in his heart, in the way he refused to abandon hope. "

"When Kharad and his people reached the sea, they found the Navigators. Together, they crafted ships, weaving wood and willpower into vessels that could carry them beyond the horizon. The sea rose to challenge him, the storms testing his resolve, but he stood at the helm, unyielding. His strength became a shield, his voice the wind in their sails.”

Her voice dipped, the words slowing, each one placed with care. “And when they reached the new lands, it was Kharad who set the first stone on their new home. He did not build from iron and rock alone but from the strength he had earned, and the freedom he had claimed.”

Silence settled over them, the story hanging in the air like mist. Mira’s tea had cooled, but the warmth lingered, a small ember in the dark.

Danlea leaned forward, her milky eyes gentle, luminous in the firelight.

“You’re standing at the edge of the sea, Mira.

Behind you lie the mines, the chains of everything you once believed was unchangeable.

But ahead… ahead is open water. You can build your ship and set sail, not because the sea is safe, but because you’ve grown strong enough to face its storms. The roots you’ve planted will hold, even when the wind howls. ”

Mira’s lips parted, the air sharp against her teeth. “But what if I can’t? What if I break?”

Danlea reached out, her cool fingers brushing gently against Mira’s.

“There are many paths ahead, Mira. And if you break… then it will be your breaking that makes space for something new. Even ruin can be fertile ground. What falls apart may yet become the foundation for something stronger, truer. That too is part of the journey. That too is strength.”

The room seemed to shift with her words, the firelight steadying, the silver glow at the windows sharpening into clarity. A hush fell, thick and absolute.

Mira opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. Her limbs felt suddenly heavy, her thoughts blurred. It was as if the weight of everything. Her anger, the ache, the sheer exhaustion, finally collapsed inward.

Her eyes fluttered once, then closed. She slumped gently against the cushions before she even realized she was falling, sleep crashing over her like a wave. The world vanished in an instant, pulled from her grasp like a thread slipping through fingers.

Danlea remained still beside her, watching, silent as the flame.