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Nesta Archeron Appreciation Week 2024 | @nestaarcheronweek

Day Three: Self Care

“Feeling better Nes?” Em asked as she nudged Nesta with a knee. “With us here?”

“Heals my soul every time,” Nesta smiled.

  Chapter 3

The Waking World

          “ Miss, are you alright? ”

          My head was still spinning, trying to decipher the puzzle of events I’d been subjected to. One second I was at home with Icarus, mourning my twisted way of living, and the next, some kind of sly saint made me an offer, bewitched me into agreeing with it, and threw me into a distorted reality that did not belong to me.

          Was this a parallel universe of the same world? Like a forked road, and somehow I had departed from the right path. Except… I didn’t deviate. I didn’t do anything wrong. Someone pushed me—lied to me, made me believe that a right direction was actually wrong.

  Looking back, I could barely recall the way I felt staring into his eyes. His looks were vaguely present somewhere in the back of my mind, sheltered by a glamour that tasted of sadness. My hair was still a little frizzy from the powerful electric field he created in my home, and my fingertips were still tingling.

 Here, I felt big and small at the same time—guilty, and somehow… a distortion that erased the beauty of a mirror with gold-polished edges. An imperfection. Something that shouldn’t have existed in this timeline—something that changes the flowing of a river.

 Like a stone in the middle of a watercourse.

 I had been so close to punching myself in the head to wake up, to rip myself out of this nightmare, but I had already proven to myself that nothing worked—the wounds on my hands and feet were witnesses of my distressed tries. Deep inside, I knew there was another way out. I just couldn’t figure it out yet.

 “ Miss? ” A sweet voice called near me, and a spark of hope rose in my stomach—because for a second, I thought I recognized it. I found myself reaching for a name.

 Nemira? Was it Nina, actually?

 Her name stuck on my tongue like a sweet-and-sour candy that wouldn’t melt. That feeling of knowing but being unable to access the information scorched my brain, already worn out from the last few hours of desolation. It must have been hours, though. I couldn’t be sure of the time I lost while I was diving through the air, nor the time I wasted unconscious.

 It fucked up my biological watch.

 Frustration made my scalp itch. I gritted my teeth with the last remains of my strength, trying to bury my anger and despair as deep as possible. It wouldn’t get me anywhere if I kept crying, yelling, acting wild. I had no idea where I was. I didn’t know the moral or political laws of this realm—this continent, this country I had fallen into.

 The reasonable solution was not to be an enemy. I could play the lamb. I could pretend to be whatever this world wanted—as long as I got what I needed right now: answers, solutions for my problems, and a way home.

 But… Did I even want to go home?

 I removed my muddy palms from my face and lifted my brows, trying to unglue my swollen eyes. I had cried so much that my tears had dried between my lashes and at the corners of my eyelids, forming sticky, lumpy rheum. My irises hadn’t gotten used to the brightness yet; I couldn’t even control myself enough not to collapse every two seconds. The pressure in my forehead intensified, and time seemed to bog down until I finally managed to get a clear image of the being in front of me.

 First, I registered the same desolate picture of aridity—faded shades of brown and sickly green. Then the back currants peeking out from the sun-burnt land. The figure in front of me was almost lost in the landscape—angular and thin, resembling the cut trunk of a tree that no longer bore fruit.

 My blood rushed from my head to my feet, and I dragged myself back when she took a timid step forward.

 Her legs were covered by a brown skirt that brushed dust off the ground, patched at the hips and nibbled at the hem by years of wear. She wasn’t wearing shoes—her calloused toes exposed to rough gravel.

 “ No, no—don’t run… please. ” She whispered softly, as if I were a rabid animal ready to strike. “ I don’t mean to scare you away. I just… ” She bit her lip nervously, watching me with weary brown eyes. “ I just want to know if you need any help… ”

 Did I need help? Probably. Was I going to accept it from any stranger who offered it to me without knowing their full intentions? Of course yes.

 “ Water... ” I said dryly, licking my lips with my dusty tongue. I raised my head toward the upper half of the woman and frowned, lifting a hand to shelter my eyes from the sun’s burn.

 “ You don’t look familiar. I mean… you know? ” She shrugged as she knelt in front of me and rummaged through her old, leathered bag until she pulled out a bottle wrapped in raffia. As she held it out for me, I noticed her yellow-stained nails—and the little chamomile flowers hanging from the twine. “ I mean, you seem like you don’t belong to these parts of the continent. ” Her accent slipped between words, and my brow pinched tighter.

 Was I in my own world? In Ireland? No. Impossible. I had just passed through a hole in the air and gone from a chill oasis with diamond mountains and a stag to this sad, scorched field. I didn’t think these things happened often in Ireland.

 “ There’s a little bit of water at the bottom, ” She added, almost apologetically, “ but I think it’s warm— ”

 I cut her off, yanking the cork free and drinking. The first swallow made me choke. I coughed hard, the taste flooding my mouth—stale water, algae, iron, and dust all mixing into something that felt like it left a thin layer of rubble on my tongue. My stomach lurched.

 “ I warned you, y’know? ” She chuckled, and tucked the bottle back into her bag like this was ordinary.

 Silence fell between us, and I felt the urge to fill it, but my mind couldn’t find the right words. I had so many questions—too many—and no strength left to pull them out. No ambition. Nothing. So I let her look at me.

 My wet hair stuck to my face. Puffy bags under my eyes. A bruised, runny nose. Chapped lips. A red-stained neck and clothes. Mud, salt, blood. I was a mess. But she didn’t look impressed. She looked… pitying. Like disfigured strangers dropped from the sky weren’t a novelty here.

 “ What’s your name, dear? ” She asked, tilting her small head. A few curls slipped loose and fell against her thin cheekbones. She had an angelic allure—dark features set against sickly alabaster skin. Raven hair caught in a tight bun. Thin, arched brows. Sparse lashes.

 “ My name? ” I repeated, waking from my staring. My name. My name… What was my name?

 My throat tightened. Panic rose so fast it felt like it stole the air from the world. Of course I had a name. I just needed to remember it. My eyes darted—corner to corner—taking in too much visual information at once, as if the landscape might contain the answer. I forgot to breathe.

 Was I not a person anymore? Did I still exist? Does my name define me? Who am I? Was I really here?

 A silent galaxy opened in my mind—an endless, dizzying void where everything from the night before had been swallowed: my name, my girlfriend’s name, my parents, my friend. All of it hidden behind a thick curtain, like creeping shadows from a life that no longer belonged to me.

 My gaze dropped to the watch on my wrist—the only thing still tethered to me, the only thing I’d kept precious and close. A gift from my late lover.

 I started crying again—quiet sobs, thin tears that barely fell but still burned my eyes. I couldn’t reproduce one of the simplest truths: the name I’d been given at birth.

 “ Shh… It’s alright if you can’t tell me, y’know? ” She reached out and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, resting her chin on the top of my head. “ We’ll find something suitable for you. ”

 “ Forgive me. ” I managed, my hands gripping her fragile wrists, nails biting without meaning to. “ I fell. I can barely remember anything. ”

 Gradually, we stood. Then we started walking toward the smoke rising between the valleys of the mountains. She supported me with one arm as I limped—my right leg throbbing, slowing us down.

 “ Do you at least recall where you come from? ” She asked gently. “ The name of the city, how it looked… a random name of a priest you used to know, a friend—anything, y’know? ”

 What was I supposed to answer? The truth sounded like science fiction. Even for me it was hard to believe. But for her? She might think I was a lunatic. I could be locked away—used for experiments, thrown into a prison for heresy. If they even had religion here.

 I was a panicked stranger with no idea of her own damned name, dressed according to modern standards that, here, looked wrong. I was walking evidence of an apocalypse. Even I would lock myself underground if I lived here and saw myself coming.

          Maybe I should lie. Should I lie? No. They would catch me immediately if I gave random names or directions. There was no sign here that could indicate the name of any nearby town or village and I didn't have any knowledge of the local places so I can be able to give vague indications regarding my supposed home. I was clueless if there was an ocean separating us from another continent on the left or if there was a deadly canion on the right.

        I was a leaf in the wind, waiting to be guided—or to wither. “ I have a cat… ” I found myself saying, accepting the crocheted wool scarf she draped over my shoulders. “ Fortunately, I remember his name—Icarus. ”

 Maybe I used to have a cat would’ve been a better way to put it. Maybe it would soothe my heart if I spoke about him like he was already dead. I touched my watch and closed my eyes for a second, restraining myself, drawing strength from the cold leather against my skin.

 “ Icarus. ” She repeated cautiously, studying me through black lashes. “ You love him dearly, don’t ya? ”

 I nodded, counting the large rocks we had to avoid along the path—watching for serpents, insects, anything that might distract me.

 “ I love all my pets too. Cows, horses, sheep, dogs, cats… even the chickens and ducks. My family has a farm on the hill, y’know.”

 “ That’s where we’re headed? ” I asked softly, tightening the scarf around me.

 Only then did I realize how cold I was. The chill crept through the seams of my clothes, sinking into my damp fabric. And as we drew closer to the base of the mountains, the landscape began to change—slowly shifting from that sad, sterile land into something colder but alive.

 Tall trees—mostly firs with thick crowns—appeared ahead, guarding the path on both sides like watchmen. Even the soil looked healthier, more reddish, with stubborn tufts of grass beginning to push through.

 And there were smells. Food. Real food. Smoke from fires. Even the sharp stink of animals, and—far away—the haunting thread of wolves. It was so normal it made my senses overload. My head spun, struggling to reconcile it.

 Something had been wrong with that meadow. It had looked… soulless.

 The girl nodded and picked up her pace. “ Yes—and I hear you’re hungry as well. ”

 I laughed, shame warming my cheeks. I was starving.

 “ My name’s Niven. I’m the youngest in my family. I have a brother too. ”

 “ And how old are you? ”

 “ Sixteen. My brother is twenty… I think. I never remember, y’know? It doesn’t really matter—our age. ”

 I silently agreed.

 That explained the naïveté she carried so naturally—the gentleness, the way she’d simply decided to help me. No sane person would take a stranger off the road, feed her, shelter her—especially one who looked like me and couldn’t even produce a name.

 “ My dad is a priest in the village. He has relations. He can definitely find you a safe place to stay and a job until… ” She bit her pale lip again. “ …until you remember who you are. ” Then her eyes flicked over my face again, curious in a way that was almost clinical.

 “ You’ve got a small forehead, ” she said thoughtfully, “ and your nose is strong and defined. Are you sure you don’t come from a palace? That you don’t have noble blood? ”

 I blinked, overwhelmed by how casually she’d said it.

 “ Although… ” She added, squinting at me. “ I’ve never seen a prick wear your kind of clothes. There’s nothing wrong with it, don’t misunderstand me, but… it’s bland. Washed out. ”

 I stopped walking and stared at her, trying to process the amount of information she’d just dropped in my lap like it was nothing.

 Royal family. Noble blood. Outlander society. If I’d fallen into something like that, I wouldn’t survive more than a couple of weeks.

 “ You mean to say I’m uninteresting? ” I asked, half offended, half amused by the absurdity.

 “ Oh, dear—no! ” Niven laughed, and reached for my hand, tugging me along again. “ I mean you don’t fit their expectations either. Only by your face you might have a chance— I’m not saying you’re ugly, y’know. You just… nevermind. ”

 “ No. ” I said quickly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “ I’m not noble. I come from a common family—an ordinary village. This much, at least, I remember. I… ” I fell through worlds. I was thrown from the sky. I was branded by a monster. “ I came here with a carriage. ” I improvised, tasting the lie as it formed. “ But I must have fallen backwards and hit my head. ”

 “ Well, that explains the blood on your clothes, ” She said, nodding as if the world had righted itself, “ and the holes, and the injuries. ”

 How easy it was to lie. I bit my tongue until it stung and held on, refusing to let go of the panic that wanted to spill out. Only when I saw her shoulders relax did I allow myself to breathe again.

 She wasn’t naïve after all. Or maybe she was acting.

 “ I’ve seen it happen often on this road. ” She said, babbling as she fished a ring of keys from her bag. “ So many stones that break wheels and spook horses. You almost always find a boozer or a foreign traveler lost in the valley. ” Her voice softened. “ The problem is these places are dangerous for those unfamiliar. ”

 The farm emerged ahead—built from black, solid wood, with a roof made of packed earth and logs. A chimney pierced the top, breathing out thick gray smoke. The yard was fenced with thin sticks, and a narrow river bordered it—crossed by a small stone bridge.

 Then Niven stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into her. “ Did you happen to see anything… peculiar? ” She asked, wide-eyed, innocent as a doe. “ Y’know, this place used to be full of legends. Even Icarus—your cat’s name—has a legend. And in the middle of the meadow, it is said that an oasis sanctified by a questionable saint is hidden from the eyes of the world, feeding from what was once a beautiful field. But maybe you— ”

 “ Nivy! ” A woman’s voice called from behind the house, followed by a slender silhouette moving into view.

 Niven’s bulbous eyes snapped to mine. She leaned closer and whispered quickly, releasing my arm from her strong grip and flashing a false grin. “ Your name is Cyan. ”

 I swallowed hard and repeated it in my head, fast, like a charm that might stick. Cyan. Cyan. It was so close to the way I used to be called—close enough to hurt.

 “ Niven, where’s the chamomile? And, oh— ” The woman—Niven’s mother, I assumed, because their dark features matched—stopped short, shock flickering across her face as she looked me up and down. “ A friend of yours, Niven? ”

 “ No, mama. ” Niven said quickly, and squeezed my shoulders as if she could physically keep me from falling apart. She guided me closer to her mother. “ I found her. She was lost in the middle of the field—near the village of Dupnitsa, near the dogwood tree. ”

 Silence dropped between them. Something unspoken passed—mute information, a look that carried more meaning than words.

 Her mother was the same height as Niven, and almost as young-looking. The only evidence of her true age were the faint wrinkles on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. They wore similar clothes: a gray skirt just as patched, lifted on one side and tucked into thick pants underneath—probably for mobility, considering the size of the yard she had to work. Above her narrow forehead, pale roots showed through her brunette hair, hidden beneath a green scarf that made her hazel eyes stand out.

 She had the same angelic allure too—clean face, slightly bronzed skin, pale lips, dark straight brows.

 “ I don’t want to bother. ” I said, because I had to say something. “ I can leave, if necessary. ”

 Niven’s short nails dug into my skin, warning me to shut up.

 I already knew they wouldn’t throw me out. Not with a house like this—smoke curling from the chimney, animals cared for, warmth held together by habit. This was the kind of place that hosted strangers long enough for them to breathe again.

 The woman tucked the wooden basket under her arm and bit the inside of her cheek. “ No, no. ” She said firmly. “ It would be my sin to throw you out. Come in and clean yourself up. ”

 Niven’s face lit up, satisfaction creeping at the corners of her mouth. She shot me a victorious look before leading me toward a small hut near the main farmhouse.

 As we passed around the wooden structure in the center, I caught a glimpse of an empty barn—and a boy guiding sheep toward it. The cobbled path took us past an open horse stable, giving me the honor of admiring them in the last rays of sun.

 I didn’t think I’d ever been so close to horses before. I could see the muscles flexing beneath their backs and legs. I could almost feel the smooth black and brown hair under my fingers. I smiled without meaning to.

 Farther back, kennels had been built for chickens and ducks, though the birds still wandered freely on the grass—watched closely by a black cat perched on the hut we were heading toward. The cat felt my stare and turned slowly, meeting my eyes.

 For a second, stupid hope rose in me—what if Icarus ended up here too? But when the animal finally looked at me properly, the missing white patch on his neck—and those golden irises scrutinizing me—destroyed the hope at once.

 “ Is the cat allowed to sleep inside? ” I asked, still watching the four-legged creature.

 “ No animal, ” Niven chirped, holding aside the light curtain covering the door, “ apart from my brother, can sleep in the house. My mother’s rules. ”

 I wiped my filthy feet as best as I could on the entrance rug, then followed Niven through the narrow hall.

 “ But sometimes, ” she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “ I sleep with my cat without anyone knowing. ”

 The floors were sanded, unvarnished wood, covered with hand-sewn red carpets. A few pairs of shoes sat neatly by a small cabinet, winter clothes hanging above them. The hall opened into three separate rooms—and no mirrors were visible anywhere. The house smelled… familiar. Like vacations at my grandparents’. Freshly washed wardrobe. Wood. Chamomile. And a faint hint of animal fur.

        “ You can sleep here with me until we figure things out and find a way to help you—to bring you back to your family. ” Niven explained, rummaging through a row of packed clothes. She pulled out a skirt and a thick cotton shirt, along with a pair of socks and a waistcoat.

 “These are my old clothes, from when I was younger. I think they’ll work for you pretty well. Now, I’ll prepare the bath here, and then we can go eat something, ‘cause I’m really starving, y’know? ”

 I nodded absently, staring at the low bed, tracing every wrinkle of the white sheets and pillows. I barely heard anything after she mentioned my family. I needed all my focus just to hold my tears back.

 So while she dragged the small tub beside the edge of the bed and lined it with towels to prevent spilling, then poured in steaming water, I found myself noting every defect of the chamber like it mattered: the peeled brown headboard, the dust on the painting above the bed, the strange perfection of the colors in it, the cracks at the corners of the wooden walls, the dark tones that seemed to close the space step by step.

 Nothing was how it used to be. And the crippling fear—that this would be my life from now on—kept cutting deeper into my chest.

 “ I wonder… ” Niven hesitated, rubbing her hands together. “ Are you used to being washed? I mean… y’know… do you want me to… huh? ”

 I opened my mouth to end her suffering, but she rushed ahead before I could.

 “ I have no idea what your life used to be like, but we’re not wealthy. No family from this area really is. ” Her words started tumbling out. “ So I have to apologize to you from now if we disgust you with our living, or our clothes, or the smell, or— ”

 “ Niven, please. Please, stop. ” I stepped closer and took her cold fists in mine, forcing myself into an affectionate smile. “ You’ve done more for me in one hour than most people did in years. You brought me a glimmer of hope. How could I ever do that to you? ” My throat tightened, but I pushed through it. “ I owe you all the years I have left to live, because I could’ve died out there in that field without your compassion. ”

 Peace settled into her fox-shaped eyes, softening her whole face into something purely young and pretty.

 I remembered the things people used to say in Turkish dramas—may your hands be healthy, fare well, may God be with you. I could adapt to this way of living if it meant surviving long enough to find someone who could truly help me.

 But questions kept crawling through me. Was Niven actually able to help me find a way home? Could I put my life into her hands—tell her the truth—and expect her not to kick me out, or beat me with rocks, or do whatever these lands did to humans who fell from the sky? Was I ambitious enough to adapt and live like this? Would I ever be at peace with the thought that maybe I could never go home again?

 “ Can I make the fire while you wash? ” She asked shyly, as I began peeling my itchy clothes from my skin.

 “ Of course. ” I said, trying to sound light. “ I’m not that bashful. ”

 As I scrubbed the mud off my body and cleaned my nails and hair, I felt her quick glances—furtive, curious. Like she was searching for signs that I wasn’t human enough. A tattoo. A mark. Anything. As if she feared I might have fingers stuck together like a duck’s, or something twisted and wrong.

 When I finished, she handed me a towel without rushing me, then braided my wet hair with careful fingers.

 Apparently, she didn’t have any underwear to give me—because I received no undergarments that resembled panties at all. I was grateful for the chamomile soap, homemade and rough but honest. It helped strip away that cadaveric smell that had clung to my old clothes.

 “ This isn’t your real hair, is it? ” She asked while tucking my braid under a scarf. Then she hurried to the nightstand.

 “ No. ” I said, forcing a straight smile. “ It’s dyed. ” A part of me flinched—afraid she’d hear “chemical treatment” as “satanic ritual” and decide to burn me at a stake.

 But Niven only nodded as she returned with a tiny bottle of perfume and dabbed a few drops on my neck and under my arms. “ Oh, girls here dye their hair too. ” she said matter-of-factly. “ Never red, though. No one wants to catch the eye of unwanted attention. ” She paused, then added, “ You can boil walnut leaves to make a satiny brunette, or crush coal in oil for very dark hair. Or boil red onion, but the smell lingers for quite some time. That’s what my mother uses, but you can find much more elevated and expensive methods at the market. ”

 “ What do you mean by ‘unwanted attention’? ” I asked as we poured out the red-brown bathwater and wiped the droplets from the floor together.

 Niven’s mouth tightened. “ Well… few men know how to respect women. ” she said quietly. “ And also—the royals and… ” She hesitated, then continued in a lower voice. “ You know. The creatures I told you about. The ones from the woods and the fields and the stories. ” Then she lifted her chin, trying to sound braver than she looked. “ But no worries. You keep it covered, and you should do just fine. ”

        Her smile faltered and a sting of anxiety made my stomach to twist. I retain myself from making other comments about the matter, but held the idea inside my head, considering I should try and ask again about it, in the future time.

          Outside, the sun already hid behind the mountain peak, leaving in its trace only violet rays and a powerful smell of firs. The night sky brought with it a chilly wind, rummaging through the billions of stars stacked on top of each other. It was and odd view, like they tried to hide something underneath them or tried to hide themselves from someone. Not a single constelation was to be seen tonight and even though everything was bright from the abundance of white dots, a feeling of loneliness and crushing sadness engulfed me. This is the first night I spent here, far away and despite everyone surrounding me, alone.

      I wonder if someone looked for me back home. If someone cared enough to call and realise that something is wrong. But I had no more power there and it made me no good to sit and think about it more than I already had.

      Once inside the kitchen, I smack a shy smile to my mouth, praying that I could make it trough the dinner, the shame and the desperate need to stick a knife in my throat. Here, it was warm and almost comfortable, a caress for my pain. They had no tables, but a low one in the middle with round small chairs surrounding it. Near the entrance, the whole wall was filled with brown furniture: a cupboard where Niven's mother was cutting bread, a glass case filled with plates and cups and a large hob where the meal was boiling. On the other side, a boy I suppose was Niven's brother, was stirring the fire on the fireplace.

     Shame intensified the moment I noticed two other faces watching me.

 “ C’mere, dear. Have a seat. ” The old man gestured toward the chair in front of him.

 “ Thank you. ” I whispered, and dug my nails into my palms, trying not to make the situation any more awkward.

 His accent was thicker than Niven’s or her mother’s. It was harder to understand him—his words ran together, quick and rounded. Yet none of them seemed disturbed by my presence. They held a peculiar patience, as if strangers arriving half-dead at their table was ordinary. The youngest—Niven’s brother, I presumed—looked so much like her and their mother. The only differences were the sun-darkened skin from hours spent outside… and his eyes. A pair of flaming green eyes, full of life. Exactly like his father’s.

 The priest—their father—looked somewhere between forty-five and fifty. His beard had already gone gray, and his complexion was tanned and weathered. Black hair threaded with silver was tied into a low tail. He wore a black robe that somehow made his tired eyes gentler. Wrinkles lived everywhere: across his broad forehead, along his high cheekbones, at the corners of his lids.

 The only thing he shared with his daughters was that pointed nose. “ We have been waiting for you. ”

 The words made my skin tingle—charged with meaning. I blinked several times, suddenly dizzy, and pressed my hands to the table to steady myself. His voice was made for telling stories: sweet, cultured, honeyed.

 I felt their eyes on me—expecting, waiting… Worshipping.

 My stomach tightened. I cleared my throat, mind racing. Were they part of a religion that required sacrifices? Were they cannibals? Was their father a pimp? God forgive me for thinking it about a priest, but a girl is free to make as many claims as she wants while the danger is still unknown.

 “ Her name is Cyan, papa. ” Niven gushed, sliding into the seat beside me. “ I found her in the field near Dupnitsa. ”

 “ You treat her like a dog you picked up. ” The boy snorted, ripping off a piece of fresh pita.

 “ Don’t say that to our guest. ” Their mother scolded, pouring hot tea into our cups.

 “ You have a beautiful name, Cyan. ” The old man laughed, taking the pot from his wife to help her. “ We are used to strangers. I assume Niven told you the stories about the meadow. About the lost people. ”

 Steam rose from the stew as the mother ladled it onto my clay plate. Chicken with mushrooms and boiled potatoes—seasoned so richly my mouth watered just from the smell.

 I lifted a piece toward my nose first, inhaling rosemary and turmeric, searching—instinctively—for anything off. No trace of anything illicit.

 “ It is not poisoned. ” The woman said, smiling as she touched my shoulder. “ We don’t kill our guests. ”

 “ I’m sorry. ” I murmured, embarrassed, licking a smear of tomato from my lip. “ It’s just a habit. I like to smell food first. It makes everything taste stronger if I enjoy it with my nose before my mouth. ”

 “ It might be from the heat. ” The boy said, watching me through his lashes. “ Or maybe they threw you away because you’re a terrible thief. ”

 “ Shum! ” His mother snapped, banging the ladle against his plate. “ Who taught you these manners?! ”

 He didn’t even flinch. “ What if it’s not her, mother? ” His voice rose, sharp and bitter. “ Must we welcome every skimpy bastard for a lost myth that never came true in all these centuries? She left us waiting. She abandoned us—she let the people who fought for her die and disappear. ” His breath came fast, eyes bright with something that wasn’t only anger. “ We are hunting the ghost of a queen. We are praising the queen that never was.” 

 Everyone watched him flush from pink to red, a storm of feelings clouding his gaze—rage, fear, grief swirling in his green irises. Veins pulsed at his temple. Even his short hair looked like it wanted to lift from his head.

 The pit in my stomach widened. I forced myself to swallow the bite of meat I’d been chewing for what felt like minutes. Suddenly the chicken tasted too much like chicken—too real, too heavy. I sipped tea quickly, trying to stop the nausea rising.

 “ You’re not eating tonight, Shum. ” His father’s voice stayed composed, which made it worse. “ Leave my sight. ”

 Shum snatched a piece of bread, threw me a heavy look, and strode outside into the night.  “I hope I don’t wake up with a knife to my neck tonight. ” He muttered over his shoulder.

 “ Excuse him. ” Niven recovered fast, shoving a chicken leg onto her own plate like she could block the moment with food. “ At his twenty-something years old, he acts like he rules the farm. ”

 We ate in silence for a while, until the priest broke it again.

 “ My name is Kallus. I am the priest of the village—Thaibar. My parish is a little further from here. You can visit me tomorrow. ” He gestured gently to the woman beside him. “ This is my beloved wife, Cynthia. She is the village’s most skilled seamstress. ”

          “ I would love to see Thaibar. I’ve never been here. ” I said, letting a small thread of truth slip through.

 “ Marvelous! I haven’t had a grocery shopping partner since— ” Niven stopped abruptly, as if someone had struck her from behind.

 “ Since I broke my leg a year ago, ” Her mother supplied smoothly, the same straight smile on her face, “ and I wasn’t able to walk long distances anymore. ”

 I stood to help Cynthia clean, but she stopped me with a quick gesture. “ Don’t worry about it. I can handle it. ” Then, softer—almost warning: “ Go to sleep with Niven. You might need every minute of sleep for what’s to come. ”

 “ Are you certain? I can at least wash the dishes or sweep— ”

 “ Cyan, be at peace. ” Kallus chuckled, gathering crumbs and stacking plates with practiced hands. “ As long as you stay here, you’ll have plenty to do. ” He tilted his head, studying me gently. “ I can find you a job, if you desire. What did you do before? ”

 There it was. The first trap question. The first question where I had to give a good lie and an honest answer at the same time.

 I couldn’t tell them I worked in IT. I doubted this world even knew what that was. I wasn’t an engineer either—and from what I’d seen already, it didn’t look like women here were encouraged to be anything other than useful in quiet, acceptable ways. So the right answer was the truth. Except… what truth? Was I a doctor? No. Not really. My knowledge was still more theory than practice. I could barely catch a vein earlier that day. And I didn’t think this society even knew what an injection was.

 I guess.

 “ Apprentice! ” Niven blurted, grabbing my hand under the table like she was throwing me a rope.

 “ Exactly. ” I said quickly, latching onto it. “ I was an apprentice at a local drugstore. I worked for a doctor—made cures, cleaned wounds, stitched them under supervision, took blood pressures. ”

 Goddammit. I exaggerated a little.

 “ Wonderful. ” Kallus’s face brightened, as if the world had clicked into place again. “ I have an acquaintance at the palace. She visits the village sometimes as well. She needs an apprentice. ”

 A few seconds passed before my brain caught up with the word. “ Palace? ” I repeated.

 Cynthia turned from the basin, soap suds sliding along her fingers. “ Yes. ” She said, voice neutral. “ The palace of His Majesty Draegan—bastard son of the last King of Hybern. ” Something ugly flickered across her face. Disgust—quickly masked. She turned back to the plates, but she hit one too hard. Her hands trembled, almost imperceptibly. “ You don’t have to work there if you don’t want to, Cyan, ” 

 For a heartbeat, I had the strange impression that I was standing in a play, waiting for the curtain to fall—waiting for someone to laugh and tell me this had all been a cruel joke. “ Forgive me. You mentioned… you really said Hybern? ” I blinked like a dumb puppet, fidgeting my hands in my lap, tearing skin from my nails.

 God. What the fuck.

 I was so behind on everything happening around me that I didn’t even realize when I stood again and carried the last dishes to Cynthia. Up close, my eyes betrayed me. They darted to her ears, searching for something inhuman—sharp points, proof that I was surrounded by faeries. But her ears were perfectly round. Elegant. Human. Small silver earrings glinting at the lobes.

 “ You heard well. ” Cynthia said. Her doe eyes met mine—an older version of Niven’s, sweet and motherly and far too watchful. “ But no one forces you to work there. We know the environment. ” She nodded toward Kallus. “ He can find you something else until… until you’re ready to search for your parents. For your home.” Then, gently—almost too gently: “ You do have parents, no? ”

 “ I… ” The last of the air seemed to leave my lungs. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small to contain the three of us. I’d never been claustrophobic. Never suffered from it. But now an unfamiliar sensation filled my skull—pressure rising, thick and suffocating. The walls seemed to tighten at the edges of my vision. And the oxygen felt like it was slowly running out.

        Memories burned my scalp from the inside, and for a split second my mother’s face slid over Cynthia’s. They had so many things in common. I’d never noticed. The eyes. The mouth. That maternal instinct—like she’d protect you with her own life. My throat started aching from trying to hold my tears back.

 “ I have a mother. ” I admitted, letting Cynthia’s soapy hand rest over mine, watching bubbles soak into my sleeve. I had a father too, but I couldn’t say that I missed him the way I missed her—that I would give my life for him as quickly as I would for my mother. No hesitation. A tear escaped and fell onto our locked hands. “ I don’t know where I can find her. ”

 The truth left my lips, and Cynthia’s face went through a series of emotions so quickly it almost frightened me—fury, sorrow, helplessness. She reached out and pulled me into her arms. I stiffened at first, dismayed by her mercy, unused to affection, but then I gave in—head against her shoulder, hands frozen halfway as if my body didn’t know what to do with comfort.

 My knees buckled. I collapsed and cried into her shoulder, muffling the sounds, taking shelter in her warmth like it was something I’d forgotten existed. “ I’ll help you find them, my child. ” She promised, crushing me in her embrace. “ I will do my best. ”

 Kallus turned and gently brushed the scarf covering my hair. I couldn’t look at him. I murmured something—even I couldn’t understand what—and he nodded, smiling sadly. For a mere second, tears gathered at the edge of his lower lid, stealing the tenderness from his green eyes and replacing it with fear and pain. A tragic note settled over the room, like the air itself was foreshadowing misfortune.

 “ Go get some sleep, Cyan. ” Kallus said at last, clearing his throat softly. “ Tomorrow morning we’ll visit the village healer—make sure you don’t have serious injuries. Then we’ll see what we can do about that apprenticeship. ”

 When I lifted my head, Niven was there, patting my back, a brief kind smile on her face. Somehow, her presence helped me gather enough strength to stand again. Her aura was bright—resilient—pulling me toward it, reminding me the glass still had a full half.

 “ You can stay here with us. ” Cynthia added, wiping my cheeks with her thumb. “ Until we find a way to solve this… or until you wish to leave. ” Then she kissed my forehead, tender as a blessing.

 “ I can work. ” I said quickly, desperate to prove something—even to myself. “ I want to work. ”

 I didn’t want to be trapped here, doing nothing, being taken care of. I wanted more than that. I was more than a fragile human who fell from the sky. I wanted to try to find my way home. To adventure in this world. To find answers. To solve my problems. To become tougher.

 “ Come on. ” Niven whispered, resting her palm on my shoulder. “ You need sleep for tomorrow. ”

 “ May your hands be healthy, Cynthia. ” I said, remembering the old phrases like charms. “ The meal was delicious. And much honor to you, Kallus, for such a heartwarming introduction. ”

 Kallus laughed and waved us away.

 As we turned, an emerald necklace glided from beneath his black robe, catching the light. It stole my eyes for a heartbeat with its shine.

 The walk to our bedroom was quiet—both of us digesting the night, both of us privately wondering what would happen to this charade we’d created. Niven’s face was shadowed, even under a sky full of stars. Something in her had shifted, like a brick in her sweet façade had turned to dust.

 Since childhood, I’d been overwhelmed by other people’s feelings—gifted with a kind of empathy so intense it sometimes felt like drowning in someone else’s anger or depression. The moments when emotions belonged only to me were rare—scattered, forgotten—because they always dragged me back into dark places.

 So seeing my savior—should I call her that?—in a questionable mood made my anxiety rise. Was she going to kill me in daylight? We shall see. Was she going to stare at me while I slept? Probably. Maybe she’d even imagine murdering me.

 “ Good night, big brother! ” Niven shouted as we passed.

 No answer came—only a displeased grunt from somewhere in the dark.

 She offered me a simple white nightgown, twin to hers, and helped button my dress, untangling my hair with careful hands. “ My mother will make you more practical clothes. And a nightgown of your own. I hope you don’t mind wearing mine until she finishes. ”

 “ I must thank you again for your kindness, Niven. ” I gathered courage and hugged her lightly. “ I’ll take anything you can give me and appreciate it as if it were my own. ”

 “ I’ve always wanted a sister, y’know? ” She whispered, voice suddenly soft. “ Maybe The Mother finally makes my dream come true. ”

 We giggled, and I slid into bed beside her—me on the right, facing the window, her on the left, toward the door.

 Sleep should’ve been easy after hunger and grief, but the hard mattress didn’t help my sensitive neck. I’d always had trouble with pillows—too hard or too soft, they’d leave me with headaches. Anyone might call me spoiled.

 But sleeping like that truly was a menace sometimes. A thought kept clawing at me. “ Niven… I don’t seem to remember, but can you remind me what lies beyond Hybern? ”

 She turned toward me, and I mirrored her movement. We lay facing each other, knees drawn up, touching under the blanket. “Well…” She began cautiously, adjusting her pillow. “ I never went to study properly. My father taught me and my brother — and some other children who couldn’t afford schooling — a few things about geography and history. So please don’t laugh at me. ”

 “ I won’t. ”

 She continued, more confident now. “ There are two other continents. Prythian — right next to us. And the Faerie Realms, farther away. ” She hesitated. “ I’ve never traveled. Women aren’t allowed on ships — they say we bring misfortune to the sea. ” She rolled her eyes faintly. “ But my father has gone on many trips. He gathers people for his church — The Saint Mother’s church. ” She paused abruptly, eyes widening as if she’d accidentally released something dangerous. “ He’s not like The Old Nuns. ” she rushed to add. “ My father is trying to bring back an old cult. ” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “ Don’t mention this to anyone. I don’t really have someone to talk to. It just… slipped out. ”

 I smiled softly, already half-asleep, and reassured her. “ I won’t tell anyone. I promise. ” I searched for her hand beneath the sheets and hooked my little finger around hers, sealing the pact. Her brown eyes brightened, and she blushed.

 “ I have a cousin in the Faerie Realm. ” She continued eagerly, emboldened now. “ In Scythia, actually. We’ve only seen each other a few times. People say she’s a witch. ” She lowered her voice again. “ I asked her to show me tricks once. She made fun of me and scolded me for paying attention to rumors. ”

 Witches? I rummaged through my memory, searching for that word in context. Were witches mentioned in the books? I could clearly remember the faes, the half-faes. The Weaver. The Bone Carver. Koschei. And the one who kept terrifying Cassian — I couldn’t recall his name.

 But a deeper problem surfaced. In which book was I?

 Cynthia had said someone else ruled Hybern now — the dead king’s bastard son. If the King of Hybern was dead, then I must have fallen sometime after the third book. But that assumption was fragile. The king’s name had never been mentioned. For all I knew, I could be before the events of the series entirely. Or between them.

 My thoughts stuttered. Tiredness crept in, fogging my reasoning. The only certainty I had were scattered names. That didn’t prove I was in Maas’s universe. Maybe the other circles I fell through had been other realms — Aelin’s. Bryce’s. The idea both thrilled and horrified me.

 “ Do witches truly exist? ” I asked.

 “ Oh, yes. ” Niven raised her thin brows and nodded firmly. “ There are many creatures wandering these realms. That’s why the meadow is dangerous after sunset. But no one wants to admit it. ”

 “ What kind of creatures live in Prythian? ” I asked carefully, pretending ignorance.

 “ Mostly faes. High faes and lesser faes, from what I know. But don’t worry — they’re all barbarians. ” She spoke with conviction born from inherited resentment. “ They killed the last King of Hybern during the war. But the court here placed Draegan on the throne almost immediately — to avoid competition or complications. ”

 “ Are there boats that travel to Prythian? ” 

 Niven blinked several times, thinking. “ There are. But I told you — women are not allowed to sail. That’s why I’m trapped here. ” Her voice grew sharper. “ The people left on these lands grow fewer and more corrupt each year. And the new king… ” She hesitated. “ He’s even crazier than the last one. ”

        “ Aren’t you afraid? ”

 “ I am. ” She whispered, turning her face toward the ceiling. “ Especially for Shum. ”

 “ Why? He works at the palace? ”

 “ He does. He brings a lot of money to the table. But the palace isn’t a safe place for his temper. ” She shifted slightly and looked at me, her eyes glistening. “ He has good intentions. I know it in my heart. But sometimes harsh words escape his mouth, and he says the wrong things at the wrong time. ” She swallowed. “ Yesterday he stole a mare from the kingdom and brought her here. They were going to kill her. She can’t give birth. She’s weak. And she’s a half-breed. ”

 My chest tightened. I bit the inside of my cheek and rolled onto my back, mimicking her position. “ I can’t say I blame him. I would do the same… if I had the courage. ”

 “ I wouldn’t. ”

 I turned my head toward her.

 “ I have reasons to live. I have a goal. ” Her voice steadied. “ I want to achieve it while I’m still breathing. ”

 “ What purpose? ”

 “ Peace. ”

 The word settled between us. Peace. It sounded forbidden. Out of place. These lands had never truly known peace, at least not in any story I remembered. So I understood her longing — to live without fear, to wake up without wondering what disaster tomorrow might bring.

 This world was not kind to the weak. And even though everyone liked to praise dreamers — say they survived, that they rebuilt — it was hope that often killed us slowly from the inside.

 “ Take me tomorrow to see the mare. ” I murmured. “ Please. ”

 “ I promise. ” she replied, a faint laugh escaping her before she closed her eyes.

Author's POV:

    The night of the Summer Solstice was almost over.

 A cryptic deity seemed to watch over the waking world — waiting, lurking inside dreams, feeding from nightmares. The honeyed air carried the same thickness as before, piercing like bewitched dust through Velaris’s barrier and causing its inhabitants to toss and turn in their beds.

 Tormented by the unusual heat, many opened their windows, letting the amber aroma seep into their rooms and lull them into a heavy, unnatural sleep. The weakest among them burned bay leaves in their chambers, overwhelmed by the anguish floating in the atmosphere.

 Not even the magpies, cursed with their restless song, dared to sing.

 The River House had fallen quiet after the late discussion of Nesta’s future. Feyre and Rhysand were long asleep, and Cassian had flown to the House of Wind, seeking distance before facing the elder sister’s wrath. Even the Spymaster’s shadows were sedated.

 Only nightmares found Azriel. They slipped into the barely-there rest he allowed himself, seizing his mind, poisoning the few sacred hours he granted his body.

 He had fallen into an unusually deep unconsciousness, his back turned toward the ajar door, one scarred hand resting placidly on the dagger beneath his pillow. His senses surrendered to the amber-laced air — subdued, unresponsive — guided instead by a velvet current pulling him through a turbulent dream.

 His heavy wings sprawled across the wide bed, twitching faintly. One powerful leg hung inert over the edge. He was half-dressed, having discarded his shirt in the suffocating warmth. Even his pants felt unbearable against his damp, sun-kissed skin — yet he lacked the will to remove them.

 Azriel slept facing the window, allowing the star-swept sky to bathe his marble-carved features, gifting the Goddess a rare opportunity to devour his beauty.

 A permanent frown cut between his brows. Sweat traced the curve of his temple, slid down his neck, spiraled across his flexed shoulders, and soaked into the sheets beneath him. An inaudible sigh left his parted lips.

 Behind his closed eyes, a pair of malicious ones appeared — soothing and alluring all at once — tightening his chest with agony and longing. He thanked the Mother for sending Elain into his dreams. But deep inside, he knew it was not her.

 Elain tasted like honey and fresh spring rain. This other… thing tasted of salt and wine and something ancient. It left his tongue dry and his lungs heavy, as if he were drowning in a green, endless sea — foamy waves of sorrow wrapping around him, pressing against his ribs, swallowing him whole.

 He could almost touch it. Could almost feel it breathing against him.

 “ Wake up… ”

 Azriel’s eyes snapped open. Nausea rolled through him. His body went rigid. He scanned the room, heart pounding, the lingering emotions suffocating him as he searched for the presence that had watched him moments before.

 His shadows were still gone. But the aura remained.

 Forcing himself from the bed, he moved through the house with Truth-Teller gripped tightly in his fist, the taste of salt and sweat still thick in his mouth. He was prepared to gut whatever creature had filled the River House with musk, amber, and magic.

 He knew darkness was fertile soil for spells. And that under its shelter, enchantments bound more easily, their effects quicker and deeper.

 Even before sleep claimed him, he had sensed something wrong with the night — with the rhythm of time itself. The fact that he had fallen asleep at all troubled him now.

 Room after room. Garden paths. Empty halls. Nothing. Or whatever it had been was long gone.

 When the full moon emerged behind the suffocating scatter of stars, Azriel swallowed hard. The ache in his chest sharpened. It drove him to his knees. Heat spread beneath his palm as he pressed it against his torso — crawling up his sternum, along his throat, burning beneath his skin.

 “ Wake up… it’s a trap… ”

     He couldn’t see anything but the same pair of eyes—pleading again and again for him to wake up, begging him to be aware. He opened his mouth to scream in despair. He forced his mind to send a message, to reach for a thread of power— but he was bound. His mind. His heart. His arms. Invisible strings bit into his skin and his soul, tightening with every attempt to fight them.

 But he was awake, wasn’t he?

 “ Wake up! ”

 Azriel surged from the bed, landing on his feet with a snarl, teeth bared. He was awake now—he was aware— and yet the only thing that remained from the nightmare was the sensation of being restrained. As if the bindings had followed him into consciousness.

𓆩✴𓆪

 Amren woke in the bed she shared with Varian, and frowned at the illuminated towers of the City of Dreams. Sweat ran down her spine. It made her acutely aware of the tightness in her chest, and of her naked body—heavy, submerged in tar. The sensation was familiar enough that it turned her blood cold.

 Something had happened somewhere in the world. Something with teeth. Something vast enough to press against the barrier she herself had woven around Velaris and still seep through, tainting the air.

 Amren knew enough beings capable of such power. To her peace, they were all sealed in another world—or, as she preferred to believe, dead.

 But instinct whispered something else, and centuries had made her wise enough not to mistake hope for safety.

 She swung her legs over the bed, pulled a satin robe from the back of a chair, and stepped into the darkness of the house. She didn’t need candles. Her vision was still nearly as sharp as it had been when she possessed her full power.

 She paused, eyes dropping to the floor. Pride forbade her from complaining, from admitting weakness—but if she was honest with herself, she was still struggling with this body. High Fae from head to toe. Useless. Powerless. No hunger for blood. Disgusting, the way she now had to use a toilet and eat fried meat like a mortal.

 Her jaw tightened, and she walked into her office.

 It wasn’t the first time she’d considered opening the hidden safe—hoping to find something that could restore what had been taken from her. But every time she’d turned away, because she knew the sacrifices required were too great. Too dangerous. Not when she finally had something worth protecting. A family. Varian by her side—accepting her as she was.

 But tonight, fear settled in her gut like a stone, and she knew exactly where to turn for ancient truth.

 Amren crossed to the massive desk and fumbled for the charcoal key hidden between the pages of a book on Old Gods. She slid the key into the rusty frog-shaped latch beneath the desk.

 Careful not to trigger the magic-dust trap she’d set, she withdrew an aspen-wood box and wiped it with her palm. Her fingertips found the hidden cavity. She unhooked the ruby pendant at her throat and pressed it into place.

 The lid clicked. Whispers immediately slid into her sensitive ears—before she even saw the tiny book inside. Then the scent hit her. Bergamot and jasmine, so thick it nearly made her sneeze. The smell of angels.

 Amren’s mouth curled. She knew it was a cheap façade. “Angels” stank of clotted blood and battle powder under the perfume.

 A grimoire with manners.

 She also knew its pages were visible only at night—under moonlight or during an equinox. Candles disturbed it; flame could be persuaded, and this book was clever enough to manipulate light to its will.

 She turned pages quickly, hunting. She found the name of her old master, and her heart stuttered. The text did not foretell his return. Nothing like that was carved into the hieroglyphs, nor hidden in the pentagrams and binding-spirals of the ancient language.

 The apocalypse was still far away. But something else snagged her attention.

 The grimoire selected letters from across the page—plucking them free—and made them float above the parchment, scattered like ash on wind.

 Amren swore under her breath, then yanked a sheet of paper and a quill from the drawer. She dipped the nib in ink and began copying. Meaningless sentence after meaningless sentence. Word after word.

 She stayed locked in the office for hours, chasing the pattern, forcing her mind to see order where the book insisted there was only drift. Until the east birthed the sun.

 The moment dawn touched the pages, the floating letters vanished. The grimoire’s parchment wrinkled as if it had been kissed by flame. No further answers came.

 Amren exhaled slowly. She would have to tell Rhysand.

 But as sunlight slid across the paper she’d filled with her frantic lines, the ink darkened in certain places—revealing a single clue, insignificant and maddeningly bare.

 A name? A village? A city? A flower, an animal, a person? Who bore it?

 One word stared back at her from the ruined cipher.

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