Page 123 of Iron Roses

She’s not rising. I jump in after them.

Chapter Twenty-Two – Elaria

The water crushes me. My limbs jerk in different directions. Something cold wraps around my legs. My chest tightens. I open my mouth—nothing but salt.

Then—The sound of the ocean vanishes. The pull on my body slips away like a coat falling from my shoulders. A blinding white, not from above, not from the sun. It pulses inside me like a dropped match in dry straw. The cold vanishes.

Grass brushes against my calves. It’s soft, bright. Green so vibrant it hums beneath the light. My clothes are dry—loose white linen sways around my legs, smooth against unburned skin.

I lift my hands. No blood. No bruises. The cuts on my palms are gone.

A breeze passes. It doesn’t sting.

Ahead of me, a hill slopes gently downward toward a grove of olive trees.

Two figures stand at the edge—hands clasped. They turn when they see me.

My father’s smile spreads. My mother’s curls catch the wind, her eyes soft with something I haven’t seen since I was a child. The ache that breaks in my chest isn’t pain. It’s longing.

A hand slips into mine.

I turn.

Giovanna stands beside me.Her white dress floats just above the grass, delicate and uncreased. Her skin is flawless, untouched by bruises or fear. The wind plays with the loose strands of her hair, and she lets it. Her eyes are brighter than I remember.

“They’re happy here,” she whispers

I turn toward her. Her face holds the same softness I saw in her paintings—the one she never showed when we were little. The sun kisses her skin. Her smile reaches her eyes.

“Elaria.”

My throat closes. My fingers curl around hers.

“Let me stay,” I whisper. “Please. I want to stay—with you. With Mom. With Dad.”

Her eyes glisten. She squeezes my hands, shoulders rising just slightly as she tries to hold something in.

“It’s not your time.” Her voice wavers. “You have a long, happy life ahead of you.”

“I don’t want to go back. I’ll be alone.”

She presses two fingers gently to the center of my chest. Her touch is warm.

“No,” she says. “I live here.”

I look down. Her hand rests above my heart. Her skin doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t fade. She’s steady.

My lip trembles. The tears fall without warning.

“I’m not strong enough,” I whisper.

She leans forward. Her arms wrap around me.

Her shoulder presses into mine. Her hand rests at the back of my head.

“I’ll be right there with you,” she says, voice low. “I promise.”

“You promise?”

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