Page 168 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Alive. Aware. Watching.
Get a grip. They’re just stones. Very old, very powerful stones, but still just geological formations.
The rationalization didn’t help.
They stopped at the edge of the circle, the invisible boundary surrounding the sacred space.
Lyric turned to her and took her hands.
“If anything happens?—”
“I know. You’ll complete the second part in Kel’Vara.”
“I was going to say if anything happens, know that you’ve already succeeded. You’ve already changed everything.” Lyric gave her a tremulous smile. “You gave Khorrek hope. Freedom. Love. That alone makes you extraordinary.”
Her throat closed. She couldn’t speak past the emotion choking her. Instead she hugged Lyric fiercely and Lyric held her just as tightly.
“Come back to us,” she whispered. “Come back to him.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all anyone can ask.”
Jaella embraced her next, lighter but no less meaningful.
“The Old Gods chose well. Walk with courage, child of another world. Walk with purpose.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Jaella released her and stepped back. Both women stood at the boundary, waiting as she clutched the bowl, honey, and pitcher against her chest.
This is it. No turning back.
She took a breath, then another.
I can do this. I’ve faced peer review panels. Academic committees. Thesis defenses.
The comparison was absurd, laughable, but it steadied her nonetheless. Just another presentation. Another test. Prove your hypothesis. Show your work. Reach a conclusion.
She stepped into the circle and the world shifted, not physically but energetically, as if she’d crossed a threshold into somewhere else entirely.
The mist thickened, swirling around her as if it were alive
Behind her, Lyric and Jaella faded from view. They were still present, but distant, separated by more than space.
No going back now. Forward. Always forward.
She walked slowly to the altar stone in the center of the circle. The runes seemed to glow faintly in the pre-dawn light, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Or is that just my imagination? A stress-induced hallucination? Fear manifesting as visual distortion?
But she knew better. This was real. All of it. Magic. Gods. Destiny. Things she’d dismissed as folklore and superstition back on Earth. Here they were truth—fundamental forces shaping reality.
When she reached the altar stone she could feel the pull. A magnetic field anomaly? Or something else entirely?
She carefully arranged her items in a small triangle. The bowl in front of her, the pitcher to the right, and the honey to the left. The arrangement felt important.
Her hands shook as she opened the honey jar and the scent filled the air—wildflowers and sunshine, herbs and summer meadows. Lyric had infused it with intention and magic. With hope.
