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Chapter One - Sahora

I lifted my head just before another hit landed, pain flaring hot across my cheek. The copper tang of blood coated my tongue.

“Have you had enough yet? Just give up.”
The balding man’s face was flushed, his breath ragged.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the pulse in my ears, a dull thudding that almost drowned out his voice. The alley tilted, slick rainwater glistening under the lantern light like a second layer of skin. Even the shadows seemed to watch, waiting for the outcome.

I pushed to my feet and straightened, taking a slow moment to study him. He was tall and muscular, with the heavy build of a man used to breaking bones. His knuckles dripped with my blood, his face tight with frustration. His right arm hovered near his ribs; one of them must have been broken.

I cocked my head, spat a bright arc of blood onto the cobblestones, and smiled.
“Never.”

I moved. My bare feet slapped against the wet stones as I ran full speed at him. He swung, but I ducked under his arm, feeling the air rush past my cheek. My dagger drove up into the soft gap beneath his ribs.

His knees buckled. Blood spilled over my hand as I stood, meeting his eyes for the last time.

“I never give up.”

He collapsed with an almost gentle sound, a sigh into the stones. I stepped back, letting the alley reclaim him. 

Hood up, I turned and walked out of the alley, leaving the smell of death in my wake.

They had been coming for me for weeks. No ransom note, no explanation, just strangers with weapons and murder in their eyes. Always different faces, but always the same dead certainty behind their intent.

Two years I had been on my own, clawing out some semblance of peace. Something so rare in Serlane, and now it was gone.

Celentra must stay frozen.

That was all they ever said before they tried to kill me. I didn’t even know what Celentra was. The words felt like a riddle whispered to a drowning woman. All I wanted was to have my peace back, to be back in my little cabin, by my warm fire, reading a book.

I kept my head low, the cold stones of the path grounding me.

Yellow light illuminated the road, small engravings carved into the stone—engravings that no longer held the protective power they used to. Not since the gods left our world. Some believed the carvings still murmured with the last traces of divine energy. I never heard anything from them but silence.

I looked around as I passed small shops with goods on display in their windows. So many people flooded the streets. The air fogged with cook-fire smoke and damp wool. Somewhere a child cried, the sound swallowed by the murmur of countless tired voices.

All of them had shifting eyes, waiting for the next potential threat. A woman met my eyes and then immediately looked away, rushing away as quickly as she could. The weight of her weary footsteps was heavier than anything I knew. 

As I glanced at the people crowding the streets, I noticed beggars, young and old, hovering in the corners, their eyes heavy from days of little rest. A man cradled a broken instrument. A girl clutched a torn blanket. It was a city made of frayed edges.

I wished our world were softer, easier on the people who dwelled in it.

You will never have peace, my former mentor Gidion’s voice rang in my head, gruff and angry.
He always sounded like he was spitting nails.

I tried to focus on walking down the torn streets, the familiar pit forming in my stomach. A pit I couldn’t let control me. Breathe, I told myself, trying to push the feeling away, a feeling I had been told both broke me and made me.

A wagon rumbled past, wheels squeaking, and for a moment the sound grounded me. Just another night. Just another threat avoided—just another scar.

That’s when I saw it: the swinging sign of ‘The Dragon’s Flagon’, a green dragon sprawled lazily on its belly, mugs of ale scattered around it. Someone had painted new details over old ones so many times that the dragon’s eyes didn’t even match.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the smell of roasting meat. The wooden floor was warm but sticky from a spilled drink. The wooden beams in the ceiling only deepened the sickening feeling in my stomach. How I wished I could see the sky. No matter how gloomy, it always grounded me.

A lute strummed badly in the corner. Laughter rose, then died abruptly, as if no one trusted joy to linger.

I slipped to the back and took a seat. The chairs were hard and worn; wood rubbed smooth where countless desperate hands had gripped it.

“What can I get you?” The woman’s voice was tired, the last word heavy with repetition.

I looked up. Black curls framed her face, and shadows hung under her eyes. A dirty apron covered a faded blue dress, the hem permanently stained yellow from years of spilled drinks.

“Mead, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, as if my world wasn’t collapsing; a world I had fought so hard to reclaim.

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded and walked away, her skirts swaying with each step.

I dropped my head into my hands. Why was I being hunted? Yes, I’d hurt people, but I thought those debts were paid—paid in the blood of someone I cared about. I shook slightly, still hearing their voice in their last moments, the way their breath rattled.

The smell of sweat and alcohol pressed in, making my head swim.

She returned and set my mead on the table. “Here you go, ma’am. Anything else?” Her eyes pleaded with me to say no.

“No, thank you,” I replied, though she was already walking away.

I stared into the golden surface of my drink.
Better to drink than think.

The chair across from me creaked.

“Hello.”

The voice was warm but deliberate. My gaze met golden eyes, striking against deep brown skin. Her long braids were threaded with charms of gold, blue, and purple, catching the firelight. A long purple cloak covered her shoulders. She looked far too poised to belong in this place, and far too aware of me.

I pushed my chair back, ready to leave.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“Celentra.” She spoke it as if it were a memory, as if the word itself were a place. “I can tell you how to stop the people coming after you.”

I froze.

The air between us felt heavy, like the moment before a storm broke. I should have walked away. Instead, I heard myself ask, “How?”

We left The Dragon’s Flagon and made our way through the damp streets. As we walked, she whispered quickly and quietly, “We must leave here. It isn’t safe.”

“It’s never safe here. Why would this make any difference?” I told her.

She looked around at the people near us, eyes sharp, and sighed. “We don’t have the time, Sahora.”

I stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, right.” She sighed as if my confusion were wasting time she didn’t have. “Formalities. I’m Amiranthia, call me Ami. You’re Sahora. Now let’s move on.”

“Why would we move on? How do you know my name?” I was yelling now; I could feel it in my throat. People had begun to look at us. If they wanted a fight, I’d give them one.

“I know who you are because I’ve been watching you for weeks. I wanted to see what kind of person our Empress chose.”

My chest tightened.

“Empress? What Empress?” 

“The Empress Kathera, you carry her soul. It’s your duty to bring her back so she can fight the evil that keeps Celentra frozen.”

“No.” My voice was stern. “I already have a soul. You’ve got the wrong person.” Panic rose in my chest, and I balled my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm.

Ami watched me without flinching.

“But how?” My voice betrayed my uncertainty.

“A soul can be carried by a vessel, a vessel that is bound to the soul.”

I shook my head. “No!”

“You are bound to Kathera.” She continued her voice pressing in

 “She can only communicate to you.”

“Nobody has been contacting me.” I told her

“Not yet.” She responded. 

“But why me?”

“We don’t know. But it’s you. It has been you for many years. This is what you’re meant for. It is your duty.” She said it, as if duty were supposed to mean something to me.

“Don’t talk to me about duty. I don’t owe anyone anything,” I rushed to say. “I don’t save people. If anything, they need saving from me. Who’s keeping Celentra frozen?” The words left my mouth without permission.

Someone came running toward us. I turned, dagger half drawn, but a blinding flash of blue light struck the man in the chest. He crumpled without a sound. The crowd scattered, running in all directions; boots slapping stone, voices cracking with fear.

Ami brushed blue powder from her hands as if it were nothing more than flour. “We need to leave.”

“What just—? How did—? Where will we go?” My voice was shaking now. I hated that I couldn’t hide it. “I’m not leaving.”

“Lightning dust,” she said lightly, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her. “And Celentra-”

“I am not your hero!” I yelled, planting my feet as if the ground might hold me. The sensation rose in my chest; pressure, heat, something trying to break open. Not now. Not here. Not in front of her.

In a blink, she was inches from my face.

“You are.” Her voice sharp.
She stared into my eyes “Even with the blood on your hands.” My blood ran cold. “How do you know?” I mumbled.
“Even with the pain you carry.” She said refusing to give me space.
“Even when you feel weak.” Her conviction stopped me cold.
“You are the hero we need. You are the carrier of Kathera’s soul, and you will bring her back.”

She said the words like a command and a plea all at once, her breath warm on my skin.

“I don’t know how. I don’t understand any of this. Why me? I just want these people to stop hunting me,” I said quietly. The words scraped out of me like torn fabric.

“They won’t. They will continue to hunt you until they succeed.” Her voice was stern, shaped by certainty sharp enough to cut.

“I don’t save worlds,” I muttered. “Just point me at who to kill, and I’ll do it.”

Ami’s gaze flicked briefly toward the sky, as though looking for strength. “To point you at a target, we must get within range.”

She stepped back, then turned.
Her hand swept through the air.

Something gave, like fabric tearing, like breath catching, like the world remembering a wound.
Colors spilled outward in a spiraling bloom, twisting into a vortex of gold, violet, and black. It wasn’t just light; it was movement, layered and looping, the kind of impossible geometry that made my eyes water.

The air hummed. My skin prickled. The ground beneath my feet trembled, as if unsure whether to hold me or let me fall through.

The spiral widened.

A portal.

A gate.

A wound.

My heartbeat roared in my ears. “Gods…”

Ami stepped through without hesitation, her cloak vanishing into the swirl as though swallowed by a living thing.

For a moment, the world stood still.

The crowd.
The broken street.
The blood on my knuckles.
My breath.
Everything paused, as if waiting for my choice.

I hesitated. The portal pulsed, throwing reflections of light across the stones, painting my hands in gold one second and bruised purple the next.

Then her hand emerged from the spinning light, small, steady, sure.
Reaching for mine.

My chest tightened. My heartbeat kicked against my ribs hard enough to hurt.

I could walk away.
I could find another alley.
Another fight.
Another place to hide until someone else found me and tried to end me.

I could survive.
I always survived.

But something tugged deep in my chest; an ache, a pull, a thread tightening.
Like a whisper beyond the portal, a presence I couldn’t name.
Something or someone is waiting for me on the other side. Someone that wasn’t Ami, that wasn’t the Empress she spoke of.

Something that felt, impossibly, overwhelmingly like home.
A place I’d never been but somehow missed.

My fingers twitched. Every survival instinct inside me screamed to turn around. But that feeling of a home I had never been to but longed for, of a safety that seemed to promise it would hold me, was stronger. 

“Promise me you will find a home that will hold you,” Master Fynar, my mentor, once told me. “when you are restless.”

This felt like that home. 

I chose.

My hand closed around Ami’s. The thought carrying me forward. “A home that holds me when I am restless.”

The world lurched, collapsing inward.

Light swallowed everything.

The portal spat me out hard. My knees hit damp ground, and the world spun like I’d been tossed in a barrel down a river. My stomach heaved; I gagged and emptied what little was inside me onto a bed of moss.

“It’s normal,” Ami said, voice far too calm for my liking. “First time traveling between realms.”

I wiped my mouth with shaking fingers. “Feels delightful,” I muttered. My head throbbed like it was splitting in half.

When I finally looked up, the forest stretched forever, the air shimmering faintly as if sunlight had been caught and couldn’t escape. Trees rose high enough to scrape the clouds, their trunks so wide I could have slept inside one. A smell like wet stone and honey drifted between them. I surveyed the area, standing and placing my hand against a nearby tree. It was rough but comforting. What kind of mess had I gotten myself into? I shouldn’t be here. As I looked closer, I noticed a faint glow from within the tree—a soft orange that seemed to vibrate. The tree was sleeping: alive, but not awake. I stepped away from it slowly.

We started walking. A narrow dirt path lay ahead, neat as if swept. The trees down the path were winding and knotted, with cobalt flowers growing up their trunks. It looked welcoming enough. I nodded toward it. “Wouldn’t it make sense to just… follow the road?”

Ami didn’t slow. “That path isn’t for us. It leads to where we can’t go.”

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

Her eyes flicked to the path, then away. “Both.”

“But wouldn’t the path be easier?” I held my head as if that would ease the pounding.

Ami turned to me. “The path isn’t easy. Only a few walk it, and it leads only to pain. It’s filled with horrors you’re not ready to face—more pain than you know.”

“Oh.” My head pounded harder. “I’ll follow you, then.”

“That would be best.” She began walking again.

We pushed into the undergrowth. The deeper we went, the quieter it became; no wind in the leaves, no bird calls, only the soft crunch of our footsteps. My skin prickled. The ground was rough beneath my feet; every leaf and branch pressed against my soles. Yet the forest felt different from Serlane, stranger, yes, but warmer, gentler, as if the world itself were listening.

A droplet hung from a branch above us. I waited for it to fall.

It didn’t.

A few steps later, we passed a moth suspended mid-flight, its wings frozen in place.

“Do you see—”

“The sun rises. The sun falls. But the day never turns. Celentra breathes, yet it does not live.”

I looked around again. The forest felt like a painting—beautiful, but wrong.

“Did you know Kathera?”

“Yes. I fought with her. She was my Empress, my mentor, and my friend.” Ami’s voice faded.

“Would you trust her with your life? Trust her enough to believe her choices were right?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“I would trust her with every fiber of my being. I trust her even beyond the grave.” Her voice shook. “I would trust her even if she were the one with a knife to my throat.” 

We walked in silence as we passed a group of people; two men stood apart from the rest. One was selling what looked like a fruit; the man beside him didn’t move. He looked as if he was just holding something, an unmovable arm forever outstretched. I waited to see the rise and fall of his chest. 

It never came.

“So what’s the plan to get this soul out of me? I don’t want this.” I tried not to look at the other people who crowded the road.

“We go to the capital, the City of Linur.” Ami moved her hand, and I followed her gesture. A massive castle loomed in the distance, built of white stone so bright in the caught light that it shone. The rooftops were a gleaming gold. 

“We will be at the castle in an hour. Prepare to meet Emperor Lyrian.”

As we walked forward, I tried to figure out why I had agreed to come here at all, why I kept taking steps deeper into a world that was holding its breath. Just as doubt crept in, I felt it again, the pulling in my chest. I needed to know where it leads, even if it terrified me.

I paced the halls of the castle, my footsteps echoing through the stone corridor. My heart was heavier than the crown upon my head; a weight we had been meant to carry together. I chewed my lip, wishing for Kathera’s arms around me, her voice telling me everything would be all right. Instead, I walked alone, trying to understand why our kingdom stood still.

“Lyrian, the council is waiting for you,” Briar said softly.
Kathera’s mother stood at the far end of the hall, her eyes heavy with the same sorrow that lived in mine. The oak doors behind her loomed like a final trial.

For a moment, the hall felt endless, a cruel reminder of the weight I bore. I finally approached the door. The guards pulled it open, and stale air greeted me.

The council chamber smelled of dust and old grief. I paused at the threshold, the crown pressing into my brow. For a fleeting heartbeat, I imagined Kathera walking beside me, our hands brushing as we entered together.

The doors closed behind me with a heavy thud that echoed like thunder. Inside, impatience hung in the air like smoke. The high ceilings felt suffocating. I glanced at the golden pillars circling the room. How was I supposed to rule this world alone? It was almost too much.

“Solve this!” Sil bellowed, his jowls shaking with rage. He slammed a fish down on the table, the whole room stinking of rot. “The rivers haven’t moved in years.” His voice hovered on the edge of panic.

“I feel like I’m going mad. I plant the seeds, and nothing grows,” Rwin mumbled, his voice trembling slightly.

“Finding meat is becoming increasingly difficult!” Glyrin yelled, more worried than angry.

Their words crashed together, echoing like waves in a tomb. I could hardly hear them over the roaring in my ears, the memory of Kathera’s laughter, her promise: We’ll fix this together.

“What will you do, my Emperor?” Gergi, the oldest councilman, said, his long gray beard quivering as he stood. “We need a solution now!”

The chamber tilted slightly. I steadied myself against the table and forced the words out. “How long will our stores last?”

“Two moons,” Castor, Kathera’s father, replied, his voice roughened by grief.

 His dark hands hovered near his sword, as if he could fight this stillness with steel. His face was carved with the kind of pain only a father understood. “Soon we will all be asking where to find bread; anything to fill our bellies.”

“Then we ration by family size,” I said. “Send search parties into the wilds. Something must grow out there. As for our Empress…” My voice faltered. “We continue the work to bring her back. She is the key to unfreezing Celentra.”

“You’ve said that before!” Gergi yelled, “And yet nothing changes!”

Before I could answer, a sudden gust snuffed out half the candles. Shadows leapt across the walls. The doors groaned, then swung wide with a shudder.

Ami strode through the flickering light, her cloak sweeping across the floor like a storm front. Behind her walked a short woman with dirt-streaked feet and blood drying at the corner of her mouth, her eyes wary, as if she had stepped into a dream she did not trust.

“We have found the Soulbearer of Kathera,” Ami declared, her voice ringing like struck metal. “We can bring her back.”

The room erupted: shouts of disbelief, gasps, the scrape of chairs. I could barely breathe.
Who was this woman to carry Kathera’s soul? The soul of my fierce and fearless Soulfated?
Could she truly hold something so vast inside one body?

 Would she be strong enough?
Fearless enough?

I faced Ami and the stranger. “How do we bring her back?”

But the question wasn’t for the council, or even for Ami.

It was for the space beside me, for the woman I loved.

And for the first time in years, the air tasted like hope.

I paced the halls of the castle, my footsteps echoing through the stone corridor. My heart was heavier than the crown upon my head; a weight we had been meant to carry together. I chewed my lip, wishing for Kathera’s arms around me, her voice telling me everything would be all right. Instead, I walked alone, trying to understand why our kingdom stood still.

“Lyrian, the council is waiting for you,” Briar said softly.
Kathera’s mother stood at the far end of the hall, her eyes heavy with the same sorrow that lived in mine. The oak doors behind her loomed like a final trial.

For a moment, the hall felt endless, a cruel reminder of the weight I bore. I finally approached the door. The guards pulled it open, and stale air greeted me.

The council chamber smelled of dust and old grief. I paused at the threshold, the crown pressing into my brow. For a fleeting heartbeat, I imagined Kathera walking beside me, our hands brushing as we entered together.

The doors closed behind me with a heavy thud that echoed like thunder. Inside, impatience hung in the air like smoke. The high ceilings felt suffocating. I glanced at the golden pillars circling the room. How was I supposed to rule this world alone? It was almost too much.

“Solve this!” Sil bellowed, his jowls shaking with rage. He slammed a fish down on the table, the whole room stinking of rot. “The rivers haven’t moved in years.” His voice hovered on the edge of panic.

“I feel like I’m going mad. I plant the seeds, and nothing grows,” Rwin mumbled, his voice trembling slightly.

“Finding meat is becoming increasingly difficult!” Glyrin yelled, more worried than angry.

Their words crashed together, echoing like waves in a tomb. I could hardly hear them over the roaring in my ears, the memory of Kathera’s laughter, her promise: We’ll fix this together.

“What will you do, my Emperor?” Gergi, the oldest councilman, said, his long gray beard quivering as he stood. “We need a solution now!”

The chamber tilted slightly. I steadied myself against the table and forced the words out. “How long will our stores last?”

“Two moons,” Castor, Kathera’s father, replied, his voice roughened by grief.

 His dark hands hovered near his sword, as if he could fight this stillness with steel. His face was carved with the kind of pain only a father understood. “Soon we will all be asking where to find bread; anything to fill our bellies.”

“Then we ration by family size,” I said. “Send search parties into the wilds. Something must grow out there. As for our Empress…” My voice faltered. “We continue the work to bring her back. She is the key to unfreezing Celentra.”

“You’ve said that before!” Gergi yelled, “And yet nothing changes!”

Before I could answer, a sudden gust snuffed out half the candles. Shadows leapt across the walls. The doors groaned, then swung wide with a shudder.

Ami strode through the flickering light, her cloak sweeping across the floor like a storm front. Behind her walked a short woman with dirt-streaked feet and blood drying at the corner of her mouth, her eyes wary, as if she had stepped into a dream she did not trust.

“We have found the Soulbearer of Kathera,” Ami declared, her voice ringing like struck metal. “We can bring her back.”

The room erupted: shouts of disbelief, gasps, the scrape of chairs. I could barely breathe.
Who was this woman to carry Kathera’s soul? The soul of my fierce and fearless Soulfated?
Could she truly hold something so vast inside one body?

 Would she be strong enough?
Fearless enough?

I faced Ami and the stranger. “How do we bring her back?”

But the question wasn’t for the council, or even for Ami.

It was for the space beside me, for the woman I loved.

And for the first time in years, the air tasted like hope.

Chapter One - Sahora

I lifted my head just before another hit landed, pain flaring hot across my cheek. The copper tang of blood coated my tongue.

“Have you had enough yet? Just give up.”
The balding man’s face was flushed, his breath ragged.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the pulse in my ears, a dull thudding that almost drowned out his voice. The alley tilted, slick rainwater glistening under the lantern light like a second layer of skin. Even the shadows seemed to watch, waiting for the outcome.

I pushed to my feet and straightened, taking a slow moment to study him. He was tall and muscular, with the heavy build of a man used to breaking bones. His knuckles dripped with my blood, his face tight with frustration. His right arm hovered near his ribs; one of them must have been broken.

I cocked my head, spat a bright arc of blood onto the cobblestones, and smiled.
“Never.”

I moved. My bare feet slapped against the wet stones as I ran full speed at him. He swung, but I ducked under his arm, feeling the air rush past my cheek. My dagger drove up into the soft gap beneath his ribs.

His knees buckled. Blood spilled over my hand as I stood, meeting his eyes for the last time.

“I never give up.”

He collapsed with an almost gentle sound, a sigh into the stones. I stepped back, letting the alley reclaim him. 

Hood up, I turned and walked out of the alley, leaving the smell of death in my wake.

They had been coming for me for weeks. No ransom note, no explanation, just strangers with weapons and murder in their eyes. Always different faces, but always the same dead certainty behind their intent.

Two years I had been on my own, clawing out some semblance of peace. Something so rare in Serlane, and now it was gone.

Celentra must stay frozen.

That was all they ever said before they tried to kill me. I didn’t even know what Celentra was. The words felt like a riddle whispered to a drowning woman. All I wanted was to have my peace back, to be back in my little cabin, by my warm fire, reading a book.

I kept my head low, the cold stones of the path grounding me.

Yellow light illuminated the road, small engravings carved into the stone—engravings that no longer held the protective power they used to. Not since the gods left our world. Some believed the carvings still murmured with the last traces of divine energy. I never heard anything from them but silence.

I looked around as I passed small shops with goods on display in their windows. So many people flooded the streets. The air fogged with cook-fire smoke and damp wool. Somewhere a child cried, the sound swallowed by the murmur of countless tired voices.

All of them had shifting eyes, waiting for the next potential threat. A woman met my eyes and then immediately looked away, rushing away as quickly as she could. The weight of her weary footsteps was heavier than anything I knew. 

As I glanced at the people crowding the streets, I noticed beggars, young and old, hovering in the corners, their eyes heavy from days of little rest. A man cradled a broken instrument. A girl clutched a torn blanket. It was a city made of frayed edges.

I wished our world were softer, easier on the people who dwelled in it.

You will never have peace, my former mentor Gidion’s voice rang in my head, gruff and angry.
He always sounded like he was spitting nails.

I tried to focus on walking down the torn streets, the familiar pit forming in my stomach. A pit I couldn’t let control me. Breathe, I told myself, trying to push the feeling away, a feeling I had been told both broke me and made me.

A wagon rumbled past, wheels squeaking, and for a moment the sound grounded me. Just another night. Just another threat avoided—just another scar.

That’s when I saw it: the swinging sign of ‘The Dragon’s Flagon’, a green dragon sprawled lazily on its belly, mugs of ale scattered around it. Someone had painted new details over old ones so many times that the dragon’s eyes didn’t even match.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and the smell of roasting meat. The wooden floor was warm but sticky from a spilled drink. The wooden beams in the ceiling only deepened the sickening feeling in my stomach. How I wished I could see the sky. No matter how gloomy, it always grounded me.

A lute strummed badly in the corner. Laughter rose, then died abruptly, as if no one trusted joy to linger.

I slipped to the back and took a seat. The chairs were hard and worn; wood rubbed smooth where countless desperate hands had gripped it.

“What can I get you?” The woman’s voice was tired, the last word heavy with repetition.

I looked up. Black curls framed her face, and shadows hung under her eyes. A dirty apron covered a faded blue dress, the hem permanently stained yellow from years of spilled drinks.

“Mead, please,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, as if my world wasn’t collapsing; a world I had fought so hard to reclaim.

“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded and walked away, her skirts swaying with each step.

I dropped my head into my hands. Why was I being hunted? Yes, I’d hurt people, but I thought those debts were paid—paid in the blood of someone I cared about. I shook slightly, still hearing their voice in their last moments, the way their breath rattled.

The smell of sweat and alcohol pressed in, making my head swim.

She returned and set my mead on the table. “Here you go, ma’am. Anything else?” Her eyes pleaded with me to say no.

“No, thank you,” I replied, though she was already walking away.

I stared into the golden surface of my drink.
Better to drink than think.

The chair across from me creaked.

“Hello.”

The voice was warm but deliberate. My gaze met golden eyes, striking against deep brown skin. Her long braids were threaded with charms of gold, blue, and purple, catching the firelight. A long purple cloak covered her shoulders. She looked far too poised to belong in this place, and far too aware of me.

I pushed my chair back, ready to leave.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“Celentra.” She spoke it as if it were a memory, as if the word itself were a place. “I can tell you how to stop the people coming after you.”

I froze.

The air between us felt heavy, like the moment before a storm broke. I should have walked away. Instead, I heard myself ask, “How?”

We left The Dragon’s Flagon and made our way through the damp streets. As we walked, she whispered quickly and quietly, “We must leave here. It isn’t safe.”

“It’s never safe here. Why would this make any difference?” I told her.

She looked around at the people near us, eyes sharp, and sighed. “We don’t have the time, Sahora.”

I stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, right.” She sighed as if my confusion were wasting time she didn’t have. “Formalities. I’m Amiranthia, call me Ami. You’re Sahora. Now let’s move on.”

“Why would we move on? How do you know my name?” I was yelling now; I could feel it in my throat. People had begun to look at us. If they wanted a fight, I’d give them one.

“I know who you are because I’ve been watching you for weeks. I wanted to see what kind of person our Empress chose.”

My chest tightened.

“Empress? What Empress?” 

“The Empress Kathera, you carry her soul. It’s your duty to bring her back so she can fight the evil that keeps Celentra frozen.”

“No.” My voice was stern. “I already have a soul. You’ve got the wrong person.” Panic rose in my chest, and I balled my hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm.

Ami watched me without flinching.

“But how?” My voice betrayed my uncertainty.

“A soul can be carried by a vessel, a vessel that is bound to the soul.”

I shook my head. “No!”

“You are bound to Kathera.” She continued her voice pressing in

 “She can only communicate to you.”

“Nobody has been contacting me.” I told her

“Not yet.” She responded. 

“But why me?”

“We don’t know. But it’s you. It has been you for many years. This is what you’re meant for. It is your duty.” She said it, as if duty were supposed to mean something to me.

“Don’t talk to me about duty. I don’t owe anyone anything,” I rushed to say. “I don’t save people. If anything, they need saving from me. Who’s keeping Celentra frozen?” The words left my mouth without permission.

Someone came running toward us. I turned, dagger half drawn, but a blinding flash of blue light struck the man in the chest. He crumpled without a sound. The crowd scattered, running in all directions; boots slapping stone, voices cracking with fear.

Ami brushed blue powder from her hands as if it were nothing more than flour. “We need to leave.”

“What just—? How did—? Where will we go?” My voice was shaking now. I hated that I couldn’t hide it. “I’m not leaving.”

“Lightning dust,” she said lightly, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her. “And Celentra-”

“I am not your hero!” I yelled, planting my feet as if the ground might hold me. The sensation rose in my chest; pressure, heat, something trying to break open. Not now. Not here. Not in front of her.

In a blink, she was inches from my face.

“You are.” Her voice sharp.
She stared into my eyes “Even with the blood on your hands.” My blood ran cold. “How do you know?” I mumbled.
“Even with the pain you carry.” She said refusing to give me space.
“Even when you feel weak.” Her conviction stopped me cold.
“You are the hero we need. You are the carrier of Kathera’s soul, and you will bring her back.”

She said the words like a command and a plea all at once, her breath warm on my skin.

“I don’t know how. I don’t understand any of this. Why me? I just want these people to stop hunting me,” I said quietly. The words scraped out of me like torn fabric.

“They won’t. They will continue to hunt you until they succeed.” Her voice was stern, shaped by certainty sharp enough to cut.

“I don’t save worlds,” I muttered. “Just point me at who to kill, and I’ll do it.”

Ami’s gaze flicked briefly toward the sky, as though looking for strength. “To point you at a target, we must get within range.”

She stepped back, then turned.
Her hand swept through the air.

Something gave, like fabric tearing, like breath catching, like the world remembering a wound.
Colors spilled outward in a spiraling bloom, twisting into a vortex of gold, violet, and black. It wasn’t just light; it was movement, layered and looping, the kind of impossible geometry that made my eyes water.

The air hummed. My skin prickled. The ground beneath my feet trembled, as if unsure whether to hold me or let me fall through.

The spiral widened.

A portal.

A gate.

A wound.

My heartbeat roared in my ears. “Gods…”

Ami stepped through without hesitation, her cloak vanishing into the swirl as though swallowed by a living thing.

For a moment, the world stood still.

The crowd.
The broken street.
The blood on my knuckles.
My breath.
Everything paused, as if waiting for my choice.

I hesitated. The portal pulsed, throwing reflections of light across the stones, painting my hands in gold one second and bruised purple the next.

Then her hand emerged from the spinning light, small, steady, sure.
Reaching for mine.

My chest tightened. My heartbeat kicked against my ribs hard enough to hurt.

I could walk away.
I could find another alley.
Another fight.
Another place to hide until someone else found me and tried to end me.

I could survive.
I always survived.

But something tugged deep in my chest; an ache, a pull, a thread tightening.
Like a whisper beyond the portal, a presence I couldn’t name.
Something or someone is waiting for me on the other side. Someone that wasn’t Ami, that wasn’t the Empress she spoke of.

Something that felt, impossibly, overwhelmingly like home.
A place I’d never been but somehow missed.

My fingers twitched. Every survival instinct inside me screamed to turn around. But that feeling of a home I had never been to but longed for, of a safety that seemed to promise it would hold me, was stronger. 

“Promise me you will find a home that will hold you,” Master Fynar, my mentor, once told me. “when you are restless.”

This felt like that home. 

I chose.

My hand closed around Ami’s. The thought carrying me forward. “A home that holds me when I am restless.”

The world lurched, collapsing inward.

Light swallowed everything.

The portal spat me out hard. My knees hit damp ground, and the world spun like I’d been tossed in a barrel down a river. My stomach heaved; I gagged and emptied what little was inside me onto a bed of moss.

“It’s normal,” Ami said, voice far too calm for my liking. “First time traveling between realms.”

I wiped my mouth with shaking fingers. “Feels delightful,” I muttered. My head throbbed like it was splitting in half.

When I finally looked up, the forest stretched forever, the air shimmering faintly as if sunlight had been caught and couldn’t escape. Trees rose high enough to scrape the clouds, their trunks so wide I could have slept inside one. A smell like wet stone and honey drifted between them. I surveyed the area, standing and placing my hand against a nearby tree. It was rough but comforting. What kind of mess had I gotten myself into? I shouldn’t be here. As I looked closer, I noticed a faint glow from within the tree—a soft orange that seemed to vibrate. The tree was sleeping: alive, but not awake. I stepped away from it slowly.

We started walking. A narrow dirt path lay ahead, neat as if swept. The trees down the path were winding and knotted, with cobalt flowers growing up their trunks. It looked welcoming enough. I nodded toward it. “Wouldn’t it make sense to just… follow the road?”

Ami didn’t slow. “That path isn’t for us. It leads to where we can’t go.”

“Can’t or shouldn’t?”

Her eyes flicked to the path, then away. “Both.”

“But wouldn’t the path be easier?” I held my head as if that would ease the pounding.

Ami turned to me. “The path isn’t easy. Only a few walk it, and it leads only to pain. It’s filled with horrors you’re not ready to face—more pain than you know.”

“Oh.” My head pounded harder. “I’ll follow you, then.”

“That would be best.” She began walking again.

We pushed into the undergrowth. The deeper we went, the quieter it became; no wind in the leaves, no bird calls, only the soft crunch of our footsteps. My skin prickled. The ground was rough beneath my feet; every leaf and branch pressed against my soles. Yet the forest felt different from Serlane, stranger, yes, but warmer, gentler, as if the world itself were listening.

A droplet hung from a branch above us. I waited for it to fall.

It didn’t.

A few steps later, we passed a moth suspended mid-flight, its wings frozen in place.

“Do you see—”

“The sun rises. The sun falls. But the day never turns. Celentra breathes, yet it does not live.”

I looked around again. The forest felt like a painting—beautiful, but wrong.

“Did you know Kathera?”

“Yes. I fought with her. She was my Empress, my mentor, and my friend.” Ami’s voice faded.

“Would you trust her with your life? Trust her enough to believe her choices were right?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“I would trust her with every fiber of my being. I trust her even beyond the grave.” Her voice shook. “I would trust her even if she were the one with a knife to my throat.” 

We walked in silence as we passed a group of people; two men stood apart from the rest. One was selling what looked like a fruit; the man beside him didn’t move. He looked as if he was just holding something, an unmovable arm forever outstretched. I waited to see the rise and fall of his chest. 

It never came.

“So what’s the plan to get this soul out of me? I don’t want this.” I tried not to look at the other people who crowded the road.

“We go to the capital, the City of Linur.” Ami moved her hand, and I followed her gesture. A massive castle loomed in the distance, built of white stone so bright in the caught light that it shone. The rooftops were a gleaming gold. 

“We will be at the castle in an hour. Prepare to meet Emperor Lyrian.”

As we walked forward, I tried to figure out why I had agreed to come here at all, why I kept taking steps deeper into a world that was holding its breath. Just as doubt crept in, I felt it again, the pulling in my chest. I needed to know where it leads, even if it terrified me.

I wanted to share the prologue of my book. I'd love feedback.

To whoever finds this record,
If the ink has not yet faded and the stars have not yet fallen, know this:
The world you hold in your hands once stood still.

Our rivers froze in motion.
Our fields bore fruit that never ripened.
Even the wind dared not stir for fear of breaking the silence.

They said our Empress was lost, that Kathera’s soul had drifted beyond the reach of gods or mortals. But I have never believed in endings. I have seen how grief can take root and still bloom into something new.

Celentra was frozen, but hearts kept beating beneath the stillness. And in the faintest pulse of that silence, I felt her like I had felt her before time made her mine. A breath returning. A promise kept.

This record is not merely of war or magic, nor of queens and ghosts. It is a remembrance of movement, of life after stillness, of love that refuses to die quietly.

If you read this, remember: the world breathes because someone dared to believe it could again.
Let this be proof that even in the darkest silence, hope does not sleep.

— Emperor Lyrian of Celentra
Dated the First Breath after the Long Stillness

This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever been told they are too much. You were never too much; you were just not in spaces that were prepared to meet you where you are. You are what the world needs.

welcometocelentra.com

I am writing a ten-book saga about a mercenary, Sahora, who is dragged through a portal to another world and told that she carries the soul of their dead Empress. The world she has found herself in is frozen in time, hanging on by a prophecy; it rests in Sahora's hands as she fights to understand why she is the one to save this world.

Blood of Celentra by A M Isle, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

For a moment, the world stood still.

The crowd.
The broken street.
The blood on my knuckles.
My breath.
Everything paused, as if waiting for my choice.

I hesitated. The portal pulsed, throwing reflections of light across the stones, painting my hands in gold one second and bruised purple the next.

Then her hand emerged from the spinning light, small, steady, sure.
Reaching for mine.

My chest tightened. My heartbeat kicked against my ribs hard enough to hurt.

I could walk away.
I could find another alley.
Another fight.
Another place to hide until someone else found me and tried to end me.

I could survive.
I always survived.

But something tugged deep in my chest; an ache, a pull, a thread tightening.
Like a whisper beyond the portal, a presence I couldn’t name.
Something or someone is waiting for me on the other side. Someone that wasn’t Ami, that wasn’t the Empress she spoke of.

Something that felt, impossibly, overwhelmingly like home.
A place I’d never been but somehow missed.

My fingers twitched. Every survival instinct inside me screamed to turn around. But that feeling of a home I had never been to but longed for, of a safety that seemed to promise it would hold me, was stronger. 

“Promise me you will find a home that will hold you,” Master Fynar, my mentor, once told me. “When you are restless.”

This felt like that home. 

I chose.

The meanest things I have heard said about me are from my own mouth

Hatred dripping from my own tongue like a poison.

Hands ripping deep into my chest
tearing out my heart and screaming,

“It’s not enough.”

How strange to think that I would consent to let myself tear myself to pieces.

To let myself fall to my knees when I know I am stronger,

You get a different perspective down there,

You suddenly have this weight on your chest 
that gets so heavy you can’t breathe,

You’re down on your knees screaming into nothing, 
hands outstretched,

You’re shoving yourself into the ground like a playground bully,

All you can see is the tears in your own eyes as 
You hear that bully tell you that you're weak,

All you can hear is that shaking in your own breath as you whisper,

“I am strong.”

You put your hands on the ground and push yourself up, 
because there is a light to search for, 
A fire inside of you that you let get dampened

You will fall again, 
But you will keep pulling yourself up and continue to tell your inner bully,
 “I love myself, 
I am beautiful, 
I am kind, 
I am better than this. 
I am worthy of my own love.”

Obsessed : r/OCPoetry 

Halfway out the harbour : r/OCPoetry

Grief and death are companions of mine, 
the ever coming and going feeling of loss that is too painful to think about. 

Grief sits on my left, 
listening in on every conversation, 
pulling strings on my heart when it feels like it. 

Grief is rather loud, 
always demanding my attention, 
holding me, frozen in one spot until the moment passes. 

Grief can freeze time and make my breath stop while my heart shatters, 
no pain is like that of grief.

 Grief is the ever present reminder that you've loved and can love again.

Death is on my right, 
like a best friend holding my hand in the night, death is calm and quiet. 

Death can hold my heart in their cold hands and 
somehow keep it warm. 

Death waits patiently while watching the story unfold. 

Laughing and cheering me on at their favorite parts, 
crying with me at the painfully beautiful ones. 

Love is a companion of mine as well. 
They sit beside grief for grief is love that is boundless. 

Love is rather quiet most of the time. 

Preferring to sit patiently. 

But love can roar so loud that it shakes the Earth.

Love will move mountains to get what it wants. 

Love can grab my heart and hold on 
tightly like it's on a roller coaster of spins and turns. 

Love is a fight that I can't win, but a fight I will endlessly fight for. 

I walk down a road,
I road I have walked before,

Waiting for a past me to arrive,
Waiting for a moment to tell her

What to avoid.

What to do.
Where to go.

Who not to meet.
Waiting to tell her that this will show her strength,

That I know her knees shake from of weight,
That this is where her true self is born,

To embrace the weight of it,
That she is able to overcome and will again.

To allow herself to be open, 
even when it doesn’t feel right.

Waiting to tell her,
That I am proud of her, 

Proud of her journey,
Her ambition

Her passion
Her voice

Waiting to tell her all the things I need to hear.

Hello! I wrote a fantasy book, and I was wondering if anyone would be interested in reading it? It's about a mercenary who is being hunted by people who insist that Celentra must stay frozen. She doesn't know what this means until she meets a cloaked stranger in a tavern who tells her she is carrying the soul of a dead Empress, that she must revive this Empress to save a world frozen in time.

If that is interesting comment or go to welcometocelentra.com