(Completed)
Two assassins were set to kill a girl. No questions asked. Just kill her and claim their prize. That was their mission. Except one of them was not supposed to visit Volney, the land of the dead and the other fall in love with a girl and...
I know there might be a lot of confusion. I am revising my story as I got a couple of holidays. The story shall no longer continue from Elmar's pov. At least in this book.
@Mikkow3 I have no words to thank her. Your support means a lot :)
Let's go to the story!
Tears Are Not Weakness
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Aeons ago she was one of the powerful creatures that walked on the faces of Lavatia. They had feared her, loved her, respected her and most of all remembered her. Now she was a mere speck of dust, long forgotten. However, she never forgot them. It was her duty to protect them and she would protect them with her last breath.
Was it not for the promises, she would have let her soul pass to the other side of Volney, the side where the souls rested in peace. She sighed. It was not the power she craved. Never the power.
True, the darkness had a beauty that light could never compare, but how long would the people stay in dark? Not for long. They could never survive in utter blindness. It was the law of mortals.
She walked on the streets of Rixihy. None could see her. Their saviour who kept the darkness at bay. She did not mind it. She preferred it this way. Had they seen her, she must give them answers, which were best left untold.
It was a normal day for them. The smile on their face made her content. It was that smile she strived for. Smiling softly to herself, Ar'kela passed them. Their voice sang the hymns of Earendil.
This was good. Their faith in him would help him heal. Humming the hymn herself, she made her way to the shrine in the village. Unlike many towns and villages that lost their faith in the Spirits, Rixihy had not succumbed to that foolishness.
Feronia sat on the highest throne with the Spirit of Justice and Spirit of Power on her either side. The marble floors were designed in the convoluted pattern of the frost. Some flecks dared to sit on the statues of the Spirits.
The pristine white marble had a light shade of grey. The flowers offered to them had wilted. The starlight shone, making the shrine light up in liquid silver. A feather or two were scattered on the floor.
She bowed to each and every Spirit there and murmured her prayers. Owls hooted and began their hunt in the forest. She ruffled her black skirt and knelt before Amhika, the Spirit of Mother.
"Help me, Mother," she whispered. If her mother was here, she would have known what to do. "What would have you done, if you were in my place? I am lost. Show me the way."
She hated her voice sounding so pathetic. She hated the fraught she heard in her voice. She wanted her body to stop shaking and her eyes to be dried. If only she could speak with her mother, she would have a clear mind.
