of it would be beyond her endurance when the time came.
But the time hadn’t come.
N ot yet .
And thinking about it at this juncture, imagining tomorrow’s wicked ceremony, today , was an act of utter futility. It wouldn’t change a thing. And worse, it would steal away the only thing that mattered: Jessenia’s last hours alive with Timaos, the man she loved more than life itself.
She took a deep breath for courage. “The gods will be with me,” she whispered beneath her breath. “Surely, they will help me through this, the darkest night of my soul.”
The guard roared with wicked laughter, mocking her essential need for solace as well as her very real anguish, as if she were nothing more than a minstrel or a fool to be jeered at. “I wouldn’t count on it, sweetheart,” he howled.
Jessenia ignored him.
She smoothed out the top layer of her ruffled linen skirts, absently staring at the nearly translucent fabric. Determined to bring her thoughts to heel, she used the garment as a focal object, a mundane point of distraction, something— anything —she could concentrate on, in order to escape her looming demise. She got lost in the intricate celestial pattern, so deeply embroidered in the fabric; she drifted away while counting the individual stitches, so neatly gathered along the hem; and she relinquished control while tracing the mystical lines, all in an effort to keep her mind quiet , to force her psyche to simply float away, to just let go and find sanctuary in the solace of her soul.
As her fingers continued to work absently, tracing the familiar lines and angles of the garment—she had sewn this dress herself, after all—her breathing began to deepen, and she gradually refocused her thoughts.
She would not give the cruel ones her last hours.
She would not yield her mind along with her body.
These final moments belonged to her and Timaos, should he ever awaken.
Just then, the strangest thing happened: It was as if Jessenia’s soul took flight, passing through the veil of her garment like a hawk soaring through the mist of a cloud. Although she was a child of astrology, descended from both humans and celestial gods, this was unusual, even for her kind.
The hard earthen floor of the dungeon disappeared, and she found herself soaring at enormous speeds through a hazy blue-gray sky. The very air around her became electrified, as if it were charged with spectral energy, inhabited by unseen ghosts, and the density transformed as well: The clouds were like thick roiling scrolls, ebbing, flowing, and unfolding in mystical layers, right before her eyes. The filmy centers transmuted into opalescent hidden symbols, illuminating the sky like living glyphs that had suddenly come to life. Time became insubstantial, neither here nor there, as the past, present, and future all blended into one seamless tapestry of interwoven knowledge.
Jessenia blinked several times, trying to understand what had just happened, trying to make sense of all that drifted before her, even as she struggled to divine the cryptic but important meaning, the message suspended in the clouds.
The past sped by first—images, impressions, and memories—as she watched, breathed, and became a part of the living history. She watched as the celestial deities descended from the Valley of Spirit and Light and mingled with the human population. She breathed in the story of her race being born. She became the traditions, the magic, and the beauty that defined a new civilization, and she gloried in the gifts her race had been given, in the knowledge, strength, and wisdom they had literally beco me .
And then she sat back, a passive observer, as several centuries passed by, as new generations were born and older ones died off. She watched the rise of the royal family, King Sakarias and Queen Jade; she celebrated the birth of their noble children, Jadon, Jaegar, Ciopori, and Vanya; and she knew— she intrinsically understood —what the royal
But the time hadn’t come.
N ot yet .
And thinking about it at this juncture, imagining tomorrow’s wicked ceremony, today , was an act of utter futility. It wouldn’t change a thing. And worse, it would steal away the only thing that mattered: Jessenia’s last hours alive with Timaos, the man she loved more than life itself.
She took a deep breath for courage. “The gods will be with me,” she whispered beneath her breath. “Surely, they will help me through this, the darkest night of my soul.”
The guard roared with wicked laughter, mocking her essential need for solace as well as her very real anguish, as if she were nothing more than a minstrel or a fool to be jeered at. “I wouldn’t count on it, sweetheart,” he howled.
Jessenia ignored him.
She smoothed out the top layer of her ruffled linen skirts, absently staring at the nearly translucent fabric. Determined to bring her thoughts to heel, she used the garment as a focal object, a mundane point of distraction, something— anything —she could concentrate on, in order to escape her looming demise. She got lost in the intricate celestial pattern, so deeply embroidered in the fabric; she drifted away while counting the individual stitches, so neatly gathered along the hem; and she relinquished control while tracing the mystical lines, all in an effort to keep her mind quiet , to force her psyche to simply float away, to just let go and find sanctuary in the solace of her soul.
As her fingers continued to work absently, tracing the familiar lines and angles of the garment—she had sewn this dress herself, after all—her breathing began to deepen, and she gradually refocused her thoughts.
She would not give the cruel ones her last hours.
She would not yield her mind along with her body.
These final moments belonged to her and Timaos, should he ever awaken.
Just then, the strangest thing happened: It was as if Jessenia’s soul took flight, passing through the veil of her garment like a hawk soaring through the mist of a cloud. Although she was a child of astrology, descended from both humans and celestial gods, this was unusual, even for her kind.
The hard earthen floor of the dungeon disappeared, and she found herself soaring at enormous speeds through a hazy blue-gray sky. The very air around her became electrified, as if it were charged with spectral energy, inhabited by unseen ghosts, and the density transformed as well: The clouds were like thick roiling scrolls, ebbing, flowing, and unfolding in mystical layers, right before her eyes. The filmy centers transmuted into opalescent hidden symbols, illuminating the sky like living glyphs that had suddenly come to life. Time became insubstantial, neither here nor there, as the past, present, and future all blended into one seamless tapestry of interwoven knowledge.
Jessenia blinked several times, trying to understand what had just happened, trying to make sense of all that drifted before her, even as she struggled to divine the cryptic but important meaning, the message suspended in the clouds.
The past sped by first—images, impressions, and memories—as she watched, breathed, and became a part of the living history. She watched as the celestial deities descended from the Valley of Spirit and Light and mingled with the human population. She breathed in the story of her race being born. She became the traditions, the magic, and the beauty that defined a new civilization, and she gloried in the gifts her race had been given, in the knowledge, strength, and wisdom they had literally beco me .
And then she sat back, a passive observer, as several centuries passed by, as new generations were born and older ones died off. She watched the rise of the royal family, King Sakarias and Queen Jade; she celebrated the birth of their noble children, Jadon, Jaegar, Ciopori, and Vanya; and she knew— she intrinsically understood —what the royal
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