Elias sat in the dim light of his cell, the note from Ettore resting in his hands. Its glow flickered faintly, casting shifting shadows across the stone walls. He traced his fingers along the edges, hesitating. The sensation reminded him of another letter – one written in a hand far more familiar, yet distant in memory.
It had been years since he had last held it, yet every word remained carved in his mind. A letter from his mother, detailing her journey to the Lands of Longinus.
He closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was back in his childhood home, the scent of aged paper and candle wax filling the air. He could see her – his mother seated by the window, writing by the soft glow of an oil lamp, her expression serene yet filled with purpose. The parchment she had used was delicate but thick, the ink a gentle hue of blue that had never faded, even with time.
<hr>
<blockquote>
<b>To my dearest Elias,</b>
By the time you read this, I will have already left. The roads to Longinus are treacherous, but I have faith the journey will be worth the risk. The Church has long studied magical afflictions, and I believe they may hold the key to understanding what we have only begun to grasp.
There are those who claim that faith alone shapes miracles, that belief itself alters the course of reality. I do not know if this is true, but I intend to find out. If magic is a force that binds us, then what of those who heal without its touch? What of those who mend wounds with prayer alone? Perhaps there is another path – one beyond debt, one beyond the Eclipse.
The lands I seek are not merely those of stone cathedrals and whispered hymns. I have read of ancient archives hidden beneath the sanctuaries, where the oldest healers record the forgotten arts – cures lost to time, truths buried beneath centuries of reverence. If the world is bound to its cycles, then perhaps Longinus has seen what lies beyond them.
And yet, Longinus is more than what is written in old texts. The Truthseeker’s Cliff is perilous, but the sight of the ravine bathed in sunlight is breathtaking. The towns have a quiet serenity, their architecture unlike anything I’ve seen in the Federation. The churches are not just places of worship but of warmth, filled with those who devote their lives to compassion. Even the food has surprised me – rich, flavorful, nothing like what I expected from a theocratic land. Maybe, when I return, we can try making some of the dishes together.
I wish you were here, Elias. But you have your own journey, and I would never ask you to abandon it. Perhaps one day, after your graduation, we can travel together.
I have heard whispers – of those who step into the hallowed halls and never leave. Not because they perish, but because they find something they cannot turn away from. I do not know if I will be one of them. But if I do not return, know this: my love for you is unchanged, and my search was not in vain.
I will return before the season’s end. Stay safe, my son.<b>
With love, always.
</b>
<cite>Flora</cite></blockquote>
<hr>
Except she never returned.
Elias opened his eyes, staring at the stone beneath him. He had read that letter a hundred times, seeking meaning in words that never changed. But now, a new thought crept into his mind. He had spent years wondering why she had left, what she had hoped to find. Before he could dwell further, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. The heavy clank of keys against iron reached his ears, followed by the scrape of a viewing slot sliding open.
A soft knock sounded from the door, breaking him from his reverie. He blinked, adjusting to the present as the slot on the door slid open, revealing a pair of wary eyes.
<i>"You have visitors."</i>
The heavy door creaked open, and Elias stiffened in surprise. Standing before him, dressed in a healer’s uniform, was Florence.
<hr>
She stepped into the room, a medical bag slung over her shoulder. The last time Elias had seen her, she had been in the streets, patching up wounded civilians after the Eclipse, her hands steady despite the chaos around her.
<i>"I wasn’t expecting to see you here,"</i> Elias said carefully, watching her expression.
Florence smiled, though an unmistakable weariness lingered in her gaze.<i> "Neither was I. But I volunteered for the prison medical rotation. It gives me access to people the Church wouldn’t normally speak to."</i>
He raised an eyebrow. <i>"That sounds like an excuse."</i>
She shrugged. <i>"Maybe it is. Or maybe I thought you’d have questions."</i>
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Elias studied her for a moment before nodding. <i>"Longinus. Tell me about it."</i>
Florence set her bag down, pulling out a few supplies as if preparing for an examination. <i>"It’s not as mysterious as people make it out to be. It’s a land of faith, yes, but also of order. The Church doesn’t just preach miracles – they study them."</i>
He exhaled slowly. <i>"And what do they know about people who go there and don’t return?"</i>
Florence’s hands stilled for just a moment. <i>"I don''t know... Father Theodore says they''ve simply left with what they''ve found."</i>
Silence hung between them. Elias clenched his fists, the weight of his mother’s absence settling over him like a shroud. Florence hesitated before speaking again. <i>"Why do you ask?"</i>
Elias glanced at the note in his hands, its glow flickering ever so slightly. <i>"Because someone I loved went there once. And I need to know why she never came back."</i>
Florence met his gaze, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing her silver eyes before she turned away, adjusting the strap of her bag. A moment passed before she exhaled, glancing toward the window.
<i>"You’re asking the right questions,"</i> she said softly. <i>"But... Longinus isn’t a place to seek answers. It’s a place where even the people who leave... they leave with questions of their own."</i>
Elias remained quiet, his thoughts circling like vultures over a battlefield. If his mother had left, then where had she gone? And why would Longinus, of all places, hold the key? As he wrestled with the thought, Florence sat down on the stool beside his bed, pulling a small leather-bound Bible from her bag.
<i>"You''re overthinking,"</i> she murmured, narrowing her eyes slightly. <i>"Which isn’t surprising, but considering what you''ve been through, maybe take a breath first."</i>
<i>"Just a habit,"</i> he muttered. <i>"I have to keep my mind active somehow."</i>
Florence pouted, crossing her arms in mock disapproval – a rare but adorable sight in a place this grim. <i>"Well, try not to go crazy. If you start losing it, they''ll really demote me to chair scrubbing."</i>
<hr>
As Elias dozed off, the song began to weave through the haze of his fading consciousness, like a river carving through time.
<b><i>The world can be a dark place,</i><i>
</i><i> Where fear always wins and love has an end…</i></b>
The melody drifted through his mind like a whisper on the wind, threading itself through the fabric of his mind. It was a voice he had once taken for granted – soft, steady, warm. He could almost hear it now, not just in his mind, but in the air around him, as if the walls of his weary heart still echoed with the remnants of a song long forgotten.
<b><i>Don’t forget there’s a light inside of you,</i><i>
</i><i>Shining through…</i></b>
Elias’s fingers twitched. He reached for the space beside him, but there was nothing there. And yet, the warmth of it lingered, as though she were just out of sight. Just beyond his grasp.
He wasn’t alone, even now.
The song washed over him, pulling him into a memory he hadn’t truly thought of in years. He was a child again, sitting cross-legged on the cold wooden floor of their home. The golden glow of lantern light filled the room, and the scent of herbs and spices hung thick in the air, mingling with the warmth of simmering broth. Flora stood by the hearth, her lips forming a familiar melody, her voice wrapping around him like a gentle embrace. She had always hummed while she worked – never loudly, never for an audience. Just a quiet, steady tune that seemed to make the world a little less heavy.
Elias had once thought it was just a habit, but he had been too young to understand. His mother’s voice was more than music – it was magic. Not the kind of magic that demanded spell circles or incantations, but something woven into the very fabric of her being.
Few possessed the ability to channel power through song. Even among mages, it was an art few could master. To the untrained ear, her lullabies were nothing more than soothing melodies. But to those who listened – truly listened – the notes carried something more. Protection. Healing. A whisper of incantations so deeply intertwined with music that they no longer felt like spells, but something older, something purer.
<i>"Songs carry power,"</i> she had once told him. <i>"Not magic, not spells, but something deeper. Something untouched by debt or the Eclipse."</i>
At the time, he hadn’t understood. Power wasn’t supposed to be something simple, something so fragile as a melody. But now, as the song wrapped around him like a lullaby, he understood what she had meant.
<b><i>Oh, anytime at all I’ll be there when you call,</i><i>
</i><i>To get a perfect harmony…</i></b>
A lump formed in his throat. He had tried so hard to forget, to push away the memories of her. But now, her presence was undeniable. Even now, across the vast chasm of distance, her voice reached him – not as a fading memory, but as a living thread of magic, attuned and carefully woven, stretching from the farthest reaches of her existence to where he lay, fragile and lost in his own thoughts.
<b><i>When you need me, close your eyes…</i>
<i>Listen to the music within…</i></b>
The last note hung in the air, reverberating through the silence of his mind. It was an unspoken promise, a declaration of love and protection.
His chest tightened with something unplaceable – a grief, a longing, and a deep, undeniable sense of connection. Even though Flora was far away, she had never truly left him. She had found a way to bridge the distance, to be with him in this moment, even when she couldn’t physically be there.
Elias exhaled slowly, a silent acknowledgment to the magic that flowed through the air, connecting him to his mother, even in this world of debt and shadows.
And then, finally, sleep took him. But it was different this time. He wasn’t alone.