Chapter 75: I need to save her.
Gwen’s POV
It has been over a month now. No news about the whereabouts of Lara, and Ava is slowly dying, just like my heart. Even the Holies have not been able to heal her.
The king is losing his mind everyday. For a week, the elders in my clan kept dying. People suspect the king but no one dares to point a finger at him. Everyone is living in fear waiting for the day, the king will finally go berserk.
For the holies not to be able to pinpoint such dark power or heal her from such curse, it simply means the curse was more powerful than I had thought earlier.
Once again, I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is her, her pale face, her once-vibrant skin marred by those creeping black lines that can't erase.
They crawl through her veins. Her cold flesh never warmed, no matter the warmth or the amount of holy energy that had been poured into her.
Those black lines, they are almost there, so close to her heart, yet not there. Almost at her eyes, yet still holding back. If this isn’t torture, then I don’t know what is. It’s as if the one draining life from her doesn’t want her to die or live.
She’s just… there. Trapped.
I move around my small coven, weaving between the collection of rare herbs and magical plants. Pots overflow with green leaves, some harmless, others, deadly. Even creatures thought to be extinct rest quietly in the shadows of my coven.
Still, none of this is enough. Nothing I’ve tried is working. Even the curse I have thought was responsible for this, is said to have different grades. And Ava has been cursed with the highest grade.
I mix the beetroot and papaya leaves with a pinch of screeching daffodil powder, rare and dangerous if mishandled. My hands shake, but I don’t stop.
Tonight, I will summon Mother Earth herself.
It’s risky, reckless, even. This spell requires strength, and I’ve already burned through too much of my power. If she doesn’t answer… No, I can’t think that way.
Ava needs me.
"Mother Earth, please… Please yield to my call. I know I am not worthy."
I keep chanting, my voice raw, repeating the words like a desperate prayer. My arms ache from stirring the potion over the magical flame. Sweat drips down my back, but I push through the pain. These are the sacrifices required.
"Oh, great Mother Earth, your chosen daughter beckons you. If you do not answer, they will shame me. They will mock me and deny your existence."
I speak the spell in the old tongue, the ancient Lystra dialect, hoping it will bring her to me.
The minutes stretch into hours. My hands tremble, and my limbs feel heavy. Each stir of the potion drains what little energy I have left. Still, I continued, because if I stop, Ava will die.
Three hours. Nothing.
I bite my lip, frustration clawing at me. Why won’t she answer? Does she not care that her chosen daughter is calling?
I know what I must do next, and the thought chills me. There’s one way to force her to come, but the last time I tried, the pain nearly broke me.
Ava… she can’t die.
With that thought flashing through my mind, I reach for the dragon blade resting beside the pot. It gleams under the flickering light, the ancient runes etched into its surface shining softly. This blade has been passed down to every chosen daughter of Mother Earth.
It is my birthright.
My heart pounds violently in my chest as I hold the blade against my temple, right over the three-leaflet mark hidden beneath my skin. Only I can see it, a symbol of the Mother’s blessing.
No one else will ever see it unless I am crowned Queen of my coven. But with everything happening… I don’t know if that day will ever come.
My fingers tighten around the hilt as my breath quickens. My hands tremble, not from weakness, but from the knowledge of what comes next. The last time I did this, the pain was indescribable.
And yet, I lift the blade without hesitation.
Ava cannot die.
With that final thought, I drive the blade into the mark.
The pain is immediate, hot, burning,agony tearing through my skull. A scream rips from my throat as the earth trembles beneath me, and an emerald light flares from the blade, nearly blinding me.
But I won't stop. I can’t.
The dagger drinks greedily, pulling my blood into its core. It’s as if the blade itself craves my suffering, feeding off my very essence. My vision almost gives out, but I hold the blade steady.
"Please… Mother… answer me."
The ground quakes beneath my feet, the plants around me wilting from the forceful power being released. My body shakes, my knees threaten to buckle, but still, I hold on.
I don’t know how much longer I can take this.
And then, everything stops.
The pain, the shaking, gone. The dagger slides from my temple on its own, the crimson stain fading as though it had never touched my skin. My heart pounds weakly in my chest, and my vision swims.
A soft, melodic voice comes through the silence.
"What are you doing, child?"
I lift my head weakly, blinking through the haze. A radiant green light glows in front of me, gentle, yet commanding. Specks of green light float around her like dust caught in sunlight.
She is the very essence of the forest.
Her form is breathtaking, golden skin under the soft glow of the light shines. Her soft black curls just like mine cascade down her back, the deepest shade of green, like ancient vines.
Her skin kept glowing softly, like a healing balm, like the first bloom of spring. Birds flutter around her, singing softly as the scent of wildflowers fills the air.
And on her head sits a crown made entirely of blooming petals, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.
Mother Earth, she still takes my breath away. I saw her when I was three. She had come to me, sweet and friendly in a friendless clan, she had been my friend and the mother I never had.
When I got hurt, I would run to the forest outside our clan and cry, calling out to her, she would answer. She always answers. “ Little Gwen,” as fondly called me then.
I can still remember how she would tend to my wounds. The ones the clan members would deliberately cause. For my lack of powers as they would say.
My knees give out, and I fall before her, my breath shaky. I want to speak, but the weight of her presence steals the air from my lungs.
Her eyes, identical to mine, lock onto me with quiet power.
"What have you done, child?" Her voice is sweet, yet heavy with something deeper. Something ancient.
Tears prick my eyes as I try to steady myself. My heart still aches fro
m the spell’s toll, but I manage to whisper the words that burn through my chest.
"I need to save her."
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