Hours passed, though Morgana had no sense of time. She remained kneeling in the dirt where the ritual chamber had been, staring at the smooth patch of earth that had swallowed her nephew whole. The twisted trees of Shademore Gorge creaked and whispered around her, but she heard none of it.
The pain in her chest felt like a physical wound, sharp and constant. She had found him - the last living member of her family, her brother’s son - only to lose him again so quickly. Just a few days ago, she hadn’t even known he existed. Now he was gone forever, and with him died the last hope of the Arkwright bloodline.
She thought about how little time she had actually spent talking to him. There had been so much to explain, so much family history to share. She had wanted to tell him about his father, about the kind of man her brother had been. She had wanted to show him the old family traditions, teach him to properly control his Origin power, help him understand his heritage.
Instead, all he had gotten from her were warnings and dangers and a terrible death in a dark ritual chamber.
"My lady," Swefarna said softly, nudging Morgana’s shoulder with her great silver head. "We cannot stay here. This place grows more dangerous with each passing moment. I can feel dark powers stirring in the depths of the earth."
Morgana didn’t respond. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the spot where Jaenor had been. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her nails were cutting into her palms, but she didn’t notice the pain.
The dragon tried again, her voice gentle but urgent. "The Lordess Apostle may still be near. If she senses us here, we will share the boy’s fate. Please, we must leave this accursed place."
Still Morgana didn’t move. The grief felt like it was drowning her, pulling her down into darkness deeper than any physical pit. She remembered her father Alsandair, how proud he had been of his two children. She remembered her brother, young and laughing, before the weight of kingship had settled on his shoulders.
Now they were all gone. Her father, killed in the final battle against the daemon armies twenty years ago. Her brother and sister-in-law, dead defending their infant son. And now Jaenor himself, drained of life to awaken an ancient evil.
She was the last. The final member of a bloodline that had once ruled kingdoms and wielded power that could reshape the world. And she had failed in the one task that mattered most - protecting the future of their family.
"I should have been faster," she whispered, her voice cracking with pain. "I should have gotten there sooner. I should have been stronger."
"My lady," Swefarna said, her tone becoming more insistent. "Grief is a luxury we cannot afford right now. The boy’s death will mean nothing if we die here as well. And there are others depending on us - the girl and the blacksmith back at the forest camp."
The mention of Valara and Baren stirred something in Morgana’s numbed mind. They were still waiting for her to return, still hoping she would bring Jaenor back safely. She would have to face them, would have to tell them that their friend was dead because she had failed to protect him.
How could she look into Valara’s eyes and explain that the boy who had been like a brother to her would never come home? How could she tell Baren that the young man he had helped raise was gone forever?
"I don’t know how to tell them," she said quietly. "They trusted me to keep him safe."
Swefarna’s voice was filled with compassion. "You will find the words because you must. But first, we need to leave this place alive. I can smell sulfur in the air, and the ground beneath us trembles with unnatural movement. Whatever was awakened here is not finished with its work."
As if to emphasize the dragon’s words, a low rumbling sound came from deep beneath the earth. The twisted trees around them began to sway, though there was no wind, and the air grew thick with the scent of decay and old magic.
Reluctantly, Morgana forced herself to stand. Her legs felt weak, and her hands were shaking, but she managed to take one step, then another, toward where Swefarna waited.
She looked back one more time at the place where Jaenor had died. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you."
He was her family, her only family, even though she didn’t say it out loud.
Then she climbed onto the dragon’s back, settling into the familiar saddle with movements that felt mechanical and lifeless. Swefarna spread her great wings and launched herself into the dark sky, carrying them away from Shademore Gorge and its terrible secrets.
As they flew through the night, Morgana stared down at the landscape passing below them. The twisted trees and dark mountains gradually gave way to healthier forest and rolling hills, but she took no comfort in leaving the cursed lands behind.
The Lordess Apostle was free now, awakened from centuries of slumber with all her terrible power intact. She would not remain hidden in Shademore Gorge - beings like her craved destruction and chaos. Soon she would emerge to begin whatever dark plan had required Jaenor’s death to set in motion.
And Morgana would have to find a way to stop her, somehow, even though she had already failed when it mattered most.
The wind whipped through her hair as Swefarna carried her through the darkness, but all Morgana could think about was a young man with kind eyes and untrained power who had deserved so much better than the fate that had claimed him.
Behind them, in the depths of Shademore Gorge, something laughed with a voice like silver bells mixed with screaming. The Lordess Apostle was awake, and the world would soon learn to fear her name once again.