A prophecy was given to the Realm of Valeera, but only one kingdom took heed to it and set forth a law that would divide the people into two groups. The Fair and the Strange. One group possessed a promise from the gods while the other is doomed for...
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"I saw what happened. We could see the stormy clouds drop and blow towards us," Master Joras said as Gris and his group swarmed into the infirmary two hours later.
They placed Mageia in a private room, rather than one on the main floor, and carefully placed her in a bed. Two nurses got to work on cleaning and dressing her, their hands trembling and eyes filled with mixed emotions. One of them drew a curtain for privacy.
"Was the sacrifice successful, or did this happen before it?"
"It happened after she took her last breath," Gris said. "The earth quaked...."
"We felt it too, almost like a calm shiver," Joras' voice was deep with awe and excitement. "And the sky. It's still purple. What does this mean?"
Gris began pacing. "My suspicions and theories were right, Joras. She's a Fairest."
Master Joras fell speechless and rubbed his bald, shiny head. Lord Hercones entered with Ser Conner.
"Your Highness," Ser Conner greeted. "My temple soldiers will guard Mageia night and day until the gods speak otherwise."
"Thank you."
Lady Liana entered the room, flustered. "Your Highness, people are gathering in the infirmary. Word is spreading about her quickly."
Ser Conner placed a hand on his hilt. "Worry not, Your Highness, Anointed One. I will handle this." And the knight exited with Liana on his trail.
As they exited, Rasheem entered with a radiant smile on his face. Gris gasped in pure shock.
"Rasheem! You're up?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Master Joras boasted.
"Something happened," Rasheem cheered as they embraced. "I feel great."
"I don't understand ..." Gris took in the bright and healthy look in his friend's eyes.
"When that cloud came down and nearly blew us off the roof," Master Joras began, "we came to check on everyone, and gods be good, he was healed. Head to foot."
Rasheem looked as if a whip had never touched him. His color had returned to his skin, the spark back in his eyes.
"Gods be good," Gris managed to say and hugged his friend with gratefulness.
"May the gods forgive us if we've done anything wrong this night," Lord Hercones prayed in a troubled tone, dampening the moment. He stared at the curtain with his hands fumbling with the hem of his ceremonial robe.
"It all makes sense now," Gris said. "I thought Mageia needed to connect with her magic, most likely dormant her entire life, until tonight. I believe this had to happen, Lord Hercones. She had to die in order to be reborn."
"Reborn into her magic and her power." the High Priest nodded.
