Death is immortality.
Death is your second chance.
Velian Terrashine belongs to a classless society of equality, art and democracy; a land full of creativity and mindfulness. It is in that perfect political system that one wrong movement, one carele...
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WE WERE OUT.
The air was cold, the lights were low, and the smell of dampened grass, moisture and rain filled my nostrils. Thunder boomed in the distance and my heart skipped a beat at that.
I couldn't focus my gaze on anything but the Forest of Traitors that stretched out in front of us in all its glory. In the dead of night, it seemed darker and more perilous than the last time I'd walked through it, but I wasn't scared.
That green oasis of natural beauty and delicacy was fraught with cypresses and wildflowers that no one cared to water expect for the cathartic rain. According to old legends, bedtime stories and folklore, the Forest of Traitors had once been the only pathway for the magic-wielders and sorcerers to freedom—or to death. After magic had been banned, the few ones that had been too proud to be executed and too lucky to not have been caught, had crossed the forest that led straight to the ocean and had sailed northward. They'd never come back and when the last sorcerers had disappeared like the ocean had swallowed them, Lantra had been freed of magic. At least that was what they'd thought until they'd discovered that magic could never be contained and extinguished completely; only punished.
Denfer next to me kept his stare on the ground, as he halted for a moment to regain his strength, or to admire the view. I didn't know. I was out of that infirmary and would soon leave Lantra behind me, too. If an artist had been in my position, they would have described the whole scene as pure magic, finding the perfect words to express their raw emotions and deep thoughts through their candid writing.
But there was nothing in my mind now. We were out, savoring the crisp air that welcomed us to the forest. Denfer hadn't let go of me, I was still in his arms, his heavy breathing whispering songs alongside the crickets in the trees.
"We have better things to do than sit here admiring a forest," I said, catching his attention and the next moment my feet touched the ground. Thankfully, he looped his arm through mine before I'd fallen.
"It's a great forest," he admitted, his words almost a whisper to the wind, a hymn to the cypresses. I didn't ask him why he thought it was such a great forest—even though it truly was spellbinding. It felt like a personal question. And there was nothing intimate between us.
Denfer's shoulders tensed as he lifted his stare to the mountain behind us, getting caught up in its roaring, dark beauty. As for me, I continued scouting the woodland, wishing that we wouldn't stay here for longer than necessary; that he would soon find the energy to keep running and we wouldn't risk getting caught.
There were no trails or benches in that place. Only debris and destruction. A punishment to the last place magic-wielders had passed from. I gently nudged Denfer in the shoulder only to remind him that we were losing valuable time by standing here for so long; by not running away.
His hands were now into the pockets of his dark pants, his eyes focused on me and for the first time I could really call myself a traitor for the way I was about to leave the artist of my heart behind. For the way I was about to leave my parents behind, without telling them anything. But I was trapped, everything felt superficial, all these emotions seemed emotionless, they would discover the truth nonetheless and—
