Death was cold. Numb. 

It was a sluggish fog that coated her mind, even an awareness that there should have been nothing left of her permeated the haze. 

Her fingers lay limp in the warm, pooling blood she knew drenched the table beneath her. The all-encompassing pain lacing her shredded skin had long since faded. She could still sense the burn where ropes dug into her stretched limbs--the sting of her slashed throat--but that was it. 

That’s bad, isn’t it?

Despite everything, that much was bone-chillingly clear. The lack of pain, the cold…the way the ever-present warmth of her magic had turned into nothing. No connection to her goddess. No tingle of her skin attempting to repair itself. 

Nothing.

The rescue she could hear from the floor above would be too late. 

Metal clashed. Mana surged. Someone called her name. 

She tried to call back. Gods how she tried. The pain returned, then, as the weakest gurgle somehow stretched the tortured skin. Despite everything, she could feel the new wetness that caked her matted neck. 

Everything blurred, then dimmed. Had she closed her eyes? 

Something slammed into a wall. 

“Your Majesty--!”

“Amaris!” 

“Gods above…” 

“--stop the bl--” 

“--ate, it’s too--”

From their voices, they were near. Her foggy mind picked out the details, forming a picture that experience told her would be true, even the rest of her was too far gone. She knew she should’ve felt pressure being applied to her throat. Bastian would be grabbing her hand. Aiden's fingers were no doubt pressed to her chest, flooding her dying body with magic. 

Too late. 

It was all too late. 

Somehow, she sensed the wetness falling against her cheek. “Please, Love…you can’t leave me alone. I can’t…I can’t do this without you. Please.” 

I’m sorry. 

Then, nothing. 

The darkness consumed everything. No voices, no sounds of battle. 

No sobbing. 

Time passed. Or, perhaps it didn’t. The nothing could have lasted years, or seconds. Without even the beat of her heart to guide her, time was impossible to judge. 

Then, something. 

A static warmth. A presence at a distance, reaching out for her even as a foreign awareness flooded her mind. They couldn’t reach her--not through the nothing. They lingered a century, or a second, before they--too--returned to the abyss. 

She drew a breath.  

Huh?

Her fingers twitched. Then, pain. Overwhelming, mind numbing, fiery pain. 

“--angerous! You have no gods damned clue what will happen, casting magic on a circle like that!” 

“What else am I supposed to do, huh? They’re just a kid, Rolan!” 

A kid? 

“Agh, dammit! This is why I told you to stay in the other room.” 

The fire faded just enough for thought to break through. Her mind found awareness even as her body bucked away from the limbs poking into her back. 

“Gods, they’re alive? In that state?” 

Where am I? 

“I think--I think it’s working.” 

A large hand brushed her cheek as her body went limp. She might’ve jerked away, she wanted to, but her limbs didn’t listen. 

“You--”

“Just shut up and come here. Hold them still while I finish. They might hurt themselves if they move further before I’m done.” 

The strangers continued to bicker as she felt herself being shifted from one lap to presumably another. Impulse told her to fight, but somehow logic won out. The second voice, a soft tenor, mentioned wanting to keep her from hurting herself. Even through the fog and slowly forming, bubbling panic, she could tell that meant someone was casting healing magic. And even children knew not to move while a healer worked. 

Not that she was a child, whatever the voices were claiming. 

So, instead, she focused on her eyes as the healer worked and the first voice--Rolan--complained about how dangerous this all was. Despite their harsh tone, however, the arms that held her were soft. And large. 

Disturbingly large. 

Are they giants? There were plenty of races of demons, monsters, and magic beasts that grew large enough to be classified as giants. But, the number of them that could cast healing magic could be counted on a single hand. 

Finally, she found the strength to open her eyelids. The head above her was...stunningly normal. Androgenous features, high cheekbones, and pointed ears lended towards them being some sort of elf or fae. His black hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, showing off a scabbed-over gash across their hairline. Crimson trailed down between their dark, forested eyes. 

“Are you almost done, I--” the man cut off, meeting her open eyes with a wide stare. Then, slowly, he offered a hesitant smile. “Ah…hello, little faeling. You’ve done good staying still this long. Just a bit further, alright?” 

If she’d been able to find her voice, perhaps she might have asked one of the dozen questions that suddenly surged through her alongside a familiar layer of reflexive irritation. 

Faeling? Little one? 

Amaris was sixteen, elven--and, most importantly, an empress. That was far from little. Even the court advisors had been forced to admit that she and Bastian were adults by every manner of the word beyond physical age. 

The familiar glow of healing magic--admittedly only recognizable because of its soothing warmth, given the odd icy hue of the woman’s mana--lit the edges of her vision as the woman’s hands shifted into view. The rest of her, however, remained just too far out of reach to see. 

“They’re doing rather well for a child, aren’t they?” the women mused. “Can’t be more than six, I imagine.”

Rolan hummed. “Eight, perhaps. Fae are small.”

Were they talking about her?  

“They haven’t cried out once,” the woman stated. Tension laced her voice. “Even now that their eyes are open. “Do you think…” 

“It could be shock. All of this is a lot for someone their age to handle, I’d imagine.” 

It was impossible, wasn’t it? 

As impossible as waking after dying? A logical part of her asked. 

Something clicked, then. Their sizes despite their mortal features. Their strange words. The lack of goddess’ given warmth in her body beyond the glow of the woman’s magic. 

It’d been nearly eight years since she’d felt such a disconnect from her magic. From the bond Yula had placed on her. 

This isn’t me.