The Witch's Heart and The Mortal's Light(GL)

Elara didn't touch the spindle again until morning.

Even wrapped in cloth and tucked away, she felt it — like it was watching. Listening. Not malevolent… but awake. Like a heartbeat under stone.

She sat cross-legged by the cliff, cradling the bundle.

"It doesn't feel like a weapon," she said.

Morgwyn sat nearby, sharpening a dagger. "It isn't. Not in the usual sense."

"What is it, then?"

"A weaving relic," Morgwyn replied. "We used them in Vel Ashen to stitch broken tetherlines. To restore memory paths. Rewrite oaths."

Elara blinked. "Like… change the past?"

"No. But… alter how it threads into the future."

"So… fate embroidery."

Morgwyn chuckled, barely. "More or less."

The day passed in restless silence.

Fen refused to go near the temple again. He paced the camp like a soldier expecting siege.

"Something's following us," he muttered by midday. "Can't scent it. But it's watching. Like it knows your name before you speak it."

"It's Ilsamar," Elara said.

Fen growled. "Then it better learn some manners."

They reached the Salt Ridges by late afternoon — a broken trail of cragstone and ash-blasted ruins that once connected to an ancient port.

Here, the echoes were louder.

Morgwyn paused by a shattered arch and placed her palm to the stone.

"I lost friends here," she murmured.

"During Vel Ashen's fall?"

She nodded once.

"There was a spell. A forbidden one. It needed three casters. I was one. The others…"

Elara placed her hand over Morgwyn's.

"I'm sorry."

"They're part of the earth now. That's how the spell worked."

Elara didn't ask what it did.

Some things didn't need naming.

That night, as stars blinked through the clouds, Elara dreamed again.

But it wasn't Ilsamar this time.

It was her sister.

Sari stood barefoot in a field of thread, her eyes glazed, her body shimmering with unnatural stillness.

"Elara?" she whispered. "Why is it dark?"

Elara reached for her.

And saw Cressid behind her, holding a blade made of mirrored fire.

"She's mine now," Cressid hissed.

"You left her behind."

"You can't protect both her and the witch."

Elara screamed—

And woke up with blood on her palm.

The rune had reopened.

Morgwyn rushed in when she heard the cry.

"It was her," Elara gasped. "Cressid. She's in Sari's dreams."

Morgwyn's expression went dark.

"She's using the threadlink. Through the mark she carved into you during the summoning."

Elara looked at her hand. "Can we sever it?"

Morgwyn hesitated. "We can weaken it. But not break it—not while the spindle remains dormant."

"Then how do I activate it?"

"You must weave."

Elara blinked. "Weave what?"

"A choice," Morgwyn said. "A binding. You must claim one future. Thread it. Stitch it into now. No hesitation."

Elara's voice cracked. "But what if I pick the wrong one?"

"Then you'll live with it. Like the rest of us."

They chose to camp at the Coastal Gate, a broken ring of monoliths once used for communion with sleeping deities.

There, Morgwyn taught Elara the glyphs for threading spells.

"You need three things: a moment, a name, and a purpose."

They etched symbols into stone.

Elara whispered:

"The moment: When I touched the god."

"The name: Sari Wynn."

"The purpose: Protection."

The spindle unraveled a single thread of burning silver.

And when Elara touched it—

Everything stopped.

She stood in a colorless void.

Time had paused.

Before her hung a web of threads — thousands — spinning, burning, tangling.

In the center was a glowing line — hers.

A second thread, flickering weakly, hovered nearby.

Sari's.

Elara stepped forward, trembling.

And began to stitch.

She wove the silver thread between their lives — not binding, not leashing, but shielding.

A net of memory, of love, of the lullabies they used to hum.

And then—

She spoke:

"Let no harm pass between us. Let the thread shield her soul."

The thread sealed.

Time returned.

The spindle now glowed.

And the mark on Elara's palm had changed — sharper now. Less passive. More defined.

"You did it," Morgwyn said quietly. "You chose."

Elara looked up.

"I'm going to burn anyone who threatens her again."

Far away, in the tower of ash and crystal Cressid had conjured, a mirror shattered.

The flame-witch staggered back, snarling.

"Clever girl…"

She turned to the shadows.

And the red-eyed figure stepped forward.

"She's waking," Cressid whispered. "But she still thinks she can choose."

The figure said nothing.

But its smile showed too many teeth.

END OF CHAPTER 14