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Soralisa has opened her eyes again, right as you secured her to Rubida’s back.
“I can carry her,” Willow tries to say. “I told you I owe it her as much.”
“I need you with me in case something happens.”
“Hmm,” her eyes shift towards the Asterite, who is waving her hands back and forth, having shaped the ink into a series of fans which create a light breeze through the corridor, enough to make it more than bearable, and also pulling up heated air from below.
“Alright,” you say, turning towards the others. “There should not be too long before the final room. I want to thank you all. We are almost there. Just a bit more and then we can go home.”
“Yea,” Willow nods. “Right.”
You close your eyes — there it is, that guiding golden glow, that has appeared ever since Soralisa carved your back.
The light of Ansàrra is leading you.
She will lead your family to safety, as well.
You will see them again, embrace your father, your mother again.
Master will be there too — and your new friends.
The night is near its end.
All will be alight in a cozy and warm glow.
You can feel it.
“The room…” Soralisa mutters, still weak, but now finally able to speak, “the Sanctum, will… ah… will be covered in metal on the outside. We have to be careful.”
“We will be,” you open your eyes and reassure her, taking a half step to rub her back. “But the Asterite has taken a blow from which he cannot recover.”
Or at least that’s what you hope, but you can’t hope others assuage your doubts while you are making sure to hasten their hearts.
Is this also responsibility? The weight upon a captain’s shoulders? You can’t say you like being a leader.
Whatever it may mean, you do feel a little closer to Saint Bragia.
May she keep leading you when you come back in the Holy Land.
As a permanent resident, this time.
“Let’s go.”
One by one, your new friends follow you, as the Asterite, for once, leads the way.
“Any disturbances?” You ask, holding the lighting rod up to help them see. Even Willow cannot make out much in the sheer darkness.
So, you hold onto your light, as you descend, and after just a few steps, you notice how your idea seems to be working: you can breathe in the cooler air, your silver mane shifting slightly under the breeze.
Then the Asterite stops.
“I think we are here.”
[cont.]
