I dreamed of this path I walked as it was then

[prophecized]

When Elora turns to look behind her, she feels unmistakably like something has been lost. It isn't just Graydon, either, though there's an ache in her chest when she thinks about him being left behind, out of reach; it definitely isn't whatever sheltered idea she had of the world before she followed the rescue party out of the castle. It's what she felt, maybe, that power, that potential. Even if she didn't — very much doesn't — want what the Crone was offering her, that doesn't mean it didn't feel good. Maybe that's just how life works, though. One door opens and another one closes, or something cliché like that. She left behind the safety and security of the life she'd known for twenty years and found it was all a lie in the first place, but discovered, with a lot of trial and effort, something inside her she never could have imagined. She isn't and won't ever be what the Crone would have had her be, but she's going back with some better sense of who she actually is, and with the family, however odd and makeshift, she never had. Whatever comes next, she has no idea, except to be certain that this isn't really over. No matter what it is, though, she won't be facing it alone.

"Hey," calls Kit from up ahead, pulling Elora from her thoughts. "Come on. We need you up here." Weeks ago — or maybe days, or maybe months, time on the Shattered Sea impossible to comprehend — she would have thought that Kit had lost her damn mind if she'd heard something like that. Now, she returns her friend's smile and hurries forward a few steps to catch up with the others. She steals one more glance back over her shoulder, that haunted, longing feeling whisper-quiet and yet nothing she can ignore.

And then she turns forward, and for the second time in recent memory, the world has utterly changed in an instant.

Gone is the dusty air of the Immemorial City and its eerie golden glow. Gone are her friends. She can hear and see a few people not terribly far away, but no one who should be there, who was a few steps ahead of her just a moment ago. "Oh, come on," she mutters to herself, frustrated and frightened in equal measure. Shivering, the air so much colder than it just was, she wraps her arms around herself, only to drop them a moment later and press her fingertips to her temples instead, as if trying to bring herself back to reality. "Okay. This is not right. This can't be right."

Comments

[prophecized]

While he gives her only a single name, something about the way he carries himself, or maybe just the twenty years she spent as a servant girl in the castle kitchen, leads Elora to duck her head in acknowledgment at the introduction — not as deferential as a full bow or curtsy, but a sign of respect all the same. Given the way he magicked her a coat out of thin air, there's definitely something noteworthy about him, anyway, aside from the mere fact of his stopping to help her.

"I'm Elora," she replies, keeping her own introduction as simple as that. "And it's okay. I mean, it's not, but that's not your fault. Besides, I'm kind of getting used to things not making sense."