Free Web NovelChapter 370: Chapter 370
"Death walks among us," the priestess continued, her voice taking on that strange, echoing quality, as if more than one presence spoke through her. "No one escapes it. Death is made flesh and dwells among those whose souls it will one day reap. One lifetime after another, the circle continues."
If anything, the explanation only deepened Circe’s bewilderment. Each answer seemed to birth three more questions. Still, it was more than Dena had ever given her.
Dena had once said that Thalora was "the center," but she had refused to elaborate, no matter how often Circe pressed. The memory pricked at her now, sharp with frustration. Pushing it aside, Circe straightened her spine. She had come for answers, and she would not leave without them.
"I have been having odd dreams for months," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Dreams where I am summoned to a cave that hums with the power of the Veil. A woman calls me there—a woman who claims to be my aunt. She looks exactly like my mother. When I asked how that could be, she said they were three equal halves of the same soul." Circe swallowed, aware of how absurd it sounded even as she spoke. "She says she exists between two realms and has power over souls... just as I do. But she refuses to explain what she truly is. I want to know what she isn’t telling me." free𝑤ebnovel.com
Saying it aloud made her feel faintly unhinged. Back in Westeria, no one would have believed such a tale. They would have dismissed her as mad and shut their doors against her.
Yet the priestess did not look surprised. Not even slightly.
Instead, those cloudy, unfocused eyes fixed on her with uncanny intensity, as though peering straight into Circe’s spirit.
"Three equal halves of the same soul," the woman repeated quietly, tasting the words. There was recognition there, perhaps even concern. "I would have imagined the Liraelith had more pressing matters than haunting a person’s dreams."
Ragnar had remained motionless since they entered the chamber. He had not spoken, but his attention had never wavered. A faint crease appeared between his brows.
"The Liraelith?" he asked. The word felt unfamiliar on his tongue, yet something in the back of his mind tugged insistently, like a memory half-buried.
"The Liraelith is one of the oldest beings of the Faelands," the priestess explained. "A single entity that exists in three forms. They dwell in the Heartwood Grove deep within the Wildlands. They are the only beings capable of weighing the light and darkness within a soul after death."
Circe felt a chill creep along her arms.
"This time," the woman continued, still focusing on her, "you returned to this world as the daughter of Thalora, the Center of the Liraelith. The only Center in recorded history to abandon her sacred duty and flee into the human realm."
At that, something clicked sharply into place within Ragnar’s memory.
"Are you referring to the Triune Sentinels?" he asked, glancing at Circe. He remembered reading of them years ago. Their existence had been recorded in an ancient volume in his library, its pages so worn they were already crumbling at the edges.
"Yes," the priestess said. "They are called by many names. Liraelith was the first. They are strongest when they exist as three. If one dies, the others do not perish but their power diminishes greatly." freёweɓnovel.com
She folded her hands together, her voice steady as she recited a long forgotten legend. "It is said the first triad emerged from a shattered star that fell into the grove eons ago, its fragments seeding the land with cosmic balance. Each triad shares a single, indivisible soul-essence that manifests as three bodies: the Center, who anchors their power; the Left, guardian of light and mercy; and the Right, enforcer of darkness and justice. Their unity ensures harmony. But if one falls, that harmony fractures, and the surviving two are left diminished."
The chamber seemed to grow quieter as she spoke. "Every thousand years, when their strength begins to wane and their auras fade, the Center births a new triad through a ritual known as Soul-Weaving. Thus the cycle endures."
Circe absorbed the explanation slowly, each revelation settling into place like pieces of a long-scattered puzzle. Gratitude swelled unexpectedly in her chest. For so long she had stumbled through fragments of truth, half-blind and grasping for answers. Now it felt as though the blindfold around her eyes had finally been lifted.
This was more information than she had ever been given about her predicament.
And with that understanding came a sharp, unavoidable realization. Dena had been keeping far more from her than she had ever admitted.
Circe drew in a steadying breath, the enormity of it all pressing down upon her.
For the first time, she was not simply searching for answers. She was finally able to see the truth in all the secrets both Dena and Thalora had kept from her.
Did Dena make that deal with her to revive her sister so that she could regain her full power?
But wouldn’t she already know that her efforts were futile, since Thalora was dead?
"Something is on your mind," the priestess commented, her perceptive gaze making Circe realize she had been frowning for several moments. It was an astute observation, uncomfortably so.
"My aunt—" Circe paused, the word catching as uncertainty crept in. She exhaled softly and began again. "I made a deal with the woman in my dreams to revive her sister from a perpetual sleep, in exchange for her teaching me more about my power. From everything you have told me here today, I am assuming it is because she wishes to reclaim what she lost."
"And you would be correct," the woman said simply, her tone calm and assured.
That was where Circe’s confusion remained.
"But it wouldn’t work," Circe insisted, searching the priestess’s face for confirmation. "Even if her other sister is revived, my mother is still dead."
The priestess did not answer immediately. She only stared at Circe, her expression unreadable. "Is she?"
