THE SILVER LINING CHAPTER 5

The sound ripped into Ignatius like a blade, a rough guttural cry filled with pain and defiance. Her eyes opened wider, glimmering an unnatural emerald, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving as if she had been pulled from the depths of a dark abyss. “Krishna!” Ignatius leaned over her, his hands gripping her shoulders steadying her trembles. "It's me. You're safe now."

Her eyes flared wide, blind and wild, as she clawed at his arms. "No!" she rasped, her voice a painful whisper. "The flames… the flames are burning me! Oh, stop them! Stop!"

“Krishna, look at me!” Ignatious’s voice was firm, his hands cupping her face to anchor her to the present. “You’re not in the fire anymore. You’re here. You’re alive.”

She ceased thrashing about, her shining eyes finding his. Her recognition was flickering there, and her hands that had been thrusting him away were clinging to his coat. "Ignatious," she whispered, her voice quivering. "It's you…"

"It's me," he whispered, his tears spilling over as he rubbed his thumb over her cheek where the soot marked her skin. "I have you."

Krishna's body sank into him; her sobs racked that fragile frame, and she spoke, her voice raw with incredulity: "They burnt me. Miyal. He-he sentenced me to die. Never looked at me, either.

Ignatious drew her closer into his arms, jaw clenched tight, waves of rage flooding in. "They were silly," he murmured bitterly. "All of them. But you're here now. You survived, Krishna. And you're going to heal.

She drew back a little, her green eyes full of pain. "Why did you save me Ignatius?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I was ready to let go. I had nothing left to fight for.

"You had everything to fight for," Ignatious said, his voice fierce. "You were betrayed, yes, but you're still you. The woman who once stood against armies, who protected her people with every ounce of her strength. They don't deserve your loyalty, but you deserve your life."

She had shaken her head, fresh tears dripping from her face. "I gave them everything," she said, and her voice started to shake again. "I loved them. I loved him. And he turned on me. He called me a curse. A witch. As if I was nothing to him.".

Ignatious's heart ached at the pain in her voice. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Then let him see what a curse truly is," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Let him see the strength they tried to destroy. Let them all see."

Her eyes set hard, the ache of pain ceding to a flicker of the fierce determination that had once defined her. "I will," she said, her voice gaining strength. "But not for revenge. I'll show them the truth. I'll make them understand what they've done."

Ignatious nodded, his gaze steady. "And I'll stand with you," he said. "Whatever comes, Krishna, you won't face it alone."

They sat there in silence for a moment, the forest humming with the faint glow of magic around them. Krishna's breathing slowed and her trembling stopped as the green light inside her steadied into a soft glow. She looked up at Ignatious.

"Ignatious… thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For saving me. For believing in me when no one else did."

His throat chocked. He nodded, and own emotions threatened to spill over on him. "Always," he said simply.

Far away, Miyal stood alone in the Great Hall of the Crescent Silver Moon pack, his hands gripping the edges of the long table before him. The fire in the hearth had burned down to ashes a long time ago, leaving the room cold and shadowed. His amber eyes stared into the darkness as his heart filled with a grief he refused to give a name.

She's gone, Miyal whispered to himself, his voice hardly audible over the silence that appeared to permeate the cavernous halls like a pervasive shadow. White-knuckled, he grasped the edge of the long, weathered table in front of him. His amber eyes stared blankly into the nothingness in front of him, yet his mind was filled with nothingness, only the haunted picture of her face, streaks of tears and the feeling of betrayal, her burning within flames.

"It's over," he repeated himself, as if saying them out loud would somehow make them true. The weight in his chest, crushing pressure that made it hard to breathe, refused to ease off.

Meanwhile, over in Brunschiere, far beyond the Crescent Silver Moon pack border, deep inside the mystical woods, a very faint greenish light flickered into existence. It pulsed weakly, like the heart of a dying creature, but within each passing moment, it got stronger and brighter, casting this radiant glow and illuminating this ancient forest.

It carried through the trees, and her very essence became a part of that air, of the soil, of the land itself, through which the name of Krishna sounded. Her chest heaved in shallow respirations; her eyes were emeralds, their fire barely burning at the touch as life slowly claimed back its dominance from what had been lost on Ignatious. She lay motionless, weakened in body and bruised in spirit, but in her head, alight once more with memories: his voice, his betrayal, his command.

"Take her to the pyre."

The words went on a repeating beat, beating her anew every time. Her fists were bunched tight, her voice only a scratch, but there was promise in it, promise as resilient as magic could have been.

"I'm coming back," she whispered, her lips cracking with the effort. Her emerald light flared brighter, illuminating Ignatious as he knelt beside her, his face etched with equal parts relief and sorrow.

"And when I do," she said, her voice gaining strength, "they'll know what they've done. All of them. Especially him." Ignatious reached out, his hand gently covering hers.

"You'll have your time," he said, his voice low but steady. "But for now, rest. Heal. You need your strength, Krishna. As I said a while ago, vengeance can wait."

Her gaze softened, but her resolve did not waver. "It's not vengeance," she murmured. "It's justice." Ignatious nodded, his expression unreadable. "Then justice it shall be."

Miyal sat heavily in the chair at the head of the table, his face buried in his hands. Back in the Great Hall, it was still dark, but that wasn't what made him scared. It was cold. Within him, there resided a coldness deep in his bones that no fire could ever negate. The air screamed anew, now more than ever, rattling all doors in a challenge.

 Miyal looked up, his eyes wide with unease. Somewhere deep within him, he felt it—a presence, distant yet undeniable, like the first rumble of thunder before a storm.

Swallowing hard, his voice low barely above a whisper he said, "Krishna…." There in the far distance, it pulsed a bright green that grew stronger-a beacon of life, of wrath, of fury of a queen who would be heard. Alive, and She was coming.