Lies We Tell Ourselves

“How did I get here?”

The question echoed in my mind, a frantic whisper lost in the thunder’s roar. The stone beneath me was cold, rough, and slick with a dampness that wasn’t just rain.

Before me, Aurelia Astraea, my Ember-mother, was bound to a coarse surface of the table. Her pale skin and hair stark against the dark. Torches, jammed into the corners of the vast chamber, flickered wildly, like trapped fireflies battling a suffocating darkness.

The air hung thick and heavy, a cloying mix of the coppery tang of blood, the metallic chill of fear. Rain lashed against the high, arched windows, each drop a brutal counterpoint to the frantic, irregular beat of my heart. Blood dripped from a gash above my eye, stinging, blurring my vision, mixing with the hot tears that traced paths through the grime and cuts on my face. Anxiety, a jagged, clawing thing, stole my breath in short, ragged gasps. My knees buckled, useless, as calloused hands gripped my arms, holding me aloft like a puppet, preventing me from reaching her.

Minutes.

Just minutes until midnight, until the heavy hand of fate would fall, and everything would shatter.

She would die because of me.

She will be paying the price for my mistakes, a price I should be paying. My many bruises and aching body were a constant reminder of the guards, who dragged me here and tried to keep me still.

The large, white doors, their surfaces a tapestry of intricately carved leaves and vines, groaned open with a deep, guttural rumble, a sound that mirrored the thunder outside. The grinding screech of ancient stone on stone echoed through the vast, shadowed halls, a cold, mournful cry that sent a shiver down my spine. In the blink of an eye, a tide of people surged through the doorway, their voices a cacophony of harsh shouts and excited whispers, like the wind whipping through the trees. They were here for the spectacle, the sacrifice of Aurelia Astraea, my mentor, the protector of the Elysian Fields. But she was more than a protector; she was the one who had pulled me from the gutter, who had cared for me since I was a babe. She had wiped away my tears, held my trembling hand, shared laughter that warmed my soul, and taught me the secrets of the forest and the stars. She had given me my name, Lyra, a gift my mother hadn’t even bothered to provide. She’s my mother, the only one I’ve ever known.

I stared at the people, their cries a hungry, bloodthirsty sound, like the storm itself. Watching them, I could barely focus, my gaze drawn to Aurelia, her face strained, her body resisting the tremors of fear.

Then I saw him.

He was among the crowd, his clothes soaked, rain dripping from his dark hair. The warm glow of his brown eyes was gone, replaced by… what? Anger? Resentment? Detachment? The lightning flashed, illuminating the coldness in his expression.

Our gazes locked, and for a split second, a flicker of something familiar softened his eyes. My heart jumped, a painful, desperate thing, and my chest tightened. A spark of something warm, something comforting, flickered through me. That brief, fleeting look, a ghost of peace and hope. He looked away, and the bitter taste of pain flooded my mouth, the reality of his betrayal crashing down like the thunder outside. He was barely recognizable. It was all a lie, he was a lie. All the nights we talked, all the things we shared, the way he understood me in a way no one else did, not even Aurelia could. And even though he did what he did, those memories were still so vivid, playing on a loop in my head. My hands clenched as my breath hitched, an empty ache spreading through my chest. I wanted to be angry, I was angry, but there was also this… pull. A heavy feeling, like my heart was made of lead. Sadness, anger, and a stubborn, agonizing flicker of disbelief. How could someone I trusted, someone who comforted and listened to everything I told them, betray me? “Betrayal,” the word stung, like the sharp bite of the wind, and I could taste the bitterness in my mouth.

Soon, I got lost in my head, in the swirling vortex of my thoughts. It was like I was no longer in my body, detached, numb. I just watched, uncomprehending, the scene blurring, the thunder a distant roar, until I wasn’t even watching anymore, just lost in the memories that played out before this all happened.

...........

Despite her constant warnings, I couldn’t resist the allure of the portals. On the other side, a desperate cry for help echoed in my soul, a feeling I couldn’t ignore. The magic pulsed through me from these portals, which were a chaotic, burning energy, so different from the calm warmth of the Elysian Fields. Sometimes, you have to make difficult decisions, Lyra. Magic can’t save everyone, and you must understand that. Promise me you understand. Ember-Mother’s words haunted me, but the guilt of inaction weighed heavier.

I remember the wrenching sensation of stepping through the portal, the air twisting around me like a hot, shimmering curtain. Then came the sickening lurch, and I was there.

The change was immediate. The sweet floral scent of home was replaced by the acrid smell of dust and decay, a metallic tang that made my throat tighten. The sky was a dull, ashen gray, and the sun offered no warmth. The ground was cracked and barren, the once-lush fields now a wasteland of withered stalks. The trees stood skeletal, reaching like bony fingers.

And the people… gaunt, with hollow eyes and tattered clothes, their movements slow and weary. The air felt heavy, thick with despair, and the silence was a deep, empty hush.

Then it happened.

“I’m gonna tell her today, I promise. The magic of the Elysian fields will help your people, I can’t stand by and watch them suffer,” I whispered, the damp alley air wrapping around our words, a secret shared in the shadows.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, and those familiar eyebrows lifted, a silent understanding passing between us. Then, he stepped closer, and that comfortable nearness, that never failed to make me feel safe. He gently tucked a strand of my silver hair behind my ear. His hand, warm against my skin, brushed my cheek, then rested lightly on my chin.

He leaned in, his breath a soft whisper against my ear, and a familiar fluttery feeling rose inside me. It was like a little spark, a sense of closeness I’d come to cherish. But then, his hand moved, gently holding the side of my head, and his voice, usually so kind, turned cool, like the first frost of winter.

“You know, Lyra,” he whispered, his voice low and firm, “I always thought you were too trusting. Too… hopeful. Someone had to show you the truth.”

The words felt like a cold splash of water, a sudden, jarring shift. My breath caught, and the warm, fuzzy feeling inside turned into a knot of worry. What did he mean?

He pulled away, his eyes suddenly distant. “You’re right about the Elysian fields. They will help my people. But not the way you think.” A flicker of regret, almost too subtle to notice, crossed his features as he spoke.

He started to step back, a strange, unreadable look spread across his face. He turned and walked down the alley, and before I could even process what was happening, the Frostwatchers appeared at the other end. Their armor gleamed like ice in the dim light, and their faces were hard and emotionless. They moved with a terrifying speed, the rattling of their chains echoing like a death knell. Before I could react, their cold hands gripped my arms, the heavy chains biting into my wrists.

Kael?

I thought, my eyes pleading for an explanation, but he was already gone, swallowed by the shadows.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, the memory of those long, cold days in the dungeon seemed distant, almost unreal. The King, it turned out, had used my riverwing—a messenger bird I grew up with, who had a magical bond to me—to send messages into the Elysian Fields. He knew no one could find the Fields, or enter them, unless they were a Worldwalker like Ember-mother, or possessed a rare ability to see through the magical illusions that hid them. And I, because of a spell cast on me as a baby by Ember-mother during the Night of the Silver Eye, a night of a dancing full moon, made me both human and Worldwalker. This unique mix, it was said, granted me immortality, the ability to walk through portals whenever, but at the cost of diminished magical power. The King wanted this power, not only for himself, but for his nation. He believed that this magic would make his nation strong, and that it would keep his people safe.

The King’s demand was cruel: Ember-mother’s life for mine. But she could only travel through the portals between worlds on the Night of the Silver Eye, when the full moon shone with its full power. I spent the days leading up to that night trapped, searching desperately for a way out, but finding none. Each day that passed felt like an eternity, the weight of what was to come pressing down on me.

Then, a jolt, like icy water hitting my skin, snapped me back. I was in the Great Hall, the air thick with the smell of blood and fear. Aurelia Astraea, Ember-mother, was strapped to the stone table, her face pale but resolute. The King stood before her, his eyes gleaming with a terrible intensity. The chanting of the crowd, a hungry, rhythmic growl, filled the hall.

This is it, I thought, a wave of nausea washing over me.

Midnight.

But then, a flicker of something in the King’s eyes, a cruel satisfaction, made me pause. And the words he spoke, they weren’t the words of a grieving man, but of a victor.

“The source of your power, witch,” he snarled, his voice echoing through the hall, “will soon be mine. And with it, the life you’ve stolen from our lands.”

Stolen?

Then I remembered Kael’s words, explaining his people’s suffering: Our fields are cracked, our wells are dry, and the children… their eyes are hollow. The Elysian fields grow lush and green, while our people starve, because our land was stolen. When he spoke of his land being stolen, I only thought he meant it figuratively. Like he was blaming it on the gods for neglecting to protect their homes from demons who feed off of his people’s homes and land. But what does he and King Lysander mean by stolen?

A cold dread began to coil in my stomach. The memories of the barren lands, the starving children, the desperate people… they flashed through my mind. And then, Kael’s words once again, “They will help my people. But not the way you think.”

The pieces began to fall into place, a horrifying picture forming in my mind. The Elysian Fields, a paradise, was built on stolen life. The magic that kept it vibrant, a magic leached from other worlds, leaving them to wither and die. Ember-mother, my mother, the one I had trusted, the one who had saved me, did this?

Yes, Kael used me, but for the sake of his people. To save them. What he did to me was wrong, but the gods know I don’t hate him. Why, though? He betrayed me, but also her. Aurelia is all I had before him, he knew that. I am such a fool.

The King’s words cut through my thoughts, “On the Night of the Silver Eye, at the stroke of midnight, the magic you hold will return to the lands you have stolen from. Your heart will be the key, Aurelia Astraea. Ancient texts foretold of this ritual.”

He held up a dagger, its blade gleaming in the torchlight. “And I will be the one to claim it.”

My mind screamed. No! But another part of me, a cold, hard voice, whispered, why not? She is the reason they suffer, and even why she now does too.

Ember-mother’s eyes were filled with tears. She looked at me, her lips moving silently. I saw her mouth the words, “Magic can’t save everyone.” The phrase echoed in my mind, a chilling reminder of all the times she’d said it, a warning I hadn’t understood.

Ember-mother couldn’t simply return the magic. The Elysian Fields had become dependent on it, a parasite feeding on the life of other worlds. To give it back would mean the Fields’ death, her death. As a young Worldwalker, Ember-mother had seen the destruction that the portals could cause. She had seen worlds wither and die. And she decided that she would use the magic of the portals to save one world. The Elysian fields.

The King’s ritual was the only way. The only way to restore balance. The only way to save the people from the slow, agonizing death she had condemned them to.

But she was my mother. The only one who had ever cared for me. Without her, I’d be dead.

The crowd’s chanting grew louder, a hungry, desperate roar. The King raised the dagger, his eyes fixed on her heart.

As the blade plunged, Ember-mother’s voice, surprisingly strong, filled the hall. “This is my sacrifice, my sorrow.”

Just as the dagger pierced her heart, the deep, resonant clang of the midnight bells echoed through the Great Hall. Dong! Dong! Dong! Each toll was a hammer blow against my own heart, a deafening declaration of finality.

“NO!” I screamed, my voice raw and broken, the sound ripping through the chanting crowd. “NO!”

The world seemed to slow, the King’s hand still, the crowd a blur of faces. The bells continued their mournful toll, each dong a painful reminder of what was lost. Ember-mother’s eyes, still filled with tears, met mine. Then, they went still as the words played through my head again.

I was trapped, caught between two impossible choices. My mother’s life, or the lives of countless others. A paradise built on stolen life, or a world struggling to survive.

The weight of the decision pressed down on me, suffocating. The thunder outside echoed the storm raging within me. What do I do?

The King, his eyes now filled with a dark satisfaction, pulled the dagger free. A wave of raw magic erupted from Ember-Mother’s still form, a blinding light that filled the hall. The crowd recoiled, their chants dying into shocked silence. I felt a surge of energy, a pull, as if the very essence of the Elysian Fields, my home, was being ripped away.

The ground beneath me trembled, and the air crackled with power. I watched, horrified, as the faded tapestries on the walls turned vibrant, the brittle and brown vines transformed to a lush green. The dry, damp smell of decay was replaced by the scent of sweet flowers. But my home was shattered and will never be what it once was.

The King, his face alight with a cruel triumph, held the dagger aloft. “The balance is restored!” he roared, his voice echoing through the hall.

But I knew the truth. The balance wasn’t restored. It was shattered. Two worlds, once so different, were now bound by death. The Elysian Fields, once a beacon of life, now shared the barren fate of the lands it had drained. And in that moment, I understood the true cost of magic, the terrible price of impossible choices. Ember-mother was right, magic can not save everyone. The rain continued to fall, washing away the blood, but never the guilt. Fear caused my body to tremble, I worried what would come of this. What makes this king, Kael, different from Ember-mother? Because they think they have a right to take back what was theirs, I mean, yes, but will this be the last of it, or will they seek more? With magic comes a great price. My price was her.