Page 42 of Haunted Crowns
For a moment, she lost the edges of herself, her thoughts and breath blurring.
“Breathe,” Kaelioth said, his voice cutting through the haze steadily. “Let them pass through you. Do not cling. Watch them, but do not let them become you.”
Slowly, the storm calmed. The emotions unraveled—not a wave, but threads, distinct and traceable. One burned brighter than the rest: ancient, deep sorrow.
Her focus turned toward Kaelioth, and what she felt tightened her chest. A grief buried deep, settled like stone, never fully healed.
Eris’s eyes opened. Her voice was shaken. “I felt your pain. It is tied to someone you loved, is it not?”
Kaelioth met her gaze, unreadable, and let the silence stretch longer than necessary. This moment wasn’t about him, so he shifted the focus. “What you felt—what you took in—is only part of the gift. Now you must transform it. And give it back.”
Eris understood. He was not ready to speak of it, so she let it go for now. “Transform it?” she asked. “How?”
Kaelioth gave no answer at first—only silence, then a breath. He leaned in, voice dropping into something almost sacred. “When you take in what stirs beneath the surface—grief, fear, flame, sorrow—you carry what is not yours. But you are not meant to hold it. Guide it. Ease it. And when it belongs to another, return what you receive as clarity, as courage.” His gaze sharpened. “But remember this: the spirits did not grant you this gift to manipulate. Emotions are not yours to shape. Influence is not control. Respect that, or this power will corrupt you.”
A chill ran through her. “How do I give it back…without overstepping?”
Kaelioth motioned toward her. “Try. Focus on me.”
She closed her eyes, reaching for the sorrow still tangled in him. It was vast, a grief so deep it had shaped him, but she did not grip it or claim it. Instead, she let it pass through her, foundthe warmth within—understanding, compassion—and sent it back along the thread.
The sorrow softened, dimming at the edges like a fading ember.
Kaelioth exhaled slowly. “You are learning.” His voice was steady, but the ache beneath it lingered. He sat in silence, yet the old grief in him remained.
Eris didn’t move. What she’d touched still pulsed in her. She couldn’t carry it for him. Only ease it, only for a breath, then let go.
She looked up. His weathered face was gentler now. His gaze searched hers, as if waiting for her to see what he already knew.
Something flickered in his eyes, familiar. She saw him again: the Lycan child from the vision, laughing with Seraphina, eyes full of devotion. That same gaze stared back at her now, older but unchanged.
Her breath hitched as the truth settled. The grief he carried wasn’t just for Seraphina’s death; it was for everything she had meant to him.
“It was you,” she whispered. “The baby by the river… You were that child.”
He nodded, eyes shadowed with memory. “Yes. I was that child: lost, alone, foolish enough to stray too far from the den.” He looked down, the spring’s surface rippling his reflection. “I wandered into the forest, drawn too close to the river’s edge. I thought it would swallow me whole. But Seraphina found me. She saved me from the current, from the darkness waiting in the woods.”
Eris’s throat tightened. The weight of his past pressed against her, woven into every word.
Kaelioth exhaled, his voice quieter now. “She gave me more than life. She gave me purpose. Seraphina taught me everything—the spirits, the balance, the harmony of the world. She saw something in me before I ever could.”
But her mind snagged on another piece of the vision. It had not only shown Seraphina’s love. It had shown Kriponius. She had seen the warmth in his eyes, the way he looked at Seraphina as if she were everything. That image clashed violently with the tyrant who had shattered their world.
She swallowed hard. “Kaelioth…in my vision, Kriponius was not a monster. He was just a boy, gentle and full of love for Seraphina. How does someone like that become something so cruel?”
The shaman’s face darkened, sorrow hardening into something bitter. “Kriponius was kind once,” he admitted. “But kindness is not invulnerable, Eris. It is fragile. Corruptible.” He paused. Then, quieter: “And he was not strong enough to protect it. Power is a blade. It elevates or destroys, depending on the hands that wield it.
Kriponius let himself be shaped by the worst of what surrounded him: expectation, greed, the lure of control. He let the vilest parts of himself win. And in the end, he became unrecognizable.” His voice cracked, just for a moment. Kaelioth turned away, his shoulders rigid as he held himself together by force alone. “She was everything to me. And he destroyed her…just to break me.”
Eris swallowed the ache in her throat.
Kaelioth closed his eyes. The wind carried their silence. “But with you here, Eris, her truth will rise from the abyss he cast it into. You are her legacy. You are our hope to finish what she was denied.”
The truth in his words settled heavy in her.
“What if I fail?” she whispered. “What if I cannot be what she was?”
Kaelioth’s gaze softened. “Banish those doubts, child. The spirits chose you for a reason.” He leaned forward, voice unwavering.
