Gaia

Chapter 15 Echoes from the Crimson Village

Shay and Shiloh followed Damian through the shadowed corridors, the weight of the Well of Revelations still pressing against their minds. The hallways seemed quieter now, the air lighter, but Shay could feel Gaia’s presence lingering in the echoes of the chamber behind them.

Damian kept a steady pace, walking Shiloh first. “Your brother will be safe,” he said, glancing down at him with a flicker of reassurance. “There’s a Paladin waiting outside your room. He’ll show you to the stables and the horses. You’ll have a chance to stretch your legs—and perhaps clear your mind.”

Shiloh nodded, still pale from the visions, but a small spark of relief passed over his face. “Thank you,” he whispered, gripping Shay’s hand briefly before stepping forward with the Paladin.

Damian turned to Shay, his eyes steady and unreadable. “Are you okay”?

Shay stood silent, was she okay? She wasn't sure, everything piled on her at once and she grew weak. Damian caught her before she hit the floor. Gazing over her, he picked her up and carried her down the corridors to her room. He gently placed her on her bed and looked into her eyes for a moment before he said “You have been through a lot today, you need rest, you are safe here, remember I won't let anything happen to you". I have left a nightgown on the bed beside you, I will be back to check on you.

Shay nodded, put her nightgown on and got back into her bed, still trembling from the morning’s events. The walls, the tapestries, even the faint hum of the castle, all felt distant now.

Time passed in a blur. Meals came and went, shadows lengthened and receded, and the world outside the castle moved as though indifferent to their trials. Shay fell into a dreamless sleep, the weight of destiny heavy but momentarily muted by sleep. Nightfall came and went.

Morning arrived, along with a firm, measured knock at her door broke the fragile peace of her sleep.

“Shay?” Damian’s voice called softly. “It’s time to rise.”

Slowly opening her eyes she blinked against the sunlight streaming through the windows, still heavy with sleep. The door opened, and there he stood, grinning, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at her nightgown.

His eyes swept over her—disheveled hair, rumpled nighty, sleep flushed across her cheeks. A slow, unmistakable grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Good morning,” he said, voice deep and edged with amusement.

Shay felt heat rush into her cheeks as she realized that she had opened the door without putting on fresh clothes or a nice warm bath. “Ugh, yes...good… morning.”

He extended a small tray toward her. “Breakfast—for strength. You’ll need it.”

On the tray sat fresh fruits glistening with dew, a piece of warm spiced bread still steaming, and a wooden cup of honey tea, fragrant and softly sweet.

“Eat,” Damian said. “I’ll return in an hour.”

With that, he turned. His boots echoed down the stone corridor, his beautiful white cloak whispering like a shifting shadow.

Shay shut the door behind her, heart beating quicker than it should have.

She brought the tray to the small table near the window and ate slowly, savoring each bite. The honey tea warmed her chest, the spices from the bread lingering pleasantly on her tongue. Finally, she pushed the empty tray aside and exhaled.Time to prepare, she drew a warm bath, pouring in the finest oils the Queen had gifted her—opulent lilac scents blooming into the air in soft curls of steam. Lather from expensive soaps and fragrant shampoos clung to her skin like silk, leaving her feeling refreshed and glowing.When she finished, she stepped out and dressed in the clothing arranged for her: a deep red tunic shaped to follow her curves, fitted pants that complemented the tunic and hugged her form elegantly, black knee-high boots edged in gold, gleaming when they caught the morning light. She brushed her long, wavy dark hair until it fell in soft, glossy waves down her back. She cleaned her teeth, then lightly misted her pulse points with the intoxicating perfume the Queen had given her—a sweet scent warm and delicate, yet impossible to forget. And finally she applied a lip balm that shined her lips, making them feel so soft.

Just as she finished, a firm knock sounded.

Her pulse quickened.

She opened the door.

Damian stood there—broad, composed, and yet unmistakably struck by the sight of her. His gaze moved over her once, lingering on the red of her tunic and the subtle curve of her silhouette.

“You’re ready,” he said softly.

Shay swallowed. “You… said we needed to talk.”

“And we do.”

His voice dropped a shade, serious now. “We need to go into the village today. It’s urgent.”

Shay’s stomach tightened. “Urgent? Why?”

“That,” he said, stepping slightly aside for her to join him, “is what I intend to explain, come.”.

As she stepped out of her bedroom , he turned and walked beside her, his boots echoing in the corridor, his cloak whispering behind him like a warning carried on the air.

Damian’s chamber was larger than Shay expected—warm with low-burning firelight. A massive four-poster bed draped in dark furs anchored the space. Heavy tapestries muted the cold stone walls, and polished weapons hung in exact, deliberate arrangements. A map on a table sat near the hearth, scattered with parchment, sealed missives, and a few tokens of travel.

But something else drew her eye.

On his dresser rested a small artifact—an object carved from deep, iridescent stone. It was shaped like an ancient sigil, spiraled and interwoven, its lines both graceful and severe. It looked impossibly old… older even than the myths Damian had spoken of.

Shay stepped toward it, unable to stop herself.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

Damian closed the door behind them and watched her with a quiet intensity.

“It was my father’s,” he said. “One of the oldest relics our order still keeps.”

She could hear the soft rhythm of his pacing begin—a habit he always fell into when his mind was charged with urgency.

“Shay,” he said slowly, “we need to go into the village today. There are supplies… protections… things we cannot leave without.”

She turned to face him fully. “Why now? Why so suddenly?”

He stopped pacing.

“Because,” he said, voice dropping to a low, steady tone, “you are in far more danger than I realized.”

Her breath caught.

He stepped closer—close enough that she could feel the heat from his body.

“Your grandmother being a Threadmaker was only the beginning. Shay… you are not just a high bloodline. You are something far rarer.”

Her pulse jumped, a tremor of heat running through her.

“What am I?” she whispered.

Damian exhaled through his nose, struggling to phrase it.

“I will tell you everything. But first we must prepare. This journey cannot wait.”

A knot tightened in her stomach. “Is this because of what my ancestors said?”

His gaze sharpened instantly.

“You heard them again?”

She nodded, turning toward the tall window overlooking the village. The morning light washed over the rooftops, the narrow streets, the smoke curling lazily from chimneys. It looked peaceful, safe....

Damian moved behind her, stopping close—close enough for her lungs to stiffen, for her heart to thrum with an unfamiliar rhythm.

“What did they say this time?” His voice was soft, coaxing.

Shay swallowed, feeling the words return like echoes in her blood.

“They said… that Gaia will bring tragedy into my life. That my blood holds the key.”

She drew a shaky breath. “They said I must seek Poseidon.”

Damian stiffened behind her.

“Then we leave as soon as we return from the village.”

She turned slightly, feeling the heat of him just at her back.

“Damian… why do I feel like everything is shifting beneath my feet?”

He hesitated. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low—grave.

“Because it is, everythingis about to change.”

Silence hung between them, thick as dusk.

Finally, Damian’s hand lifted slightly—almost touching her shoulder, then stopping just shy of contact, the restraint making her pulse hammer.

“We’ll get what we need,” he said. “Then we ride to find Poseidon.”

Shay nodded, though the air between them hummed with something more than fear—something sharper, warmer, undeniable.

“Come,” Damian said, opening the door. “There’s much to do."