Though only a minute had passed, the searing pain that had gripped Nyala's body had already begun to fade. Her limbs no longer felt like stone, and the sharp ache deep within her bones had dulled into a whisper. Yet the bruises, cuts, and swelling still painted her body—at least, to the maid's eyes. What had truly been healed was inside her.
Her soul.
"Master, at last… you have awakened."
The voice echoed gently in her mind, resonant and solemn—far too deep for such a small lion cub. Nyala blinked in surprise as she felt the link click into place, like a lock finally meeting its key. The bond of guardian and master had been restored.
Sager bowed his golden head slightly, eyes gleaming with reverence.
Nyala nearly laughed at the contrast—his grave tone unfitting his tiny, fuzzy frame. A cub with the voice of a war general, she thought, amused but moved.
"Sager… how many years has it been?" she asked silently through the mind-link, her voice laced with trepidation.
"Four hundred and one, Master."
Her heart dropped. Four centuries.
Everything she had known—Kain, Venyssa, the Empress Dowager… All long gone. Dust and history.
Before grief could swallow her whole, Sager's steady voice cut through again.
"We have little time. A fragment of your sealed magic lies within Soleon Temple. It will strengthen your body and begin restoring the full flow of your magic. We must go there quickly."
His tone, though calm, pulsed with urgency. Then, sensing the storm of questions swirling within her, he added gently, "Ask, Master. Whatever is burning in your thoughts, I will answer."
Nyala nodded slowly, grounding herself. Her mind was still a tangle of grief, disbelief, and questions, but now wasn't the moment to lose herself to them.
She turned toward the maid, who had kindly given them space and now sat on a nearby boulder, nibbling on a crust of bread. When their eyes met, the woman smiled and held out a piece to her.
Nyala raised a small hand. With a flick of her fingers, a soft pulse of golden light burst from her palm. The maid slumped gently to sleep, unharmed but unaware. A temporary spell. She would awaken in time.
Nyala exhaled and turned to Sager. Sager stepped forward, pressing his body against her to support her balance.
"I'm not as tall as I remember," she murmured.
"You are not yet who you were," Sager replied. "But piece by piece, you will be."
Deep into the woods, they followed a path laid in golden stone, though time had left its mark. Dark stains, cracks, and faded ancient letters in forgotten scripts etched the way toward the Soleon Temple. But this temple was not for worship—it was a sacred hearth built in tribute to the Solléonis bloodline and its ancestors. It was history carved in stone.
Walking slowly along the path, Nyala worked to exercise her voice. She opened her mouth, coaxing sound out of her throat. It came hoarse and thin, barely louder than a whisper.
"Sager," she croaked, "have we… been reborn?"
The lion cub padded beside her in silence for a moment. Then, through their shared mind-link, he answered with a calm solemnity.
"No, Master. Only you were reborn. I have been… existing—as a spirit—waiting for your awakening."
Nyala snapped her head toward him, surprised. Her amber-gold eyes squinted slightly. "But… how is that possible? Aren't celestial guardians and masters bound by soul?"
"Yes… and no. When your body was reduced to ash, I felt your spirit begin to ascend. But then, it vanished. Gone. Neither in this world nor the next."
Nyala halted in her steps. "V-Vanished?!"
Sager nodded. "Yes. My spirit remained tethered to the land, for unknown reasons. I searched for you—across kingdoms and centuries. As the years passed, my form grew smaller, fainter, less visible. I became what you see now. And yet, I knew I could not fully fade. Only your return would restore me."
Nyala furrowed her brows, tapping between them with her tiny finger, deep in thought. "Then… how did you escape the palace?"
"Venyssa," Sager replied, his voice heavy with memory. "She took me from the dungeons. Led me through the dark forest. Only there did the imperial guards dare not follow. I hid in those woods for two years… and then, I waited. I watched over what remained of our people."
A silence settled between them as they stepped through a narrow tunnel cloaked in vines and curling leaves. Light filtered softly between the foliage until, finally, they emerged into a clearing.
The Soleon Temple.
Time had aged it, but its sacred weight and grandeur still clung to every stone. Its foundation was built from ancient white and gold stone, chipped at the edges, weathered and stained—but it stood proud. The double doors bore the signature lion-head handles of the Solléonis line. Though faded, they still held form.
They entered. The air was dry, the grand hall dim and dusty, the silence thick and reverent. High ceilings loomed overhead, and the walls whispered stories—paintings of the Solléonis legacy traced their rise, their triumphs, their losses.
Only a sliver of light trailed in from the door behind them as they passed from one chamber to another… until at last, they stepped into a small courtyard beyond the halls.
Nyala froze.
There, in the center, entombed and standing, was a statue of herself—Nyala Nkosi. She stood atop stone steps, immortalized in silence.
Nyala blinked. "Why… Do I have a tomb here?" Her voice was quiet, almost trembling. "I had no physical body to bury."
"It was the Empress Dowager's wish," Sager said gently. "She ordered you buried among Solléonis lands… alongside your family."
Nyala's eyes began to roam.
Around her, tombstones stood in respectful silence—each bearing a name etched in loving memory.
Mazu—her adopted father.
Eleki—her most trusted friend.
And four others—her mage companions. Her comrades. Her family.
Her breath caught. Tears blurred her vision.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her small hand. Her body was different, but the ache in her chest was the same.
Sager stepped forward and gestured with his head toward her tombstone. "Your sealed magic… it rests in that gem. The Empress Dowager retrieved it from the late Emperor. He had stolen it from you and intended to be buried with it out of spite."
Nyala's eyes widened slightly.
"But before he was laid to rest, she took it. And placed it here… where you belong."
Nyala took a step forward, her tiny bare feet pressing softly on the stone ground.
Toward herself.
Toward power.
Toward everything she once was—and everything she might become again.
This was it, Nyala thought, staring up at the statue—at the Sorceress she once was. She stood before her own tomb, before the gem that sealed away a fragment of who she had been.
She wasn't of Solléonis blood, and yet… she had been buried here, honored here. Not because of lineage, but because she had been loved. The Empress Dowager had cherished her like a granddaughter. Kain and Venyssa, like older siblings, had protected her more fiercely than any sword.
Nyala smiled gently, then stepped closer and grazed her small fingers across the gem embedded in the stone.
It was vibrant—blue like the sea, calm yet alive with power. It pulsed faintly under her touch.
"You know, Sager," she murmured, her voice still hoarse but steadier now, "once, I told Kain and Venyssa… that if I were ever to be reborn, I'd want to come back as their child."
She laughed softly, the sound fragile and bittersweet. Yet here she was—thinking all this time that she had been reborn into the Velmorian line.
Kain and Venyssa had been fifteen years her senior. They cared for her when she was thrown into the brutal tides of imperial court and high society—as the Crown Prince's Sorceress.
"Well, you know what they say," Sager said, his voice warm with mirth, "be careful what you wish for."
Nyala frowned, brow furrowed. "Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
Sager blinked, ears flicking, staring at her tiny form now barely an inch taller than his shoulder. "Master… have you not realized it yet?"
She stared back at him, blank. "Realized what?"
Sager's jaw slightly parted, as if truly dumbfounded. This—this was his master? The brilliant, sharp-tongued sorceress who once corrected imperial scholars mid-sentence? He tilted his head and spoke slowly, deliberately:
"Master… you are in Solléonis territory, because you've been reborn as a Solléonis."
Her eyes lit up, wide and gleaming, her lips curling into a trembling smile before a soft laugh escaped her.
"Truly? I have reborn into Solléonis?" she asked, barely above a whisper. Then louder, lighter—"Haha!"
Her voice, though hoarse and childlike, rang with something she hadn't felt in years—joy. Pure and unguarded. Her heart, for the first time since Mazu's death… since the fall of the Talemerein Chamber, felt full again.
Tears shimmered at the corners of her amber-gold eyes. Not of sorrow, not this time—but of quiet, overwhelming relief.
Sager felt the warmth radiating from her heart, a rare peace washing over her soul and body. He stepped closer, his lion cub form glowing faintly in the soft blue light that responded to its vessels emotions.
"Master," he called gently, "the gem. It awaits you."
Nyala gave a small, knowing nod. A vibrant, wide smile bloomed on her face.
It's time.
"Alicana," she whispered.
She raised her hand, palm open to the gem.
A gentle hum filled the air. The gem began to glow brighter—blue light searing softly through the cracks that webbed across its surface. Then, with a delicate sound, it fractured.
A warm wind brushed against her cheeks. Light poured out—not violently, but in waves, like a long-lost lullaby returning home. Nyala closed her eyes as the element of her power—her power—flowed into her once more, greeting her like an old friend.
Blue electric light danced over her small body, wrapping her in its embrace. It burst outward in shimmering specks of dust that sparkled as they touched the ground—where delphiniums and irises bloomed in their wake.
A pulse of magic rippled through the earth—echoing across the entire Solléonis Palace.
Sager lowered his head, bowing with solemn pride. A piece of his own strength, long dormant, returned with hers.
The Master had awakened.
Nyala stood tall—fragile still, but no longer broken.
"Honos et Lehoi," she whispered, honoring the creator who had given her such power and magic.