FOURTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭. 𝘈 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘈 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦.
Xanthiene Vivenca, a fairy with a bounty for her soul, is caught between...
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The memories were a blazing rage in her mind as her hands ran through the width of the door frame. Her boots crunched against the ash and the splinters from the floorboards. Debris from the walls and the ceiling peppered the floor that reminded Xanthy of a certain type of pastry. Lindenmere, was it?
Without a word, Xanthy tore past the kitchen and emerged in the wide space that was supposed to be the living room leading to the foyer. The pile of discarded objects were still there, albeit toppled over and layered with a fine coat of dust and ash. Xanthy ran her hands on the vanity where she used to peer at herself and her pointy ears. The surface lost its sheen and its edges had melted. Her fingertips came away with a thick film of soot when she ran them through the surface.
Cirasa lingered by the arch separating the kitchen and the living area. Xanthy's eyes widened. Oh. He's wearing white. Oops.
Her fingers unclasped the cloak from the base of her neck. She laid the cloak atop the sooty floor. "We can share this cloak so we can sit. The stools burned down long ago," she gave him an apologetic chuckle.
Cirasa craned his neck at half the ceiling that remained. "You lived here?"
Xanthy squinted against the shaft of sunlight lighting the foyer. The hole June made had long ago integrated into the missing chunk. "It was much better back then," she scooted over and patted the space on her cloak beside her. "Not exactly liveable, but better. Come on, sit."
Cirasa pursed his lips and unfastened his own cloak before gathering it into a ball which he then propped against his legs as he sat opposite Xanthy. "So, back to business," he dusted his fingers. "What did you get from Akaron and who was that Sovereign person? Why did she call you the Virtakios, a thing of legends?"
Xanthy exhaled through her nose. "How much do you know about me?"
"Aside from what Rutoria told me, nothing," Cirasa picked at the folds of his trousers.
As expected from the oracle. Great. Xanthy gathered her legs and crossed them. "Alright," she put a hand over her chest. "I'm Xanthiene Vivenca and I possess the rare brand of magic called the Virtakios."
Cirasa cocked his head to one side. "That's awesome, don't you think?"
Xanthy chuckled without amusement. That's the last word she would use to describe what it was like being the Virtakios. "It wasn't that good," she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Where was that blasted twine Nyxis used to tie her hair? She slapped her knee. "Sometimes, I feel it's a burden."
"I can tell," Cirasa's gentle voice made Xanthy's head snap up. The shard fairy smiled. Was that pity in his eyes? "You wouldn't be looking for the chalice if you didn't want to throw your soul away."
"What, you read my mind?" Xanthy said. It was meant to be a joke but it came out sarcastic and edgy. She ran a hand over her forehead. "But yes, I don't want to have it when I know I'm doing a poor job of protecting it."
