The branches of the Tree of Life shimred faintly, as if moonlight itself had settled upon its leaves. Where there had been nothing before, a single small fruit now hung from one of its lower branches. It glowed softly, warm and alive, pulsing with a gentle light that made the air around it feel different, more sacred.
Before Gavriel could even stand, footsteps approached.
Elior entered the hidden garden, his weathered face lifted toward the tree, eyes shining with quiet awe. The mont he saw the fruit, he dropped to his knees without hesitation.
“Praise the Lord Almighty,” the prophet said, his voice thick with reverence.
As if responding to his words, the fruit loosened from the branch and fell. It landed softly at the foot of the transparent casket, unbroken, glowing brighter for a brief mont before settling into a steady light.
Gavriel moved instinctively. He reached down and picked it up, his hands trembling. The fruit was warm in his palm, almost as if it carried a heartbeat of its own.
“What do I do?” he asked, his voice strained, afraid to hope too much.
Elior rose slowly and stepped closer. “Squeeze its juice into her mouth,” he instructed gently. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Gavriel nodded and carefully pressed the fruit between his fingers. Clear, luminous liquid seeped out. He lifted Althea’s head just enough and let a few drops fall past her pale lips, watching as the glow faded into her.
Then they waited.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Nothing happened.
Gavriel’s chest tightened painfully. “Why isn’t anything happening?” he asked, panic creeping back into his voice. “Did I do sothing wrong?”
Elior placed a steady hand on Gavriel’s shoulder. His voice remained calm, “Patience, Your Majesty. The Lord works in His ti. Pray. Not aloud. Pray within your heart.”
Gavriel swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He bowed his head, his thoughts turning into desperate, silent pleas. He did not know the right words. He did not know the proper way. So he spoke with truth alone.
‘Please. Please let her live.’
Ti stretched.
Then suddenly, lva sucked in a breath.
A faint glow spread across Althea’s body, starting from her chest and flowing outward like light spilling through cracks in stone. Her skin ward. Color slowly returned to her cheeks.
The Tree of Life responded, its leaves shimring brighter, as if rejoicing.
Gavriel’s heart pounded violently. The light grew stronger for a mont, then slowly faded.
And then...
Althea’s fingers twitched and her lashes fluttered.
Gavriel leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe. “Althea?” he whispered.
Her eyes opened.
They were unfocused at first, glassy and distant, staring up at the glowing branches above. She did not flinch. She did not react. When her gaze finally shifted, it passed over Gavriel, lva, and Elior.
Gavriel’s smile trembled as relief and fear collided in his chest. He reached for her hand again, holding it tightly as if anchoring her to this world. “She’s alive,” he whispered, voice breaking. “She’s alive... She’s back.”
“The healers,” Gavriel quickly barked, voice sharp with urgency. “Get the healers now. Check on her!”
Althea stirred again, her upper body lifting weakly from the casket as if her body no longer knew where it was supposed to rest. Gavriel moved instantly. He slipped an arm behind her shoulders and another beneath her knees, lifting her into his arms before she could strain herself any further.
She was warm. Breathing. Alive.
“Easy... I’ve got you,” he murmured, though he was not sure she could hear him.
He glanced at Elior, hesitation flashing across his face. “Can I move her now?”
Elior t his gaze and gave a calm, reassuring nod, that sa gentle smile still on his lips. “Yes. Take her sowhere she can properly rest.”
That was all Gavriel needed.
He carried Althea out of the hidden garden and into the adjoining chamber where a bed had already been prepared. The healers hurried after them, their movents careful and precise as Gavriel laid her down gently, as if she were made of glass.
They began their examination at once, checking her pulse, her breathing, the warmth of her skin. Gavriel remained close, unwilling to step away even when one of them motioned for space. He stood at the head of the bed, his hand hovering just above hers, afraid to touch her too much and yet terrified to let go.
Althea’s eyes moved slowly, taking in the unfamiliar ceiling, the glow of lanterns, the figures standing around her. Her gaze lingered on the healers, then drifted to Elior, then to Gavriel.
She frowned faintly, confusion knitting her brows. Her gaze slid past Gavriel as though he were a stranger. His chest clenched.
Then her eyes landed on lva.
Her expression shifted instantly.
“lva?” she whispered, her voice hoarse but clear.
lva gasped softly and rushed to her side, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Yes, milady. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Althea’s fingers tightened weakly around lva’s sleeve, relief flooding her face. She
swallowed and looked around again, this ti with unease rather than wonder.
“Where am I?” she asked slowly. “And... who are these people?”
The room went painfully quiet.
Gavriel felt as though the ground had vanished beneath his feet. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, words failing him. He searched her face for sothing, anything, that might say she was pretending or testing him.
But there was nothing, only honest confusion.
Elior stepped forward first, his voice gentle and steady. “You are in the territory of the House of Aetherion, child. You were gravely injured, but the Lord showed rcy and restored you.”
Althea listened carefully, nodding faintly as if trying to piece together fragnts that refused to connect. Her eyes shifted back to Gavriel again, studying him this ti, not with familiarity but with caution.
“And you?” she asked him quietly. “Who are you?”
The question struck deeper than any blade.
Gavriel forced himself to breathe. He knelt beside the bed so he would not tower over her, keeping his voice calm even as his heart shattered. “My na is Gavriel Kingsley,” he said softly. “I am your husband.”
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