Heartstone - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

The snow had stopped falling by the time Avera stepped outside, her breath curling in the crisp air. She held the drive tightly in her coat pocket as she walked with Dalen toward the longhouse where Marah, the village chief, tended to the wounded and watched the horizon like a hawk.
Marah turned as they approached, her eyes sharp as ever despite the sleepless nights.
“I need to speak with you,” Avera said quietly.
Marah nodded, gesturing them inside.
Once seated, Avera looked her in the eye. “Do you know my father Mark?”
Marah’s expression didn’t change at first—but the name landed like a stone dropped in deep water.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Not well. But I know the name. I see him in my dreams.”
Dalen leaned forward. "He tried to expose the truth about the ... and he died for it.”
Marah sighed and stood, pacing to a window. “Many years ago, before I became chief, a stranger came to our village. A man with hunted eyes and a kindness that did not belong in a soldier. He spoke of machines, of governments wanting to use the stone’s power. He asked questions I couldn’t answer—but he respected our ways. And one night, he disappeared.”
“That was him,” Avera said softly.
Marah turned. “Then you must see it for yourself.”
She didn’t explain further—only took a long ceremonial spear from the wall and motioned for them to follow.
They climbed for hours—up winding paths of stone, through ancient pines, along ridges veiled in mist. The mountain loomed above them, its peak crowned in clouds. At last, they came to a place hidden behind a rockfall—a passage, carved into the mountain’s heart, rimmed with symbols glowing faintly as they passed.
“This place is sacred,” Marah said. “None come here except the bloodbound. But today, it calls to you.”
Torches lit the path as they descended into the earth.
At the end of the tunnel was a vast underground chamber—walls lined with crystal veins, and at its center, suspended in a cage of roots and stone, pulsed the .
It was larger than Avera had imagined—nearly the size of her chest, glowing with a deep, steady light. The symbol from the drive—the same circle entwined with thorns—was etched into the stone itself.
Marah’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “It has lived here for centuries. Older than this village. Older than war. It responds only to the line of those who once forged it… and to those who choose to protect, not control.”
Avera stepped closer.
The stone pulsed brighter.
As her fingers brushed the surface, visions flickered behind her eyes—flashes of fire, towers falling, soldiers kneeling, and her father’s face, proud and afraid.
And beneath it all… a voice. Ancient. Female. Whispering her name.
“Avera.”
She gasped and stumbled back. Dalen caught her.
“What did you see?” Marah asked.
She looked at her, shaken but resolute.
“Not what’s coming. Who.”