Chapter 83 — The Last Visit

Chapter 83 — The Last Visit
The morning light filtered through the narrow slit of the dungeon window, a weak, silver beam that did little to warm the stone. The air smelled of damp iron and smoke. Isla sat where she always had — against the far wall, her knees drawn to her chest, her head tilted toward that thin slice of sky.

When the door creaked open, she didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly. “They’ll start the trial soon.”

“Then I’ll be gone before they do.”

Alistair stepped inside, the guard lingering briefly before closing the door behind him. The cell grew quiet again, save for the faint sound of boots on stone.

He froze when he saw her fully.

The woman before him looked nothing like the one he’d sparred with in the training yard — fierce, stubborn, radiant with wit and fire. The Isla before him was pale, her skin cool and drawn tight against her bones. The dark veins from the bond scar had crept outward — curling up her left arm, stretching toward her collarbone, and disappearing beneath her hairline. It looked like roots of black glass spreading under her skin.

“Gods, Isla…” he whispered. “What’s happening to you?”

She smiled faintly. “You mean besides the obvious?”
He moved closer, crouching before her. “The bond— it’s killing you, isn’t it?”

She nodded once, the movement small. “The moment it broke, something inside me broke too. It’s been spreading ever since. I can feel it — the energy leaving. Some days, it’s like I’m fading from the inside out.”

He swallowed hard, helplessness pressing against his ribs. “There must be something Vaelen can do—”

“Vaelen’s done enough,” she interrupted softly. “You all have. That’s why you must leave. Both of you. Take Fenella. Get as far away from here as you can.”

He frowned. “Leave? When you need us most?”

“I don’t want Lachlan’s wrath falling on anyone else. Once I’m gone, the curse — or whatever this is — will turn inward. It will devour everything tied to me. I need you to survive this, Alistair. Someone has to remember the truth.”

He looked at her for a long moment, jaw clenched, torn between disbelief and grief. “The truth,” he repeated. “You still think any of them will listen?”

“They won’t,” she said. “But maybe one day, someone will.”

She took a shallow breath and motioned him closer. When he leaned in, she whispered, “There’s something I need to tell you — everything, before I no longer can.”

So she told him.

About her flight to Scotland. About the strange old woman on the plane who spoke of Lachlan and Isla like legend. About the book fair and the leather-bound journal that had felt alive in her hands. About the story she’d read — their story — and how she woke up drowning in Lachlan’s world.

She told him about modern cities, glowing screens, flying machines that could cross oceans. About the ways people lived in her time — the light, the noise, the endless rush of it all.

And as she spoke, her voice grew quieter, her hands trembling. She wasn’t sure if she was shivering from the cold or from the memories that no longer felt like her own.

When she finished, the silence was so heavy it pressed between them.

Alistair was staring at her as though she’d sprouted wings. “You’re… from another world,” he whispered. “Another time.”

“I was,” she said weakly. “I’m not sure what I am now.”
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lachlan… if he heard this—”

“He’d call it madness. Witchcraft. Just as they all have.”

She shifted, reaching under the rough blanket at her side. When her hand emerged, she was holding something — a silver ring, glinting dully in the dim light.

“This,” she said, pressing it into his palm, “belonged to my father — or the man who’s meant to be him. I think it’s the key to everything. Find Vaelen. Give this to him. He’ll understand what it means.”

Alistair turned the ring over in his hand, frowning at the crest etched into it. “What does it do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it feels like truth. And I trust my instincts more than I trust fate.”

She smiled faintly. “Promise me, Alistair. Promise you’ll deliver it.”

He closed his fingers around the ring. “I promise.”

“Good.” She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. Her breathing had grown shallower, every inhale sounding like effort. “You’ve been a good friend,” she murmured. “And a better brother-in-law than I ever deserved.”

“Don’t speak like that.”

She smiled again — a small, tired thing. “If I don’t, I won’t have time to say thank you.”

Her head lolled slightly to the side. For a moment, he thought she’d fallen asleep. But then her lips moved one last time.

“I hope you find happiness,” she whispered. “For both of us.”

He stood there for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall in weak, uneven breaths. When he finally turned to leave, the weight of the ring in his pocket felt like a heartbeat of its own.

At the door, he hesitated — looked back one last time.
She looked peaceful, almost radiant in the half-light, the shadows softening her edges.

He swallowed the ache in his throat and whispered, “Goodbye, Isla.”

Then he walked away, each footstep echoing against the stone until the sound disappeared altogether.
Outside, the sun was already setting — a red, bleeding orb slipping behind the hills. The trial would be at dawn.

And Alistair knew, with a certainty that hollowed him, that this was the last time he would ever see her alive.