Holly

  Holly drifted downward through a boundless white expanse, her body weightless, her heartbeat the only sound that tethered her to herself. The fall was gentle, like being caught in slow water.

  No air rushed past her face, no sense of danger. Only stillness. Yet unease coiled deep in her stomach, the kind of nervous tension that had haunted her for what felt like an eternity always waiting to spill over. Her chest felt tight, her breath shallow, as though even in this impossible place she couldn’t stop bracing for the next thing to go wrong. She had no memory of how she’d come to be here.

  The last thing she remembered was sitting in Dr.?Minlund’s office, the soft hum of the desk clock, the steady rhythm that sometimes helped her calm down, until that faint glow from the strange symbol printed on the back of the business card. Then light. Then nothing.

  And now this.

  The white stretched endlessly above and below, a horizon without direction. She felt neither up nor down, neither pulled nor supported, but suspended in a moment that refused to end. The air, or whatever surrounded her, was too still, too pure, making her feel exposed, like a thought spoken aloud. Her pulse sped up, her fingers twitching at her sides. She tried to look for edges, shadows, anything to ground her, but there was only the white. It wasn’t blinding, only constant, like existing inside a dream that wouldn’t let go.

  Her pulse quickened. Am I dreaming? The thought didn’t calm her. Her breaths came quicker, unsteady, each one a small gasp against the press of silence. Her body tensed as if she expected someone or something to answer.

  The silence thickened until she thought she might scream, but then, gradually, she felt something. Texture beneath her shoes. Her descent slowed until her feet found solid ground, though she could not see it.

  She wobbled, knees bending, arms instinctively out, and for a long moment after, she didn’t move. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat.

  Then, hesitantly, she turned in place, searching the endless white for form, for meaning, for something to hold on to. There was nothing. No horizon. No sky. Just her reflection faintly rippling beneath her: eyes rimmed red, lips pressed tight, a woman trying too hard not to tremble.

  “Hello?” she called out, her voice shaky. It cracked near the end, betraying a rising panic.

  The word echoed, slowly at first. Then again, reshaping itself as it traveled. Each echo sounded… different. Softer. More melodic. The reverberations shimmered like music through the air around her, overlapping in strange harmony until her single word became a gentle chorus.

  “Is someone there?” she tried again, louder. The question bled urgency, her tone sharper than she meant.

  This time the echo harmonized with itself, a lingering note that faded slowly into stillness.

  Then came a voice.

  “Everything is all right, Holly. You’re safe.”

  Holly spun toward the sound, pulse surging. “Who... who’s there?” Her voice trembled with adrenaline.

  The voice didn’t echo; it wove through the space as if carried on wind that wasn't there. “You’re safe. I promise. I only brought you here so that we could speak freely.”

  Her pulse quickened again. “Brought me here? Where is here?” Her tone pitched high, half disbelief, half demand. Her shoulders were tight, hands half?fisted at her sides.

  A pause followed, soft and deliberate. “You are in a space that lies between all things; between every reality, every thread of what has been and what could be. Here, nothing can harm you.”

  Holly’s brow furrowed. “Between… every reality?” Her throat felt dry. She looked down again, seeing her reflection ripple as though nodding with her. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” the voice said. “And I will explain.”

  The air in front of Holly began to stir. Tiny motes of light appeared, flickering into existence one by one. First a few, then dozens, until hundreds hung suspended in the white air. They drifted together in a slow spiral, their glow brightening as they converged. Each mote hummed faintly, resonating with the others, and the vibrations ran up Holly’s arms like static before a storm.

  Her breath caught. Her instincts screamed to move, but her legs refused; she stood locked in place, muscles taut. The cluster tightened. The glow intensified until the air shimmered and the invisible floor beneath her vibrated. A low, gentle rumble filled the space.

  Holly squinted, shielding her eyes as the light swelled, her pulse pounding. Her stomach twisting. For an instant, she thought she smelled smoke and iron; a phantom memory that made her throat close.

  Then, with a soft sound like breath drawn in reverse, the motes collapsed inward and flashed.

  When the radiance dimmed, a woman floated before her.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She was tall and graceful, her bare feet just above the unseen floor. Her hair, pale as fresh snow, flowed freely behind her as though drifting in unseen water. Silver strands caught the light, each shimmer bending into faint hints of blue and gold. Her eyes were ancient but kind; gray as the sea before dawn, with the faintest ring of violet circling the iris. She wore a long gown of white and dove?gray, its fabric lined with intricate knotwork that seemed to shift subtly when seen from the corner of one’s eye. A thin circlet of braided silver rested on her brow, etched with unfamiliar runes that glowed softly whenever she spoke.

  Her presence radiated serenity, yet beneath it was something older. An echo of storms long past and knowledge carried through ages.

  “Do not be afraid,” she said. Her voice matched the one from before, though now it felt fuller, anchored in the air. “I mean you no harm, Holly Sinclair.”

  Holly’s throat tightened at the sound of her name. “You know my name.” Her words came out brittle, uneven, as if testing the edges of a wound.

  The woman smiled faintly, her expression both warm and sad. “Of course I do.”

  Holly swallowed hard, searching the woman’s face for recognition. “Who are you?” she asked. Her question came fast, almost tripping over itself.

  The figure straightened slightly, her glow softening. “My name is Hiln,” she said. “In your tongue, I am known as the Goddess of Grief and Mercy.” Her tone carried no pride, only quiet honesty. “For some time now, I have been with you in another form. One you could understand. I have been the voice that listened. The presence that helped you find words for what you feared to speak.”

  Holly blinked. “Dr.?Minlund…” The name left her lips like a confession. Her pulse quickened again, chest heaving. “What are you talking about?”

  Hiln inclined her head. “Yes. I borrowed that shape so I could guide you gently. So that you could begin to heal. But also,” her expression softened, “so that you could help me.”

  The words struck Holly like a jolt through her ribs. She took a step back, her hands pressing to her sternum as if steadying her racing heart. “Help you? Why would a goddess need my help? I’m...” she hesitated, her laugh coming out sharp, breathless. “I’m not anyone special. I’m just a grieving widow… trying to keep myself together.”

  Hiln’s smile warmed, the glow of her eyes softening to silver. “You are not broken, Holly. What you’ve felt, what you’ve seen, is real. You have felt the threads of a great struggle pulling at your life, even if you could not name them.” She drifted closer, her presence oddly soothing, like pressure on a fresh wound. “There are forces that move unseen between the worlds. One of them, Gloymr, has sought to erase all memory, all light, all connection. He has pursued Ariel from the moment she first opened her eyes.”

  Holly’s breath hitched, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Ariel…” The sound was both a plea and a warning. Her body trembled with a tension that refused to ease.

  Hiln nodded slowly. “Her perfect memory shines like a beacon. To Gloymr, it is an affront, a light he cannot extinguish without unmaking part of creation itself. He struck at her again and again through the years, in small ways. Each loss, each nightmare, each whisper of doubt in her mind… all the work of oblivion.”

  Hiln’s voice dimmed, filled with grief. “On the night of the crash, he nearly succeeded. Her body was broken, her soul unraveling, her memories poised to be devoured. But she was not alone. Saga, the Goddess of Remembrance, and I found her before she fell into the dark. Together, we bound her mind and soul, carrying them beyond Gloymr’s reach.”

  Holly’s breath caught. “You… saved her?” Her voice wavered with disbelief and fragile hope. Her eyes searched Hiln’s face, desperate for something solid to cling to.

  Hiln’s gaze softened. “Yes. But to do so, she had to cross into a place between death and creation. A world born from memory itself. It was... not easy.”

  Holly’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Then where is she?” she asked, voice trembling. “Where’s Ariel?” The name broke from her with such force that her breath shook afterward, her entire body trembling in its wake.

  Hiln’s expression turned distant for a heartbeat, as if listening to something far away. When she spoke again, her tone was low and careful. “She is in a place I cannot reach. At least, not at the moment. I believe Gloymr found that world and severed the threads that once connected it to this one. Ariel has crossed between the realms before, but never whole. Pieces of her move through memory and dream, always searching.”

  Holly pressed a hand to her chest. “So she’s… trapped?” The question carried panic more than sorrow; her body leaned forward, every muscle taut.

  Hiln nodded solemnly. “For now. To end Gloymr’s reign, the threads between realms must be reformed. They are the pathways of remembrance, the bridges between worlds. But I cannot mend them alone. My reach across the veil has weakened.”

  She looked at Holly, a faint, knowing smile rising to her lips. “That is why I came to you.”

  Holly stared at her, realization dawning. “You want me to do it.”

  “You are the one who can,” Hiln said gently.

  Holly shook her head, her voice rising. “I don’t know anything about gods, or threads, or... whatever this is!” Her breath came fast. “I just want her back. I just want to hold her again...” The words tore free like a rush of air, raw and trembling.

  Hiln floated closer, lowering herself until they stood eye to eye. She lifted one hand, palm open, and touched a single finger beneath Holly’s chin. Her hand was warm. Softer than sunlight. Grounding in a way that cut through the panic.

  “Your love for her is the thread,” Hiln whispered. “Your devotion, your empathy... they are what make you the one who can weave what I cannot. Love is the purest memory, Holly. It cannot be erased.”

  Holly met her gaze, eyes wide and wet. “Then show me how. Please.”

  Hiln’s smile deepened, tender and proud. She drew back slowly and raised her hand. The space before them rippled like disturbed water, and from the shimmer emerged an ornate spindle, delicate and golden; its shape spiraling like sunlight caught in motion. It hovered in midair, glowing softly, strands of light coiling and uncoiling around it like living thread.

  “All you must do,” Hiln said, her voice a soothing murmur, “is trust. Reach out, and the thread will find you.”

  Holly stood frozen, her body trembling with pent-up energy. The glow bathed her in warmth that felt almost unbearable in its familiarity. She could feel it, Ariel’s presence, faint but certain, resonating somewhere within that light.

  Her breath came uneven, caught between panic and longing. She lifted her hand, fingers quivering, every nerve alive with terror and need.

  The spindle began to spin slowly, the threads of golden light extending toward her like silk drawn by gravity. They reached, meeting her halfway.

  As the first strand touched her fingertips, the world tilted.

  Holly gasped, her pupils dilating, as the golden light wound around her hand... and the air hummed with a power that began to stir.