Chapter 195: Meeting Asha
>>Aelin
I stared at her
At Asha.
She stood near the pillar, half-hidden in its shadow, her small hands clasped nervously in front of her. Her violet eyes flicked up to meet mine, shy and uncertain, and in that brief connection, something shattered inside me.
My breath caught in my throat.
She was exactly how I looked when I was young. Her soft silky hair, the gentle curve of her cheeks, the small nervous tilt of her head when she didn’t know whether to smile or stay still.
"Asha..." I whispered, barely audible.
I turned sharply toward Tala, my voice shaking. "H-How is this possible? How is she here?"
Tala didn’t look surprised. Instead, he gave me a soft, knowing smile and raised one hand to gesture around us, at the glowing skies, the ethereal towers, the strange silence that was filled with presence.
"Is it really so hard to believe?" he said gently. "Didn’t I tell you before? The Solwyn people... we were all dead." His words made something in my mind snap, "And yet here we are."
My heart stopped.
My eyes widened.
Suddenly, I understood.
The silence. The glowing skies. The strange, perfect peace that blanketed everything here like a dream that never ended.
The way Tala had spoken about events from centuries ago, as if they were only yesterday.
I was in the Spirit Realm.
I turned my gaze back to Asha, a choked sound catching in my throat.
She was here because... she had died.
It hit me like a blade to the ribs. All the pain I’d buried deep inside since I lost her, all the screaming nights and tearless mornings, came crashing back in one soul-ripping wave. But this time, there was no distance. No separation. She was right there. Just steps away.
"She died..." I whispered. "Of course... she’d be here..."
Tala nodded solemnly beside me. "In the Spirit Realm, there is no baby. No infant. The soul takes its true form," he said. "If someone passes as a newborn... time still moves for their spirit. They grow. Just... differently. Not in body. In self."
My heart trembled, a quiver that reached all the way to my fingertips.
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I dropped to my knees for a moment, a sob wrenching through my chest, and then I surged forward, rising, running, toward her.
"Asha!" I called, my voice broken and full, sharp with longing and bright with hope. "Asha, my love, come to me!"
She hesitated, her little feet shifting in the golden light, and then her face cracked open into the tiniest, most fragile smile.
She ran.
She ran to me.
Her arms opened wide just as mine did, and when she crashed into my embrace, I sank to my knees again, clutching her, folding around her like I was trying to protect her from the world, only this time, there was no danger, only peace.
I held her like I’d never let go again.
"My baby," I whispered into her hair, the tears falling freely now, soaking into her shoulder. "My baby girl..."
She wrapped her small arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder.
"I missed you, Mama," she whispered, her voice so soft, so real, it pierced something sacred in me.
I held her tighter.
"I missed you every day," I said, my voice shaking, "every breath, every second, Asha, I never stopped loving you. I never will."
We stayed like that, mother and daughter, wrapped in a bond that had never truly broken, not even in death.
I held her tightly, as if letting go even for a second would shatter the moment like fragile glass. My arms were trembling, my heart thundering in my chest. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks, soaking into her soft locks, and I didn’t care. I never wanted to move. I never wanted to forget how it felt to have her in my arms again, real, solid, alive in the way only a mother can feel their child’s soul.
Her little hands clung to me with the same urgency, and I could feel her breath hitching against my neck.
It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.
I pressed my lips against her hair, squeezing her tighter.
"I love you," I whispered into her. "I love you so much, Asha."
My voice cracked. I didn’t try to stop it.
A moment passed like that, maybe a hundred years, maybe just one breath, and then I slowly pulled back, my hands still cradling her shoulders as I looked at her.
Really looked.
She wasn’t just a memory. Not a dream. Not a glowing echo made of grief and light. She was here, before me, in full detail.
Whole.
Real.
Tala stepped quietly beside us, but I barely noticed. My eyes were locked on Asha’s face as I took her in fully, like a sculptor seeing her masterpiece for the first time.
Her face was round and soft, her cheeks lightly flushed with a healthy glow. Her nose was small, turned up just slightly, like mine. Her smile was shy, unsure, but sweet, like mine. Her golden hair fell around her shoulders in straight locks, glinting in the spirit light.
She looked just like me.
No...
I paused.
She almost looked just like me.
My gaze found her eyes, those wide, deep violet eyes that shimmered with something fierce and quiet all at once.
Not blue.
Not my eyes.
They weren’t mine at all.
They were his.
Draegon’s.
I couldn’t stop the sharp breath that caught in my throat. My heart stuttered.
Those eyes... they carried the same fire, the same endless depth I had fallen in love with. And now, here they were, staring back at me from our daughter’s face.
A perfect blend of the two of us.
My fingers gently cupped her cheeks as I studied her, not with the desperation of loss, but with awe. With reverence.
"You have his eyes," I whispered, a sad smile breaking through the flood in my chest. "You have your father’s eyes..."
Asha tilted her head a little. "Papa?" she asked softly.
My lip trembled again, and I nodded, brushing her hair back from her forehead.
"Yes, love. Papa." I swallowed thickly. "You have his eyes..."
Oh, how great it would have been if Draegon got to meet her.
