Sel dravira en ti. Niv valen, niv asra, niv loyeth. El atanen en ti. Vah serané. The words echoed in my mind, fragments of Xül's chanting lingering in the space between sleep and wakefulness. He'd repeated the phrase three times while his hands had traced patterns across my back, his touch reverent and purposeful. Words I didn't understand but that seemed to burn themselves into my skin and memory alike. They'd felt like a prayer.
