The crystalline waters of the stream glittered in the afternoon sun, casting prismatic reflections across the smooth stone banks. Desia stood at the edge, watching her handmaidens wade into the clear waters, their laughter like silver bells in the warm air.

  The stream was renowned for its rejuvenating properties—its waters flowed directly from the heart of Titania’s mystic mountains, where the wild variety of Mystia grew. At ripeness, it would decay, and the wind would carry its ash, which was imbued with energies said to soothe even the most troubled mind, into the river that would eventually pour out into the stream before her.

  Desia had not even yet dared enter the pool, but she doubted it would stop her mind from drowning.

  Last night, the nightmare returned, more vivid than ever. The crimson sky, now a deeper shade, was like blood clotting in a wound. The castle was crumbling not just around her but beneath her, as if the foundations themselves were dissolving into smoke.

  The white dove’s wings shattered—not into feathers, but into a thousand glittering fragments that turned to ash before they hit the ground. And this time, something new, a voice in the darkness, whispering words she couldn’t remember upon waking, but which left her skin prickling with dread.

  “My lady?”

  Alara, her chief handmaiden, approached with concerned eyes. The sunlight caught the silver embroidery of her gown, making her seem almost ethereal. She was just like the rest of her other attendants, Desia thought.

  She believed her to be crazy but did not dare admit for fear she would smite her. Desia knew she wouldn’t do such a thing, especially since their fears were justified, but even knowledge of that still hurt her.

  “The waters await. Will you not join us?”

  Desia forced a smile.

  “In a moment, Alara. I just need a few breaths of solitude.”

  Alara hesitated, her gaze lingering on Desia’s tense posture.

  “Master Raynor says you’ve been troubled since dawn, my lady,” she murmured. “Is it the dreams again?”

  “Dreams pass,” Desia said dismissively, though her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Go. Enjoy the waters. I’ll join you shortly.”

  Alara bowed and withdrew to the stream where the other five handmaidens were already immersed to their shoulders, their fingers trailing through the luminescent blue currents.

  Desia closed her eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of wildflowers that bordered the stream. She reminded herself that she had come here seeking relief, hoping the famed waters might wash away the unease clinging to her. But the moment she stepped into the clearing, the weight had only grown heavier.

  Something is wrong. Not just with her. With the world, and she could sense it…

  She had felt it at the Temporal Loom yesterday. She had had to beg Thaddeus just to see it, especially after news of what many believed to be her mental breakdown in the Mystia fields, where she supposedly spoke to thin air. He had granted her its viewing.

  In all honesty, he could not really refuse her that right but he had to beg that she tried nothing crazy in its fragile state.

  You mean, in my fragile state.

  She paid no mind though, hoping to gaze upon her beautiful loom, regardless.

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  It seemed to be healing nicely from what she could see at first glance, but she felt a force that she did further observation—a minute shudder in the threads, as if something were plucking at them from the outside. She had dismissed it as fatigue, but now…

  A flicker of movement caught her eye.

  Beyond the thick cluster of silver-leafed arbor trees, a faint glow pulsed—gentle, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Distinct from the steady luminescence of the stream.

  Desia’s breath hitched.

  That light

  She knew what it was. Or rather, “who”. The knowledge settled in her bones before her mind could form the name.

  Aurea.

  Her gaze darted back to her handmaidens. Should she call them? Bring witnesses to Raynor and Thaddeus to prove to them she wasn’t losing her mind? But then she remembered Raynor’s bewildered expression in the Mystia field, his insistence that she had been alone, speaking to empty air.

  If Aurea was invisible to others…

  “Alara,” she called out. The handmaiden looked up immediately, droplets glistening on her dark skin.

  “I’m going to explore the grove. Stay here until I return.” She commanded.

  “But, My Lady—“Alara’s protest died as Desia raised a hand.

  “I won’t be long,” she promised.

  Without waiting, Desia turned and strode toward the pulsing light. As she went deeper, the forest changed. The silver-leafed arbor gave way to towering black oaks, their gnarled roots coiling like serpents across the mossy ground. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic.

  And then she saw it.

  A small clearing, bathed in an otherworldly glow. At its center stood a pool, its surface so still it could have been glass. And beside it—

  Aurea.

  The being of light was just as Desia remembered—tall, radiant, her form composed of shifting golden energy that somehow held the distinct shape of a woman. But this time, her features were sharper, more defined. Her eyes—two points of searing light—locked onto Desia the moment she stepped into the clearing.

  “You,” Desia said, stopping at the pool’s edge. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined you.”

  Aurea’s light flickered, like a sigh. “Yet here I stand, as real as the ground beneath your feet.”

  ” Real to me, perhaps,” Desia countered, circling the pool. “But invisible to others. Why is that?”

  “I am not as I once was,” Aurea admitted. “It takes less energy to manifest as a whisper in your mind than a form all can see.”

  “You could have warned me,” Desia snapped, her patience fraying. “Your brief visit has made me the laughingstock of my realm.”

  “The court whispers that the Origin of Fate, its queen and creator, is losing her grip on it although I helped shape it into what it is today.” She elaborated.

  Aurea’s glow dimmed. “I am sorry. But I had no choice.”

  “Why come to me?” Desia demanded. “I have over a hundred siblings—some more powerful than even I. Why not torment them with your riddles?”

  Aurea’s form rippled, the light shifting in what might have been irritation.

  “Must I explain the obvious? You are the Origin of Fate, Desia. The Weaver of Destinies. The one who sees what has been, what is, and what may yet come to pass.” She stepped closer. “And I come bearing a warning.”

  Desia crossed her arms. “Then speak plainly for once. No more games.”

  “The darkness is coming,” Aurea said.

  Irritation slithered down Desia’s spine. She had already been told that in the Mystia fields.

  “That I already know,” Desia said before taking a deep breath while holding an exasperated look on her face. “If this darkness predates even the Origins and, by the sounds of it, outpowers us, how can we stand against it?”

  “Not us,” Aurea corrected. “You”

  “You and your siblings.” She added.

  “That’s absurd!” Desia threw up her hands. “You drop this on us and vanish? What use is a warning without answers?”

  “You are an Origin. You will find a way."

  “And what use is being an Origin?” Desia’s voice cracked. “I am supposed to shape fate, not be its pawn, and yet here I am taking prophetic advice from a creature I cannot even identify.”

  Aurea’s light flared. “Then act, my daughter of Light. The darkness seeks to unravel all you have woven. Will you stand idle?”

  The title struck her like a blow. “my daughter of Light”. It had been in her nightmare. She had heard it repeatedly in the Mystia fields and was becoming very sick of the term.

  “What do you want from me?” Desia whispered almost out of desperation.

  Aurea’s form flickered. “Listen carefully, for I cannot return after this for a long time. The darkness comes for all Origins—but you are its greatest threat.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you alone will know how to defeat it.”

  “Then tell me how.”

  “If I reveal it to you now, I risk revealing it to him as well,” Aurea said, her voice growing distant. “He watches. He listens.”

  Desia lunged forward as Aurea dissolved. “Wait! At least give me a clue!”

  Aurea’s final words hung in the air like smoke:

  “The only way to defeat the darkness… is with the sacrifice of the white flame, powered by the black night.”

  Then, she was gone.

  Desia stood alone, her hands empty, the clearing silent and the future ahead still no clearer