Maya sat cross-legged in the meditation chamber, her breaths slow and deliberate. The incense she had lit earlier still smoldered, its curling tendrils of smoke drifting lazily toward the ceiling. The rich, heady aroma filled the room, creating a cocoon of tranquility that felt at odds with the turmoil bubbling in her chest.
For two days, the ledgers on her desk had gathered dust, the petitions from villagers lay unanswered, and the scorn of her stepmother had grown sharper with every passing hour. Yet, how could she worry about grain disputes or tax records when the ancestor's voice spoke of a world on the brink of ruin?
Her thoughts raced. "Ancestor, how did it all go so wrong?"
The voice stirred in her mind, calm and steady. "Ah, child, that is a question for the ages. Do you seek to understand the fall or the glory that preceded it?"
"Both," Maya replied without hesitation.
"Then listen closely," the ancestor said, his tone softening. "There was a time when practitioners were not scattered and hidden. We were organized into great factions, each dedicated to mastering and wielding a specific facet of the wings of power. Together, these factions shaped the world."
Maya leaned forward, her interest piqued. "What factions? What did they do?"
"There were four major ones," the ancestor explained. "The Elemental Faction, the Seer Faction, the Light Faction, and the Dark Faction. Each represented a unique aspect of the wings of power, and their influence was vast."
The ancestor's tone grew wistful, and Maya sensed his thoughts drifting. She cleared her throat gently, jolting him back to the present.
"Ahem. Yes, where was I?" He coughed lightly, clearly embarrassed. "Let me explain. The Elemental Faction wielded the wings of fire, water, earth, and air. Their power was the most visible—soldiers on the battlefield, architects of wonders. Their wings turned fields into infernos and rivers into barriers. They built kingdoms with the grace of sculptors and razed them with the fury of storms. Their strength was undeniable, though it often bred arrogance."
Maya imagined castles carved from living rock, tidal waves swallowing entire armies, and cities sculpted from fire and stone. The sheer power was both intoxicating and terrifying.
"The Seer Faction," the ancestor continued, his tone tinged with pride, "to which I belonged, dealt in the wings of the future. We glimpsed the threads of destiny, manipulating the tapestry of time to our advantage. We were not the most ostentatious, but no one dared cross us. To offend a seer was to invite ruin, for we saw almost everything."
He paused, and Maya could sense him recalling memories—victories won, futures altered, rivals undone with a word or a glance.
"And the other factions?" she prompted.
"The Light Faction, also known as the Mercy Faction, wielded the wings of healing," he said. "They were not warriors, but their influence was immense. To harm a member of the Light Faction was taboo, punishable by swift and merciless retribution. Even the most ruthless rulers respected their sanctity."
"And the Dark Faction?" Maya asked cautiously.
The ancestor's tone grew heavier, tinged with unease. "Ah, the most feared of all. The Dark Faction was not inherently evil, but their domain invited shadow and suspicion. They wielded the wings of concealment, assassination, poison, and treachery. Like venom in a goblet, their methods were insidious but lethal. They ensured no faction—no matter how mighty—could overreach."
Maya frowned. "But wouldn't the Seer Faction have seen their moves and prevented them from doing harm?"
The ancestor chuckled, a note of approval in his voice. "An astute question, child. But remember: the wings of power do not make one omnipotent or omniscient. Even seers are bound by mortal limitations. The greatest vision can be undone by the smallest whisper in a shadow. To wield power is to accept the risk of failure, and what is flawed can be killed. Never forget that."
Maya nodded slowly, his words resonating deeply. Could she ever hope to stand among such figures? To hold even a fraction of that power?
She was about to ask another question when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the manor.
Her heart sank.
"MAYA!"
The bellow shook the chamber's door, and a chill ran down her spine. The voice belonged to her father, Baron Rath, and it was laced with unmistakable fury.
The door burst open with a resounding crash, revealing the baron's massive frame. His face was red with anger, his eyes blazing as they locked onto her. Behind him stood her stepmother, Rayna, her expression one of feigned righteousness. But Maya saw the cold malice lurking in her stepmother's eyes.
"Unfilial child! For two days, the ledgers have been ignored, the villagers' grievances unanswered!" Baron Rath thundered, his voice filling the room. "Two days of idleness while the barony suffers!"
Maya rose to her feet, her hands trembling. "Father, I can explain—"
"Enough!" he roared, cutting her off. "Your behavior is an affront to our name. You bring shame to the Rath lineage!"
Rayna stepped forward, her voice a venomous whisper. "My lord, this cannot go unpunished. Her laziness is a blight upon this house, and the people are already whispering. Perhaps it is time to consider your son as the rightful heir."
Maya's fists clenched at her sides. The satisfaction in Rayna's eyes was unmistakable, and Maya knew exactly what the woman was trying to do.
Baron Rath turned back to his daughter, his expression hard as stone. His hurtful words were laced with venom. "If you do not complete your duties by sundown, you will be stripped of your titles, disowned, and married off to the first commoner who will take you—perhaps a pig farmer. Let him deal with your indolence."
For a moment, Maya stood frozen, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She had never cared much for the titles, but she had fought tirelessly to keep the barony out of her half-brother's hands. The man was an incompetent lecherous fool who would ruin everything. Her father, blinded by Rayna's venomous influence, couldn't see that.
But what truly pushed her over the edge was the audacity of her father to dictate her life so completely—to threaten her with marriage to a stranger, a pig farmer no less, as if she were some pawn to be traded away.
A spark ignited within her, quickly growing into a roaring flame. The fear that had gripped her melted away, replaced by a searing fury.
"You think you can control me like this?" she said, her voice trembling with suppressed anger.
Baron Rath's expression darkened. "Maya—"
"No!" she snapped, cutting him off. Her eyes burned with intensity, and the air in the chamber seemed to grow warmer.
Heat rippled through the room, distorting the air around her. Smoke curled around her clenched fists, unbidden, and her auburn hair glowed like embers catching flame. The scent of singed fabric filled the chamber, and the light in her eyes burned with an intensity that made her father step back.
Baron Rath hesitated, his fury faltering as sweat trickled down his brow. Why did she suddenly seem so imposing? Was her hair always this vivid, this… scarlet?
"Get. Out." Maya said, her voice low and filled with quiet menace.
The baron took an involuntary step back, his unease palpable. The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud, leaving Maya alone in the chamber.
For a moment, the only sound was her ragged breathing.
"Well," the ancestor's voice murmured, tinged with amusement. "This is an interesting development."
Maya collapsed onto the cushion, her hands still trembling as the fire in her veins began to subside.
"What just happened?" she whispered.
"I believe," the ancestor replied, his tone calm yet curious, "that you've taken a major step forward. But take heed, child—the fire of wrath burns indiscriminately if left untamed."