Maya froze at the ancestor's words, her mind struggling to comprehend the implications.
"Another?" she repeated, her voice a whisper that barely broke the silence of the chamber. "What do you mean, another?"
The ancestor's voice was sharp, urgent. "I felt it—a ripple of acknowledgment, a resonance from one of the wings I once carried. It means someone has successfully integrated with it, becoming a practitioner."
Maya's thoughts tumbled over each other in confusion. "I thought… I thought you said the wings were scattered. That they were practically impossible to wield without…"
"Yes!" the ancestor interrupted, his tone bordering on frantic. "Yes, I did say that! The odds are astronomical—beyond comprehension—but it has happened nonetheless!"
He began to mutter, his words fast and disjointed. "Fate's threads twisting again… foresight's blind spots… the chaos of probability—unacceptable, unthinkable, and yet—here it is."
Maya clutched the cushion beneath her, her chest tightening. She had heard the ancestor speak with authority, with bitterness, even with warmth, but never like this—never with such raw agitation.
"Ancestor, you're rambling," she said, her voice rising with her own unease. "What does this mean? What are you saying?"
The voice faltered for a moment, as though the ancestor himself was wrestling with his emotions. When he spoke again, his tone was steadier, but the urgency had not abated.
"It means, child, that another practitioner now walks this earth. A practitioner with the potential to alter the course of humanity—for better or worse."
Maya's pulse quickened. "How? How is that possible? I thought you said that only people with strong wills and the right… compatibility could even hope to wield the wings."
"That is correct," the ancestor replied, "but compatibility is not the only factor. Luck, fate, and timing all play their roles. The wings of power are alive in their own way, child. They seek vessels, and sometimes, against all odds, they find one."
"And this ripple… this acknowledgment… how do you know it came from your wings?"
"Because I was their master!" the ancestor snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "Even now, fragmented as I am, I retain a connection to them. Faint, yes, but enough to sense their acknowledgment of a new host. It is unmistakable."
Maya swallowed hard, trying to wrap her mind around the revelation. "What are we supposed to do about it?"
"Find them," the ancestor said without hesitation. "Guide them. Protect them. A fledgling practitioner is like a newborn deer in a forest of wolves—vulnerable and unaware of the dangers lurking in every shadow."
"But why?" Maya pressed. "Why is this so urgent?"
"Because," the ancestor replied gravely, "a fledgling practitioner is also at their most impressionable. Without proper guidance, they are easily swayed by the promises of power—power that can corrupt, that can twist their intentions into something monstrous. And the darkness knows this."
"Darkness?" Maya echoed, her unease deepening.
The ancestor's voice grew heavier, laced with a grim weight. "The forces beyond the veil—the ones that have long sought to breach the membrane that protects your world—are not idle, child. They hunger for vassals, for agents to spread their corruption. They will seek out this practitioner, whispering temptations in their ear, offering them everything they desire in exchange for their soul."
Maya shivered, the image painted by his words chilling her to the core. "And you think I can stop that? I can barely understand my own power, let alone—"
"You have me," the ancestor interrupted firmly. "And they do not. You must act quickly, child. Every moment wasted is a moment the darkness has to seduce them."
Maya hesitated, her thoughts spinning in conflict. "But what about my duties here? The barony—"
The ancestor cut her off, his tone sharp. "Your father has already set you up for failure, child. The task he has demanded of you cannot be completed in the time given. He knows it. Rayna knows it. They have conspired to strip you of your titles and force you into submission."
The bluntness of his words hit her like a hammer. She thought of her father's proclamation, of the impossible deadline he had set, and of the satisfied smirk that had flickered across Rayna's face.
The ancestor's voice softened, but the urgency remained. "You cannot allow their schemes to bind you, Maya. The fate of a single barony is nothing compared to what is at stake."
Maya's resolve began to harden, her fear giving way to determination. "And you know where this practitioner is?"
"I have a rough idea," the ancestor said. "The ripple was strong—strong enough to estimate its origin. Based on its intensity, I would say it came from a distance of approximately two thousand kilometers, in a northeasterly direction."
Maya rose from her cushion, crossing the chamber to where a large map of the continent was mounted on the wall. Tracing her finger across the worn parchment, she followed the indicated direction. Her finger stopped at a large, isolated landmass surrounded by ocean.
Her heart sank. "The island country," she murmured.
"What island country?" the ancestor asked, his curiosity piqued.
Maya sighed. "It's a massive island nation, walled off from the rest of the continent. They're far more technologically advanced than any kingdom here—more advanced than anything you've probably ever seen. Outsiders aren't allowed in. Ever. They suppress intrusions with ease, and their defenses are unmatched. No one who enters ever returns."
The ancestor was silent for a moment, as though digesting the information. "A fortress, then," he said finally. "Curious."
"It's more than a fortress," Maya said, frustration creeping into her voice. "It's an untouchable realm. Even the most respected diplomats are turned away. And if they insist? They're crushed without effort. Wars can't be waged against them because their might far surpasses all the kingdoms combined. It's like something out of a fairytale—children dream of going there, but no one ever does."
Another silence followed, heavier than the last.
"Ancestor?" Maya prompted.
"I see," he said at last, his tone contemplative. Then, to her surprise, it shifted, brightening with a note of mischief. "Well, fret not, child. I have my ways."
Maya blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. "Your… ways?"
"You will see," he said cryptically, the amusement clear in his voice.
Despite her trepidation, Maya felt a flicker of curiosity. She glanced back at the map, her eyes lingering on the distant island. The journey would take weeks—weeks of grueling travel by horseback to the coast, followed by a harrowing sea voyage. And even if they made it, the odds of gaining entry were slim to none.
Yet, the alternative—staying and facing her father's impossible expectations—seemed equally daunting.
"I hope your 'ways' are as clever as you sound," she muttered.
The ancestor's chuckle echoed warmly in her mind. "Trust in me, child. Now, gather what you need. The journey begins soon."