In a secluded corner of the vast, shadowed forest, the moon hung low, a cold silver disk illuminating the world below with a ghostly glow. The air was thick with the cries of nocturnal creatures, their wails echoing like a dirge for what was to come. The world beyond the trees, corrupted and vile, seemed to hold its breath, sensing the turning of fate.
The cries of a newborn pierced the oppressive silence, soft and innocent, carrying the weight of a destiny unknown to her. Her parents, cloaked in the pale light of the moon, stood trembling at the edge of a well-worn path. The mother, a fragile figure with tear-streaked cheeks, cradled the baby close, as though shielding her from a cruel and unyielding fate.
"She has your eyes," whispered the mother, her voice trembling, as her fingers brushed gently over her daughter's soft cheek. The father, a tall, stoic man with a furrowed brow that betrayed his own turmoil, placed a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "She has your spirit," he replied, his voice steady but hollow. "She will need it for the path ahead."
The mother's grip tightened around the baby, her tears falling freely onto the swaddled bundle. "Why her?" she cried bitterly. "Why must she carry this burden? Why must the Moon Goddess demand so much from her, from us?".
The father knelt, gently taking her free hand in his. "It is not ours to question the will of the goddess, my love. We must trust that she has chosen our daughter for a reason. She will bring balance to this shattered world, as painful as this may be." "But she's just a child!" the mother sobbed, her voice rising to the heavens. "She is my child! Why must she suffer for the sins of others?"
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves around them, as if the forest itself mourned alongside the grieving parents. The father rose to his feet, his expression hardening with resolve. "We must leave her here, now," he said, his voice breaking only slightly. "The longer we linger, the greater the chance they will find her. If they do…"
The mother shook her head violently. "I cannot! How can I leave my child to this cruel world? How can I trust anyone to protect her as I would?" The father cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Because we have no choice. Because her destiny is greater than Our love, greater than our pain. And because we will watch over her from the shadows, no matter the cost."
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of the sleeping infant. At last, the mother nodded, though her tears did not stop. She knelt before the stone steps of an old orphanage, its weathered façade bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Gently, she placed her daughter down, wrapping her in the warmth of a soft, embroidered blanket.
"My child," the mother whispered, her voice quivering with emotion, "you are destined for greatness, for peace, for harmony. The world will try to break you, but you must not let it. Remember that you are loved, always." She pressed a tender kiss to the baby's forehead, her tears falling onto the child's delicate skin. The father placed a small, moon-shaped pendant on the blanket, its surface shimmering faintly in the moonlight.
"Goodbye, little one," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "We will meet again, when the world Is ready, and when you are strong enough to stand against its darkness." As the parents turned to leave, their steps reluctant but determined, the mother glanced back one final time. Her heart felt as though it were shattering, but she knew they could not stay. The safety of their daughter depended on their sacrifice.
The baby stirred, her tiny hand gripping the edge of the blanket, as if sensing the departure of the only two people in the world who truly understood her worth. But she did not cry. The parents disappeared into the shadows of the forest, their silhouettes fading into the night. And so, the child was left alone, under the watchful gaze of the Moon Goddess herself, her tiny form illuminated by the celestial light that seemed to protect her even as the darkness of the world loomed ever closer.
The years passed, and the child, Zahria, grew into a quiet, introspective girl with a strength she did not yet understand. The orphanage, while providing her with a roof and meals, never quite felt like home. She was adopted by several families, each time clinging to the hope that she had found her place in the world.
Her first family, warm and loving, filled her with joy she had never known. But tragedy struck within a year, their lives claimed by a mysterious fire that left Zahria as the sole survivor. She was sent back to the orphanage, her heart heavy with guilt and grief.
Her second family provided her with stability, though they were cold and distant. She was little more than a tenant in their home, a shadow in their lives. Still, she was grateful for the roof over her head, the clothes on her back. But their indifference weighed on her, a reminder of her loneliness.
Her third family offered material wealth beyond her imagination. She had a large room to call her own, and they provided for her every want and need. But their affection was hollow, their love a mere performance. She was invisible to them, a burden they carried for appearances.
Each time, Zahria returned to the orphanage, her spirit dimmed but not extinguished. She learned to be grateful for small mercies, to find solace in the kindness of strangers. Yet deep down, she longed for something more—for a sense of belonging, for a purpose that would make sense of her pain.
Unbeknownst to Zahria, the moon-shaped pendant she had worn since infancy began to glow faintly as her sixteenth birthday approached. It pulsed with an otherworldly light, a sign that the prophecy was beginning to unfold. The world she had been born to save was calling to her, even as she remained unaware of the destiny that awaited her. And so, in the quiet hours of the night, as Zahria gazed out of her window at the silver glow of the moon, she felt a stirring deep within her soul—a whisper of something greater, something vast and unknowable. Her journey was about to begin.
ZAHRIA POV
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of my room, a soft glow that felt too serene for the chaos that awaited downstairs. "Zahria!" Amelia's voice broke the silence, sharp and impatient. "Wake up! Mum wants us downstairs in the next few minutes. Don't make me come back up here—I need to get to school early!"
"Yes, Amelia, I'll be done soon," I called back, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. I could hear her mumbling something under her breath as she stomped away, but I didn't bother to strain my ears. Whatever she had to say about me wasn't new, and it wasn't worth my energy. With a sigh, I slipped out of bed and hurried to get ready, the cold tiles beneath my feet waking me faster than any alarm clock ever could.
By the time I made it downstairs, Amelia had already claimed her spot at the breakfast table. Mum and Dad were seated too, their faces buried in their phones. I greeted them quietly, even though they barely looked up to acknowledge me. They never did.
Still, I felt a strange sense of peace in their indifference. It meant I could exist on the periphery of their lives, unnoticed and undisturbed. For someone like me, that was a blessing. Breakfast passed in silence, except for Amelia's occasional remarks about her plans for the day. Her voice carried an air of superiority, as if the world revolved around her. I kept my head down, eating quickly, eager to escape.
Soon, we were in the car, our chauffeur navigating the streets toward school. Amelia sat beside her brother Kelvin, scrolling through her phone, while I stared out of the window, lost in thought. When we reached the school gate, my heart lifted slightly. I scanned the crowd for the one person who made this place bearable.
"Hey, Desmond!" I called, waving as I spotted him. He turned at the sound of my voice, his face lighting up as he walked toward me. Behind me, Amelia's voice drifted to her brother. "I don't understand how someone like Desmond could even tolerate her," she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. Kelvin shrugged, clearly uninterested, but Amelia scoffed dramatically before stalking off.
"Happy birthday!" Desmond's voice boomed as he reached me, pulling me into a tight hug. I blinked at him, confused. "What?", His smile faltered. "Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday." I bit my lip, embarrassed. "I… I have a lot on my mind, Desmond. It slipped my mind." He groaned, rolling his eyes. "Zahria, it's your birthday! How could you forget something so important?", "I just did," I replied with a small shrug. "But thank you. I appreciate it."
He shook his head, exasperated but smiling. "Unbelievable." We walked to class together, hand in hand, our conversation drifting from one trivial topic to the next. Being with Desmond always felt like a brief escape from everything else.
By lunchtime, we were making our way to the cafeteria, still laughing about something ridiculous Desmond had said in class. But my laughter died in my throat as I felt something cold and wet splatter against me. I froze, looking down at the sticky mess soaking through my shirt. Turning slowly, I saw Amelia and her clique giggling behind me, their eyes glinting with malice.
"Oops," Amelia said, her voice laced with mock innocence. Desmond was already in her face, his fury palpable. "What is wrong with you?!" he snapped. Amelia's boyfriend, Jacob, stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "Back off, man. You don't talk to her like that."
Before things could escalate, I grabbed Desmond's arm, pulling him away. "Let it go," I whispered. "Zahria—" "Please," I pleaded, my voice barely audible. "Just let it go." He relented, though I could feel his frustration radiating off him. As we walked away, he turned to me, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief.
"You can't keep letting her get away with this," he said, his voice low but firm. "She treats you like garbage, and you just take it. It's insane." "You don't understand," I replied, my voice tight. "If I say anything, it'll only make things worse. They won't believe me, Desmond. She's their daughter. I'm just… the adopted one."
"That doesn't mean you have to let her walk all over you." "I'm trying to keep the peace," I said, my tone pleading. "Please, Desmond. Promise me you won't say anything to her. Not again." He sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath, but eventually nodded.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Amelia made a few more snide comments, but I ignored her. Desmond stayed close, his protective presence a small comfort. When the final bell rang, we piled into the car, ready to go home. Our chauffeur, ever cheerful, tried to start a conversation.
"How was school today?" he asked, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. I answered politely, grateful for his warmth, but Amelia cut him off with a sharp yell. "Can you just stop talking? You're so annoying!"
I stared at her, shocked by her rudeness. The chauffeur's smile faltered, and he fell silent, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. When we got home, I retreated to my room, desperate for solitude. But as I settled at my desk to start my homework, raised voices echoed through the halls.
I hurried downstairs, my heart sinking as I saw Amelia berating one of the maids. The woman stood trembling, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "This is unacceptable!" Amelia shouted. "Do you expect me to eat cold food? Do your job properly, or I'll make sure you regret it!"
"Amelia," I said quietly, stepping forward. She whirled on me, her eyes blazing. "Stay out of this, Zahria. It's none of your business." I clenched my fists, anger bubbling beneath the surface. But as always, I swallowed it down. There was no point in fighting her.
The maid cast me a grateful look as I gently guided her away, but the guilt lingered. No matter how much I tried to keep the peace, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was failing everyone, including myself. Back in my room, I sat by the window, staring at the moon. Its light felt colder tonight, a reminder of the distance between the life I had and the life I wished for."Happy birthday," I whispered to myself, the words heavy with unspoken longing.
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