The firelight flickered as Cassiel steadied herself, the growing tension in the room pressing down on her like a physical weight. The warmth of the tea she'd sipped earlier felt distant, replaced by a strange cold creeping into her core.
Her flames sprang to life without warning, curling protectively around her shoulders and hands. They danced wildly, crackling like a warning bell as if some unseen danger drew closer.
Thalora tilted her head, her sharp gaze locking onto the flames with a curious intensity. "Now that's something," she murmured, her playful tone replaced by something far more serious.
Before Cassiel could respond, Thalora's eyes began to glow with the same fiery hue as Cassiel's flames. The protective fire sputtered, shrinking into wisps before extinguishing entirely. A wave of cold rushed over Cassiel, and her body tensed.
"What are you—" Cassiel started, but her words faltered.
Thalora's pupils dilated until they nearly consumed her irises. Her body went rigid, her face eerily neutral as a golden glow radiated from her skin. The room dimmed, and the air turned heavy as if the walls were closing in.
Then it began.
"In the land without rain..."
The voice, a strange echo of Thalora's, filled the room with an otherworldly presence. Each word of the prophecy carried a weight that Cassiel could feel pressing into her very being.
The voice, not entirely Thalora's, echoed strangely, as if spoken by countless unseen mouths.
With each word, a faint pulse of light emanated from Thalora's frame, illuminating the room in rhythmic bursts. Her body trembled slightly, as if the power surging through her was too much to contain.
With each word, a faint pulse of light emanated from Thalora's frame, illuminating the room in rhythmic bursts. Her body trembled slightly as though the power surging through her was too much to contain.
"The blade that's broken will find its fight..."
Cassiel's eyes widened as the line settled over her, its meaning striking closer to home than she wanted to admit.
"When shadowed winds begin to rise..."
A gust of air swirled through the hut, carrying a faint, mournful whisper.
"The fate of all rests in a single choice..."
The golden glow brightened, and for a moment, Cassiel swore she could feel her very soul being laid bare under its light.
"One must fall, one must stand..."
The air grew colder, and the hut seemed to shudder as the final words fell.
"To break the chains that bind the land."
As the last echo of the prophecy faded, the glow around Thalora disappeared, and her body sagged. Cassiel surged forward, catching her before she could collapse entirely.
Thalora's weight was lighter than expected, and Cassiel guided her to the cushion, easing her down as her breathing steadied.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Thalora blinked slowly, her usual spark returning to her eyes, though it was dimmer than before. "Well," she muttered hoarsely, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, "that was... intense."
"What just happened?" Cassiel asked, her voice low.
Thalora waved a hand weakly. "Relax, feathered one. I'm fine. Mostly." She winced, leaning her head back against the wall. "Haven't been hit that hard by my own gift in years. Whatever you are, you pack a punch."
Cassiel frowned but stayed silent, the lines of the prophecy looping in her mind.
Thalora studied her momentarily, her gaze sharper than her playful tone. "You've got some serious threads wrapped around you. Usually, I just peek at a person's soul, glimpse their path, and move on. But with you? It's like staring into a storm. A mess of possibilities... and power."
Cassiel shifted uncomfortably under Thalora's scrutiny, but Thalora groaned and pushed herself upright before she could respond. "Alright, enough doom and gloom. I'm gonna need a nap after this, and you, my dear, have things to think about."
Cassiel blinked as Thalora clapped her hands lightly, a spark of her usual energy returning. "Go on now. Shoo. And don't go setting anything on fire on your way out."
Despite herself, Cassiel's lips twitched into a faint smile. She stood, giving Thalora one last glance before heading to the door.
"Hey," Thalora called after her, her voice softer now. "Whatever's coming, you'll figure it out. You're tougher than you look, feathered one."
Cassiel hesitated, then nodded once before stepping out into the forest air, her mind heavy with the weight of the prophecy and the flicker of new resolve.
Cassiel walked along the winding path Eramus had shown her, the towering trees casting long shadows that stretched across the ground. The forest was quiet; the only sounds were the occasional rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of birds. It should have been peaceful, but Cassiel's mind was still away.
The prophecy churned in her thoughts, its cryptic words looping endlessly. Each step she took seemed to echo them back at her.
"In the land without rain, famine spreads its blight..."
The drylands. It had to be. Saren's story of the barren desert came to her mind—how survival there seemed impossible. Was that where the journey would take her? And if so, what would she find?
"The blade that's broken will find its fight."
Cassiel's brow furrowed. Her sword was broken and shattered during her fall. It was once an extension of her very being, a weapon capable of holding and directing all the power she wielded. But was the prophecy speaking of the blade itself or of her?
Her steps faltered briefly, her hand brushing against her side, where her sword should have rested.
"When shadowed winds begin to rise..."
The meaning of this line eluded her entirely. Shadowed winds—what could it mean? Her flame flickered faintly against her palm, unbidden, before extinguishing again. Her frustration grew.
"The fate of all rests in a single choice."
That line pressed heavily against her, leaving her breathless. Whose choice? Would it be hers? Someone else's? What would need to be decided, and what would hang in the balance?
Her wings ached slightly, the lingering reminder of her fall tugging her thoughts in a darker direction.
"One must fall, one must stand, to break the chains that bind the land."
Sacrifice. That was clear enough. But who would fall? Her? Someone she would come to care for? The thought unsettled her.
Cassiel paused in the middle of the path, her hands clenched at her sides. Her mind drifted to the dream—the barren wasteland, the kneeling figures, and the man cloaked in the suffocating aura of darkness.
It had been him. Or someone tied to him.
She drew a sharp breath, her chest tightening. She had seen him sealed away with her own eyes eons ago, and yet there was no mistaking the presence she had felt. How could he have returned? And if he was free, what would that mean for this world—already teetering on the edge?
Her flame sputtered to life briefly in her palm, but it felt weak and unsteady—like her resolve.
Cassiel shook her head and forced her feet to move again, her surroundings fading into the periphery as her thoughts consumed her. She couldn't afford to fall apart now, not when so much was at stake.
The village gates came into view as the sun began to reach its peak in the sky. The familiar hum of Rothmoor greeted her: quiet conversations, the distant clanging of tools, the gentle laughter of children playing nearby.
Cassiel stepped through the gates, but the village's usual warmth felt muted. Her thoughts remained with the prophecy, the dream, and the unsettling uncertainty of what lay ahead.
When she reached her small dwelling, her legs felt heavy, her steps dragging. She pushed open the door, closing it behind her with a soft thud, and sank onto the cot's edge.
Her gaze fell to her hands, her flame flickering once more before disappearing. The prophecy replayed in her mind, its lines weaving together with the memory of her dream.
She clenched her fists, her voice a quiet murmur in the empty room. "What am I supposed to do?"
But no answer came. Only the room's stillness and the weight of the unknown pressed harder against her.
Cassiel sat in her room for what felt like hours, staring at the dim light pooling through the small window. Her mind churned with thoughts of the prophecy, the weight of its cryptic lines pressing down on her. She barely registered the knock at the door.
"Cassiel?" Eramus' voice carried the calm authority that seemed to follow him everywhere.
"Come in," she said, shaking herself free of her thoughts.
Eramus stepped inside, his usual steady presence filling the space. He carried an air of curiosity and humor as he gestured toward the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit? I thought I'd check in and see if Thalora managed to make your head spin as thoroughly as she does with everyone else."
Cassiel allowed a faint smile. "She's... unique."
Eramus chuckled, leaning back in the chair. "That's putting it lightly. She's been like that forever. I take it she didn't disappoint?"
"No," Cassiel admitted. "If anything, she exceeded expectations. But she..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to find the words. "She said things I can't make sense of."
Eramus straightened slightly, his expression softening. "Her gift?"
Cassiel nodded. "Yes, she used it and then spoke... a prophecy."
Eramus's brow furrowed, and he inclined his head slightly. "I see. Thalora's gift is a powerful one, but it's also unpredictable. What did she say?"
Cassiel hesitated, then recited the prophecy line by line. Her voice was steady, though the weight of the words seemed to hang heavier in the room with each passing moment.
"In the land without rain, famine spreads its blight,
The blade that's broken will find its fight.
When shadowed winds begin to rise,
The fate of all rests in a single choice.
One must fall, one must stand,
To break the chains that bind the land."
When she finished, silence stretched between them. Eramus tapped a finger thoughtfully on the arm of the chair, his gaze distant.
"Well," he said finally, "it's certainly not a prophecy meant to soothe anyone's nerves."
Cassiel huffed a quiet laugh. "That's an understatement."
Eramus's eyes sharpened, focusing on her. "Prophecies are rarely clear, Cassiel. They're meant to guide, not dictate. The words you've been given—yes, they carry weight, but they're not an unchangeable script. The choices you make will shape what happens next."
"The blade that's broken," Cassiel murmured, more to herself. "It could mean my sword. Or... something else entirely."
"Possibly both," Eramus offered. "Prophecies have a way of speaking to more than one truth at a time. As for the rest... a journey, a choice, a battle—it sounds like your path will take you far from here."
Cassiel frowned, her thoughts circling back to the drylands and the dream she couldn't shake. "It's frustrating not knowing what it all means."
"That's the point," Eramus said gently. "You're not meant to know everything, not right away. Trust the journey, even when it's unclear. The answers will come when you're ready for them."
Cassiel leaned back, letting his words settle over her. "You make it sound so simple."
"It never is," he admitted, his tone carrying a faint smile. "But you don't have to face it alone, Cassiel. Whether for a day or a season, you have a place here. Use it. Rest when you can."
The tension in Cassiel's shoulders eased for the first time in hours. "Thank you, Eramus. That... means more than you know."
He rose with a nod. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's another step forward, whether or not we're ready for it."
As he left, Cassiel stared out the window, the lines of the prophecy repeating in her mind like an unbroken thread. She didn't have answers yet, but she was beginning to understand that finding them would require more than just unraveling words. It would require action.
And the courage to take the first step.