Torn Between Destinies-Chapter 63 - Sixty Three
The sky above the Vale was dark and quiet, the stars veiled by thin, shivering clouds. I sat cross-legged near the ancient stone circle, the scent of burned grass still clinging to my skin from my loss of control days ago. My hands bore faint scorch marks—reminders of the Moonfire Wrath I had barely survived. Orrin hadn’t spoken much since that night. Neither had I. There was nothing left to say. Only one trial remained.
Tonight, I would either finish the path of the Moon-Blessed—or fail.
Orrin emerged from the mist like a memory, his silver hair glinting in the moonlight, staff in hand, eyes unreadable.
"It is time," he said simply.
I stood. My legs trembled, not from fear, but from the weight of everything I had seen, endured, and nearly lost.
"You told me I was almost ready," I said. "That I needed one last trial. What is it?"
Orrin gestured for me to follow. We walked in silence until we reached the pool at the heart of the Vale—a still, circular mirror of water that reflected not just the sky but one’s soul. I had come here before, but tonight the air around it shimmered differently, as if the veil between worlds thinned to a single breath.
"You must enter the pool," Orrin said. "And face what you have not yet forgiven."
I stared into the water. My own reflection stared back, eyes wide with unspoken sorrow.
"Forgive what?" I asked.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm and grounding. "Yourself."
The water called to me. Not with the gentleness of welcome, but with the chilling honesty of truth. I stepped forward, then waded in. It wasn’t cold. It was warm—almost too warm—like it reached beneath my skin to stir the pieces I had buried.
When the water reached my chest, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
The world fell away.
---
I was no longer in the Vale.
I stood in the shadow of a crooked barn, hidden among tall grass, the scent of rotting hay and blood thick in the air. My breath caught. I knew this place. I remembered this moment.
"Kiani?" my voice cracked, young, panicked.
I stepped forward, and there she was—five-year-old Kiani, barefoot, bruised, crying silently beside the barn wall. Her arms were wrapped around her knees. Her lip was split. A welt ran across her cheek. My stomach twisted.
But I wasn’t really there.
This was the memory I had failed to revisit, the moment buried beneath my triumphs. The day I had watched from the shadows—frozen. Afraid. I hadn’t stepped in quickly enough. I had waited. Waited too long.
A door creaked.
John stormed out of the barn, belt in hand. His face red, spit at the corners of his mouth.
"You little rat?" he roared then multtered something too.
Kiani whimpered.
"No," I whispered. "No, don’t—"
He raised the belt.
And again, just like before, I stood frozen.
The real me. The spirit me. My knees buckled.
"You couldn’t save her," a voice whispered behind me.
I turned. My reflection stood in the tall grass, eyes hollow, mouth hard.
"You watched. You let it happen."
"I saved her later," I whispered.
"But not then."
John struck. Kiani’s scream pierced through me.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
"I was scared," I sobbed. "I was still figuring out how to blend in, how to hide who I was. If I had shifted in front of humans, I—"
"You’re making excuses."
"No, I’m not! I came back for her. I risked everything!"
My reflection stepped closer. "But you never forgave yourself. And until you do, you are not whole."
I collapsed to my knees. The memory kept replaying. Kiani curled into a tighter ball. John walked away, muttering. Then the scene began again, like a cruel loop.
I clenched my fists. "What do I do?"
My reflection tilted her head. "Feel it. All of it. And let it go."
The next time John stepped forward, I moved.
Spirit or not, I ran to Kiani. I knelt beside her. I wrapped my arms around her small, shaking body.
"I’m sorry," I said into her hair. "I’m so sorry I didn’t stop it sooner."
Her small voice replied, "Why didn’t you come?"
"I was afraid."
"Were you afraid of him?"
"Yes."
"Or were you afraid of being seen?"
Her words stabbed deeper than any blade.
I nodded slowly. "Both."
She didn’t answer. But her little arms wrapped around me in return. And this time, I felt it. The forgiveness. The softness in her small heartbeat.
And just like that, the memory began to fade.
I stood again, now alone. The barn crumbled to ash. The field dissolved into mist. But I didn’t feel empty.
I felt lighter.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was back in the pool. The water no longer shimmered with heat, but with calm. Orrin stood at the edge, watching.
"You faced it," he said.
"Yes." My voice was hoarse.
"And?"
"I forgave myself. Finally."
He offered me his hand and pulled me from the water.
"You are whole, Luciana," he said. "You have walked the Vale of Ancients and emerged with the Moon’s favor. Your final test is done."
I sank to the grass. Every muscle ached. But in my heart, I felt a stillness I had never known.
"I can’t change what happened," I said. "But I can live with it now. And make sure I never freeze again."
"You are no longer a student of the old ways," Orrin said. "You are their future."
The moon broke through the clouds then, its light spilling over the stone circle.
And in that moment, I felt seen.
---
That night, I sat by the fire, the Guardian bird perched beside me. It stared into the flame, its silver feathers rustling in the wind.
"What comes next?" I asked it.
It didn’t speak. But it tilted its head.
And I knew the answer wasn’t in words.
It was in what I chose to do with what I had learned.
I looked toward the horizon, where Silverglen lay somewhere beyond the mountains.
Darius.
Erya.
My family.
The curse still loomed. The wizard’s warning echoed in my mind.
But I wasn’t afraid.
Not anymore.
I was ready.
The Moon’s Final Test was done.
Now, it was time to return—and face what waited beyond the Vale.
But this time, I would not return as Luciana the wanderer.
I would return as the Moon-Blessed.
As the one who dared to forgive herself.
And in that, I had found power greater than wrath.
I had found peace.
