Torn Between Destinies

Chapter 58: Chapter Fifty Eight

The dream came softly, like mist slipping through cracks in stone. One moment I was lying in the quiet stillness of the Vale, the moonlight cooling my skin. The next, the world turned to fog, and the air thickened with silence.

I stood in a field of white ash. The sky was gray and unmoving, and the trees around me were nothing but charred shadows of what they had once been. The wind didn’t blow. No birds sang. Even the air felt like it held its breath.

Then I saw him.

The cursed wizard.

He rose from the ash like smoke, his robes torn and scorched, his eyes glowing with something ancient and heavy. Not hate. Not anger. But warning.

"Luciana," he said, his voice cracking like firewood in flames.

I took a step back. My body remembered his pain. The last time I saw him, he had pulled me into his past—into the moment he was betrayed and cursed. I had barely survived it. And now, here he was again.

"Why are you here?" I asked. "What do you want from me now?"

"I come not to take," he said. "But to warn."

He raised one hand, and the ash around us swirled. It lifted into the air and formed images. Shapes. Faces.

I gasped.

Aira.

My mother, walking in a place I did not know. Her hair was longer than I remembered. She wore a cloak the color of dusk. She looked tired, older—but she was alive.

Then the image shifted.

John.

His face was twisted in confusion, his hand holding something I couldn’t make out—a stone, glowing faintly. Behind him, the ground pulsed with red light. Cracks in the earth spread like veins.

"This is happening now," the wizard said. "Far from here. But its pull reaches even the cursed lands."

"What is that place? What are they doing?"

"They search without knowing," he said. "They open without meaning. The seal that keeps the ancient doom buried is weakening. And someone you once trusted walks too close to it."

The images faded. The ash fell.

I looked into the wizard’s eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because your path is tied to what they awaken. You are the Chosen, but you are not alone in this. If the seal breaks before your training ends, even your power will not be enough."

I felt cold spread through me. Not fear. Not yet. But something deep and old. A knowing.

"What do I do?"

"Finish what you began," he said. "The Sixth Way awaits you. But do not linger. The edge of the world grows thin."

He began to fade, his body turning into mist, his voice echoing in my bones.

"And Luciana..."

"Yes?"

"Tell Orrin the name of the place you saw. The ancient ones called it *Drelun.* The Restless Cradle."

Then the dream shattered like glass.

---

I woke with a sharp breath, my body drenched in sweat. The campfire had died down to embers. The Guardian bird perched nearby, its feathers glowing faintly in the dark.

The dream clung to me like smoke. I could still feel the wizard’s presence, still see the red cracks in the earth, still hear his voice in the back of my mind.

Orrin was awake. He watched me from across the fire.

"You saw him again," he said.

I nodded. "He came with a warning."

Orrin stood and came to my side. I told him everything—the vision of my mother, John, the strange glowing stone, the red cracks in the ground. And the word the wizard had left me with.

"Drelun," I whispered. "He called it the Restless Cradle."

Orrin froze.

For the first time since I met him, fear crossed his face. Not panic, not alarm—but the kind of fear born from memory. From knowledge.

"That name hasn’t been spoken in centuries," he said. "It was buried with the curse."

"What is it?"

"It’s not just a place. It’s a gate. A scar in the world that leads to something darker than death."

My breath caught.

"And it’s waking up," I said.

Orrin placed a hand on my shoulder. "Then we cannot wait. Your training must be finished before that seal breaks. The Sixth Trial will begin tomorrow."

I nodded, even though my heart felt heavy.

I thought of my mother walking closer to danger. I thought of Darius holding Erya in Silverglen, unaware of the storm coming. I thought of John—what he was holding, and how little he likely understood of the danger. His ignorance didn’t make him innocent. It made him reckless.

There wasn’t time left for fear.

Only fire.

Only fate.

And I would meet both with eyes open. noveldrama

---

Later that night, I sat with the Guardian bird. Its golden eyes blinked slowly as it watched me.

"You knew he would come again, didn’t you?"

The bird tilted its head.

"You feel it too," I said. "The world is shifting. The past doesn’t stay buried."

The bird let out a low trill, almost like a sigh.

"If I don’t finish this in time... will everything we’ve done be for nothing?"

The bird leaned forward, pressing its forehead gently to mine.

A warmth passed between us.

Not words. Not visions.

Just hope.

And that was enough.

Sometimes, hope was the most dangerous thing of all. It made you believe you could win. That you were strong enough. That even in the face of something ancient and broken, you could be whole.

And still, I held onto it.

I thought of everything we had lost. Everyone. The fallen warriors at the Crossroads. The sisters who never made it to the Circle. The promises I made in silence and sealed in blood.

This couldn’t be for nothing.

---

When the first light of morning touched the Vale, I stood at the center of the ancient ring once again. The grass here always shimmered faintly, like dew and starlight had become one. The standing stones surrounding the ring hummed with old power, their runes faint but pulsing, as if awakened by purpose.

Orrin joined me, his staff in hand, his eyes hard with purpose.

"This next trial," he said, "is not only power. It is choice. The Sixth Way is not taught. It is faced."

I looked at him, steady. "I’m ready."

"No," he said, not cruelly. "But you must be anyway."

I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Orrin raised his staff.

The sky dimmed. The ground shifted.

And the world opened before me.

Into the unknown.

Into what comes next.

---

I felt the Vale fall away. The air twisted, turned, and then stilled. I stood in darkness, but it wasn’t empty. It pressed around me, whispering.

*What will you give?*

The voice wasn’t loud, but it was inside me—ancient and echoing, not of the cursed wizard, nor Orrin, nor anyone I knew.

I took another step. Light flickered at the edge of my vision. Then it moved.

No, not light.

Memories.

One after the other. Aira’s laughter. Darius’s hand brushing mine under starlight. Kiani’s sleepy voice calling me "sister." The first time I shifted. The first time I killed.

All of it spun around me.

*What will you keep?* the voice asked.

"I don’t know," I whispered. "But I’ll choose."

*Then choose wisely.*

A shape formed ahead—a path made of light and shadow, split in two directions.

On one side, a sword. Bloodied. Glinting.

On the other, a hand. Open. Waiting.

I understood then.

Power or mercy.

War or peace.

To wield or to guide.

*The Sixth Way is not given. It is chosen.*

I looked at the sword. My hands remembered its weight. The countless times I had drawn it in defense. Or in fury.

I looked at the hand. My heart remembered its warmth. The times I had been offered grace. And the moments I failed to give it.

I stepped forward.

And I made my choice.