Vision of the Truth

The forest was silent in the early morning light, save for the slow, trudging footsteps of the children. The weight of Pip's absence pressed upon them like a shroud, heavier than their packs, heavier than the fear of the Fallen. The reality of their situation had sunk in—Pip was gone, stolen by the Fae, and with her, the map that had guided them this far.

Tig walked with her head bowed, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. The further north they went, the more Antigone started to fade, using her magic takes a toll. Ophelia kept glancing over at Freya, who had not spoken since the night before. Her eyes were distant and sad. Ember's blue magic flickered faintly from her fingers, she was thinking of the Fae and what had happened. Something pulled at her memory and it scared her. 

Alex walked apart from the group, his fists clenched at his sides. None of them knew what to say. What was there to say?

The road stretched ahead of them, winding toward the next village. They had no choice but to move forward.

Far from the children, beyond the veil of time and memory, another story unfolded.

The queens stood together in the great hall, their reflections shimmering in the polished stone floor. The air was thick with anticipation. The suitors had arrived.

Two men stood before them—one fair, one dark, both dressed in the fine silks and embroidery of foreign lands. They carried themselves with the easy grace of nobility, but there was something more to them, something less refined.

The fair-haired man tilted his head, his sharp blue eyes alight with mischief. "We have traveled far to meet the famed queens, yet I see no smiles in welcome. Have we come at a poor time?"

His companion, dark-haired and golden-eyed, smirked. "Or perhaps they are simply stunned into silence by our charm?"

The queens remained still.

"We have no need for suitors," Ayid said, her voice steady but cool. "Your journey was in vain."

The fair-haired man stepped forward, unbothered. "Ah, but we are not only suitors. We are men of magic, of skill, of adventure. Surely even queens can enjoy a bit of intrigue?"

The dark-haired man flicked his fingers, and golden embers danced in the air between them. "Besides, we were invited."

A flicker of something—confusion, then irritation—crossed Ayid's face. "By whom?"

The fair-haired man simply smiled. "Fate."

Diya tilted her head to the side as she stared at the fair-haired man, not noticing her sister was doing the same.

"Oh, but Fate is a fickle creature who makes promises only to change her mind in the end," Diya softly murmured.

"Fate is a woman then?" He quarried.

Diya let out a soft, amused hum. "If Fate were a man, she'd trip over her own ego before ever making up her mind."

Both men roared with laughter. Diya had a small smile on her face and Ayid was becoming intrigued by the strangers.

Something strange was happening. The sisters felt a stirring in their chests. It was all the blond man's fault, but he was amusing.

"It is late. You may stay the night here, but you must begone in the morning.

The first undeniable change, formed between the two sisters. Nothing will ever be the same.

Somewhere Fate, a wicked, self serving creature laughed. 

The children reached the village by nightfall, weary and hungry. It was a small place, barely more than a collection of homes and a market square. But they did not stop to rest.

They followed the path beyond the village, drawn by something unseen, until they stood before a crumbling tower. Vines clung to the stone, and the windows were dark, but the door stood ajar.

"This is it," Ophelia whispered.

They stepped inside.

The air was thick with dust and the scent of old parchment. Shadows clung to the corners, shifting strangely in the dim light.

Then a voice—slow, winding, and edged with something bitter—spoke from the darkness.

"You seek knowledge, yet knowledge is a fickle thing. It comes with a price, and not all are willing to pay."

The Keeper of Memories emerged, her form half-hidden in shadow. Her eyes, once bright, had dulled with time and something else—jealousy, bitterness and hate.

Freya stepped forward. "We need—"

The Keeper raised a hand. "You need, you need, always needing. But what are you willing to give?"

Freya hesitated. "Anything."

The Keeper's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Then you shall have it."

Magic swirled in the air, heavy and ancient. Freya's vision blurred, and the world tilted—

Then she collapsed.

In the In-between, the past and present wove together.

In the vision, Freya sees Ophelia and before her is one of the Queens. 

Ophelia stood in the stillness of the night, her breath caught in her chest as the air thickened around her. A chill, like the touch of a forgotten memory, crept up her spine. She had been here before. At the edge of reality, where the world blurred.

The Queen stood strong and obscured.

Ophelia's voice trembled. "Who are you?"

"I am what was, and what shall be, if you are not careful." Her voice echoed through her mind, low and haunting, like the whisper of wind through dead trees.

"You seek unity, an awakening, Ophelia," the Queen continued. "You long for the magic that promises to return you to what was. But be warned... magic is not free. It demands a price, a toll paid in flesh or blood, in love or loss."

Ophelia's heart stuttered in her chest. "I know there is a cost," She said.

The Queen laughs darkly "The price you will pay for magic is not just yours. It will cost you the very things you hold dear—the people you love, the very essence of who you are. But the greatest cost... is the price you pay to save your sisters, your world."

Ophelia's pulse quickened at the mention of her sisters. " Would you not save your sister?" She asked, realizing this was one of the Queens.

The Queen's form shimmered, and for a moment, her silhouette blurred with the darkness of the night. "You know nothing of what I paid to save her. And in the end it was not enough." The Queen cried. " You can try to save them to save us. But let me ask you this...are you willing to lose yourself to do it?" 

Ophelia took a step back, the weight of the words pressing upon her chest. "I don't understand…"

"The cost will come to you when you least expect it," the Queen whispered, her tone growing colder. "You will stand at the crossroads of your own heart, forced to choose between love or your sisters. The path to the Queens is fraught with shadows. And only through the greatest of losses will you gain what you seek."

The world around Ophelia seemed to warp, the edges of the shadows stretching, reaching for her. The air turned cold, as if the very night itself held its breath.

"And remember this, child," the Queen's voice softened, almost sad. "What you lose cannot always be returned. Not all things can be restored once broken. Magic will take, but it will not always give back what it has stolen."

Freya's vision blurred, the shadows deepening further until they swallowed Ophelia and the Queen, leaving her alone in the dark.