CHAPTER 14: REMEMBRANCE

As every other day came to a close, training had ended, leaving Moa and Lauren exhausted and eager for a meal. Twilight draped the sky in soft hues, casting shadows over the forest as the chilly evening breeze swept through, rattling leaves. Small animals scurried into their hidden burrows, settling in for the night, while crickets began their evening song. The sun dipped below the horizon, flooding the landscape in the amber glow of sunset. Turning to Lauren, Moa instructed her to check the traps; whatever they caught would be their dinner. A short while later, Lauren returned with two rabbits—a modest catch, but enough for the evening. They cooked the rabbits into a simple broth, pairing it with the last of their stale bread, and ate in quiet contentment. Worn out from the day, they retired to bed

Moa had been feeling unsettled since early that morning, a strange feeling stirring inside her that she couldn't quite place. Despite the nagging discomfort, she pressed through training with Lauren, focusing her attention on each task and hoping to shake off the odd sensation. As evening settled, exhaustion from the day's work dulled the strange feeling, slipping it from her mind, and soon she was fast asleep.

But in the dead of night, Moa jolted awake, her heart racing, her chest tight with the fading traces of a vivid dream—a dream she hadn't had in years. She sat up, struggling to catch her breath, her pulse loud in the stillness. Across the room, Lauren lay sound asleep, her face peaceful, a stark contrast to Moa's disquiet. Rising silently, Moa left the small room, seeking the crisp night air to calm her nerves. Outside, the moon hung bright in the sky, casting a pale, silvery light over the clearing, and Moa let her gaze wander into the depths of the forest to the west, where shadows lay thick.

This was no ordinary dream; it was the same vision that had haunted her for over two decades. Not quite a nightmare, yet not a simple dream—it felt like a message she was meant to understand. She had tried countless times to decipher its meaning but found only silence and shadows. Now, on this still night, Moa took a steadying breath, feeling the cool air brush against her skin. She eased herself to the ground, crossing her legs, her posture relaxed yet grounded. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, her senses opening to the quiet around her, a meditative calm settling over her as she sank inward, searching.

For a moment, everything stilled, and she felt herself sinking deeper, further into the vastness within, surrounded by an endless dark. And then, faintly, a glimmer of light appeared in the distance. She followed it, drifting forward until she saw a door. Reaching out, she opened it, stepping into a bright, familiar landscape, one she had not seen in ages.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden rays that reflected off the clay walls of the bustling marketplace. A dry wind blew through the air, mingling with the smells of freshly baked bread, dried spices, and earthy vegetables. Voices overlapped in a chaotic symphony of bartering: a woman haggling over the price of a basket of yams, a vendor calling out the quality of his fish, children squealing as they darted between legs. The heat of the day caused a sheen of sweat to glisten on every brow, but no one stopped moving. People hurried from stall to stall, their sandals kicking up tiny puffs of dust, their arms laden with goods. The market was alive, vibrant, and overwhelming.

Moa clutched her mother's hand tightly, her small fingers nearly trembling with excitement. It was her first time seeing the market, her first time stepping outside the protective confines of her home. Her feet bounced impatiently as her mother paused at a stall to inspect a string of dried fruits. Moa's dark eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in everything at once—the sights, the colors, the faces. She felt her heart race in her chest. This was the world outside, the world she had only ever imagined.

Her mother noticed her giddiness and gave her a small smile. "Stay close to me," she warned gently. Moa nodded, though her gaze was already fixed on a passing cart carrying bundles of golden wheat. She had heard tales of the market from her father, who described it as a place where wonders lay hidden in every corner, where one could meet people with the most fascinating stories. But none of it had prepared her for the sensory explosion she was now experiencing. It was all so new, so magical

For as long as she could remember, Moa had been confined to the four walls of her home. Her parents rarely let her venture outside, and when she did, it was only into the small courtyard behind the house. She had never questioned it as a child, thinking perhaps this was how all children lived. But the older she grew, the more she realized her life was different. Visitors were rare, and when they did come, they never brought children along. Her grandmother would often mutter something about "keeping her safe" when Moa begged for a playmate, and the adults in the house would exchange uneasy glances before distracting her with toys or stories.

One quiet afternoon, when the house was unusually empty, Moa stood on tiptoes to peer out of a small, dust-covered window. For the first time, she saw them—children. A group of them playing just beyond the courtyard, their laughter ringing like music. She gasped in delight, pressing her face closer to the glass. She had never seen anyone her own age before. Her heart swelled with joy, and without thinking, she threw open the window and called out to them.

"Hello!" she cried, her voice bright and filled with excitement.

The children froze. They turned to look at her, their faces quickly morphing from surprise to fear. Moa smiled, expecting them to greet her back, but instead, they exchanged whispers. Then one of them hissed, "It's her. The curse."

Moa's smile faltered. "Curse?" she repeated softly, confused.

Another child spoke louder this time, their voice trembling. "We're not supposed to talk to her. She'll curse us if we do!"

The words hit her like a slap. She watched, frozen, as the children scurried away, their laughter replaced by hushed murmurs. She slammed the window shut and ran to her room, tears streaming down her cheeks. That evening, when her parents returned, she ran to her mother and asked in a trembling voice, "Mommy, am I cursed?"

Her mother froze. "Who told you that?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow.

When Moa recounted the children's words, her mother hugged her tightly, stroking her hair. "You are not cursed," she whispered fiercely. "You are special, my darling. Don't ever let anyone make you believe otherwise."

But despite her mother's words, Moa's life became even more restricted after that day. She was never left alone, and any glimpse of the outside world was carefully monitored.

As Moa grew, the weight of her isolation began to feel heavier. She couldn't help but notice the side glances, the murmurs that followed her. Though she looked like everyone else, she could feel the difference in the way they treated her. The whispers carried a question she had no answer to—why?

The truth, as everyone in her family knew, lay in the story of her birth. It was a story whispered in hushed tones, told and retold until it became more legend than memory.

The day Moa was born, a seer—a rare and revered figure in their village—had entered the house uninvited. Her arrival caused a ripple of fear and awe among those present. Seers were known to possess the gift of premonition, but their lives were brief, rarely extending beyond thirty years. Yet this particular seer had lived far longer, a mystery that had unsettled the entire village. For decades, she had remained secluded in her home at the edge of the village, her presence felt but unseen.

When the seer walked into the labor room, the air seemed to grow heavier. Without a word, she approached Moa's mother, placing a gnarled hand on her swollen belly. She spoke in an ancient tongue, her voice low and melodic, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. No one in the room understood her words, but they felt their weight.

Then, just as suddenly as she had come, the seer turned to leave. She had barely taken a few steps when her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Gasps filled the room, and chaos erupted. At that very moment, Moa was born, her first cries mingling with the terrified shouts of those around her.

Nothing like this had ever happened in the history of the village. The seer's death marked Moa's birth, and from that day on, a shadow seemed to hang over her life.