CHAPTER 15: THREADS OF DESTINY

In the West Village, children's gifts typically begin to manifest by the age of five—seven at the latest. Anything beyond that was considered highly unusual. The incident surrounding Moa's birth had caused her mother immense pain. This was because the death of a seer always heralded the birth of a new one. Naturally, everyone believed that the next seer would be Moa.

But as the years went by, it became apparent that nothing was out of the ordinary with her. By her seventh birthday, there were no signs of premonition, no visions, no dreams foretelling the future. Instead, she manifested two of the most common and least valued gifts: an enhanced sense of smell and hearing. To the villagers, this was incomprehensible. Was the seer's death meaningless? They whispered in hushed tones, wondering, If a seer is gone, then who is the next one?

Their questions found answers a week later when another woman in the village gave birth to a child whose gift of premonition became evident right from infancy. This gift was unmistakable—marked by the telltale change in the child's eye color. The village erupted in celebration, eager to welcome the new seer. For a time, Moa's peculiar case was forgotten, replaced by the excitement of a new savior.

This collective relief, however, allowed Moa's family to maintain the fragile shield they had constructed around her. Unbeknownst to her, whispers followed her from birth, branding her as a curse. They claimed that she had caused the seer's death and nearly killed her mother during childbirth. To protect her from the cruel words of the villagers, her family ensured she remained sheltered.

But Moa had long since moved on from the taunts and suspicion that occasionally reached her ears. She devoted herself entirely to books and scrolls. Her days were spent poring over the vast collection her family kept, from treatises on herbal remedies to scrolls chronicling the village's history and myths. Over time, she became extraordinarily knowledgeable, though this knowledge earned her no recognition among the villagers.

One day, as she rummaged through the shelves for something she hadn't read before, her gaze landed on a curious spot at the very top. Intrigued, she climbed down from the stool she'd been using and dragged a taller one into place. As she peered closer, she noticed a narrow hole hidden between two stacks of scrolls.

Strange, she thought. How have I never seen this before?

The hole was just large enough for her fist. Hesitantly, she reached inside, her fingers brushing against cool stone and empty air. She searched cautiously, hoping to avoid any lurking insects. Her persistence was rewarded when her hand closed around something solid and smooth.

Pulling it out, she stared in amazement at the object in her hand—a scroll, unlike any she had ever seen. Its surface felt rough yet delicate, as though it had been made from a material far older than the parchment she was accustomed to. Its thread was bound tightly around it, almost as though it didn't want to be opened.

Moa's curiosity burned. Ignoring the unease creeping into her mind, she climbed down from the stool, sat cross-legged on the floor, and untied the thread. The scroll unraveled to a surprising length, nearly as tall as she was. Its lettering was minuscule and unfamiliar, interspersed with intricate runes.

A strange aura seemed to radiate from it, almost tangible. Each word seemed to pulse with ancient energy, whispering secrets she couldn't yet understand. Though none of the text made sense to her, Moa felt drawn to it, unable to tear her eyes away.

But a sense of foreboding soon followed. This scroll... she thought. It's not meant to be seen.

Realizing the potential consequences of her discovery, she resolved to keep it a secret. Quietly, she slipped it into her room and, for months, studied it in secret. The language was unlike anything she had encountered before, but Moa's relentless determination began to yield results. Slowly, she unraveled the meaning behind its cryptic symbols and runes.

The scroll, she discovered, was written in an ancient tongue—a language used to communicate with beings beyond the natural realm. The more she read, the more the scroll seemed to come alive. It spoke of forbidden knowledge, power, and the grave consequences of its misuse.

When she finally translated the last word a year later, Moa felt both triumphant and terrified. The scroll had made one thing abundantly clear: its secrets were not meant to be shared. Any breach of its laws would bring about dire repercussions.

That night, Moa's sleep was plagued by a dream—one so vivid it felt like a memory rather than a vision.

In her dream, she stood as an observer in a dimly lit room. Midwives crowded around a bed where a woman, her mother, lay in the throes of labor. The air was thick with tension, the kind that preceded something extraordinary.

Then, the door creaked open, and an elderly woman entered. She was unlike anyone Moa had ever seen, her presence commanding silence. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her piercing gaze swept across the room. Moa recognized her immediately—a seer.

The seer approached her mother, placed a hand on her swollen belly, and whispered something in a language Moa now understood: the ancient tongue.

Her breath hitched as the words translated in her mind. The seer spoke of a "forbidden spark," a being tethered to realms beyond comprehension. Before Moa could process the meaning, the seer's eyes locked onto hers, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

Moa froze. How does she see me? She thought. This is a dream... isn't it?

The seer's gaze shifted back to her mother. She pointed a bony finger and spoke Moa's name in a voice barely above a whisper. No one else in the room seemed to notice the gesture, but Moa's heart raced.

The dream ended with the seer's death, her body crumpling to the ground outside the room. Moa jolted awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

The nightmares didn't stop. Night after night, the dream replayed, draining her energy and resolve. Her once vibrant complexion grew pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. When her parents voiced their concern, she brushed it off, assuring them she was fine.

Eventually, her parents decided that Moa needed a change of scenery. Her mother suggested a trip to the market, hoping the fresh air would lift her spirits.

At the market, Moa was momentarily distracted by the golden wheat in a vendor's cart. But just as she turned to follow her mother, she noticed a flash of movement. A creature, majestic and otherworldly, stood at the edge of the marketplace.

Its fur was the whitest she had ever seen, glowing faintly under the sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat as recognition dawned. It was a raizard.

From her studies, Moa knew what this meant. The creature's appearance was no accident. Raizards were messengers, appearing only to those who were deemed special, their presence marking the beginning of an awakening.

The raizard's golden eyes met hers, and it nodded, beckoning her to follow.

Moa didn't hesitate. As if in a trance, she trailed the creature, leaving the bustling market behind. Somewhere deep within, she knew this encounter was no coincidence. This was the beginning of something far greater—a journey that would forever alter her life.