CHAPTER 17: THE CHOSEN PATH

The sharp wind howled through the northern plains of the kingdom of Aslan, weeping at Moa's withered cloak as she trudged onward, carrying the weight of years on her shoulders. It was a weight she had come to bear, with pride and pain, an unrelenting drive to uncover the truth behind the prophecy that had taunted her since childhood.

After leaving the safety of her village, Moa had transformed herself into a wanderer. She traveled light, her satchel filled with only the barest essentials. A well-worn blade, a map riddled with tears, and a journal in which she recorded the faintest leaps. Each village she passed through brought her closer to her goal, or so she hoped. She had started small, taking odd jobs to survive, guarding merchants on treacherous roads, harvesting crops, even learning the art of healing from a kind old herbalist. But the more she moved, the clearer it became that ordinary trades would not suffice. In the shadows of bustling markets, she overheard whispers of an underground network of assassins.

The idea was both chilling and enticing. Months passed, and Moa became a ghost in the kingdom of Aslan. She was no longer the wide-eyed girl from the village who sought only hope. She had learned to wield shadows, to silence her footsteps, and to disappear into the night. Her hands, once soft and uncalloused, bore the marks of a dozen battles.

Her name spread through the villages, not as a savior or a protector, but as a figure cloaked in mystery. Yet for all her skills, her search for "THE ONE" yielded little more than cryptic tales and vague prophecies. She pushed onward, following any hint, no matter how faint, until she arrived at a village to the north. One steeped in lures as rigid as the stones beneath its foundations.

It started like any other day. She was resting in the village square, nursing a drink she had bought with her meager earnings, when chaos erupted. A merchant, pale and furious, stood shouting, holding an empty coin purse aloft. "She is a thief!" he bellowed, pointing directly at Moa. She froze.

Before she could respond, hands grabbed her, yanking her to her feet. The villagers descended on her like a pack of wolves, their faces twisted with rage. "I didn't take anything!" she protested, struggling against their iron grip. But her words were drowned out by jeers. Someone struck her across the face with the back of a hand. Another drove a knee into her stomach. Pain bloomed in every part of her body as they beat her with sticks and fists. "She paid the price," a voice growled.

Moa's mind raced, searching for a way out. Her years of training had prepared her for moments like this. But fear clouded her instincts. Then, through the haze of pain, she saw her opening. A gap in the crowd, narrow but possible. With every ounce of strength she could muster, she twisted free and ran.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and forbidden. Behind her, the shout of her pursuers grew louder, closer. She stumbled over roots and stones, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her ribs ached, her vision blurred, and her legs screamed with pain, but she kept running. Eventually, her body betrayed her.

She collapsed to her knees, trembling and unable to rise. A hollow in the base of a massive tree caught her eye. A shallow crevice, barely large enough to conceal her. Without hesitation, she crawled inside, biting back a cry as the rough bark scraped against her bruised skin. She pressed herself into the shadows, her heart pounding as the sound of footsteps thundered past.

She didn't move until the forest fell silent. When Moa emerged, the world was shrouded in darkness. The stars, her usual guide, were hidden behind a thick canopy of leaves. She limped onward, her injuries sapping what little strength she had left. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and her parched throat burned with each breath.

By dawn, she could go no further. She collapsed in a clearing, her body giving out beneath her. Voices pulled her from the depths of unconsciousness. She opened her swollen eyes to see figures standing over her, their faces blurred by exhaustion. Panic surged through her veins, and she scrambled to rise, but the pain in her leg forced her back down. "She's awake," one of them said, in a language unfamiliar to her.

Moa's heart pounded. These weren't the villagers who had chased her. Their clothes were different, their accents strange. But fear kept her silent. Then, from the back of the group, a man stepped forward. His skin was weathered by years of travel, and his eyes were sharp with understanding. "You...You are not from here," he said haltingly, his words broken but recognizable. Relief washed over Moa. She clung to every word, desperate for any sign of safety. "I am..." she hesitated. She couldn't reveal too much, not her true origins, not her mission. "I am from the West," she replied.

Her answer seemed to satisfy the group. The man nodded and turned to the others, speaking in their native tongue. Slowly, the tension in the air dissipated. They helped her to her feet, guiding her to the outskirts of their village, a place called Moshi.

Moa's days in Moshi passed in quiet isolation. The villagers kept their distance, wary of her strange presence, but they allowed her to stay, provided she caused no trouble. For this, she was grateful. She spent her time recovering, mending her wounds, and observing the tight-knit community. Years passed. Moshi became her home, a fragile sanctuary far from the chaos of her wandering life. But even here, whispers of destiny found her.

One day, news reached her ears of a child, a girl unlike any villagers had ever seen. They called her "Nanita," an anomaly born of mystery and fear. Moa's curiosity was piqued, and she couldn't resist the urge to see this child for herself. When she finally laid eyes on the girl, sitting beneath an ancient oak tree, something deep within her stirred. It was as if threads of fate were pulling her taut, drawing her closer to the truth she had sought for so long.

Pain surged through her body, sudden and overwhelming. She fell to her knees, clutching her chest, as if her very soul was being torn apart. When the pain subsided, she stared at the child, her vision blurred with tears. Moa knew. This girl, this innocent child, was the key. She was "THE ONE."

The years that followed brought clarity and purpose. Moa kept her distance, waiting for the moment destiny would bring them together. When the news finally came that she would house the girl, it was both a relief and a burden. The first time she saw Lauren at her doorstep, everything Moa had built within herself came crashing down. Her nightmares, her fears, her hope, all of it flooded back. But she steeled herself, masking her emotions behind a calm facade.

Inside, she burned with resolve. Moa vowed to train the girl, to help her uncover the power within. And together, they would find the answers.