11

Canya crossed her arms, the very air around her bristling as she confronted her father in the living room. "What is he to us?" Her voice, usually soft, was a whip-crack.

Thomas, an unreadable stillness about him, turned slowly. His eyes, usually warm, narrowed to slits. "Have you seen the signs?"

"I've seen nothing, Father," she shot back, her patience fraying. "You speak of destiny, of prophecy, but you've never told me what this prophecy actually is."

Thomas paused, hands clasped behind his back, a familiar barrier. "Some things," he stated, his gaze distant, "must unfold naturally."

"Don't give me riddles, Father!" Canya's voice cracked with a new, sharp edge. "You brought him here with magic. You lied to him, and to me, by omission." The accusation hung heavy.

Thomas held her gaze, his expression a fortress. "You will know everything," he finally said, "when the time is right."

"And what time is that," she demanded, "if not now?"

He offered only silence.

A frustrated growl escaped her as she spun on her heel, stalking toward the corridor, the unanswered questions burning in her wake.

Inside the room, Allan stood, enveloped by a silence that felt less like peace and more like a held breath. It wasn't the quiet of a house at rest; it was the suffocating stillness of expectation, as if the very air waited for him to make a choice.

The room was warm, inviting, but alien. His few belongings were already neatly arranged on the side table, a silent testament to hands other than his own. A shiver traced his spine.

He stripped off his dusty clothes, the grit of his journey still clinging to him, and splashed water from the basin over his face. When he looked in the mirror, his reflection seemed subtly wrong. His eyes, darker, older, were shadowed with a weariness he didn't recognize. The man staring back was caught between decisions, haunted by every single one.

He pulled on the clean, unfamiliar shirt and trousers left for him, then collapsed onto the bed. Fatigue, a deep, pervasive weight, dragged him under almost instantly.

٭٭٭

Allan stood beneath a sky ripped open by lightning. A storm, a maelstrom of dark energy, roiled above, yet not a single drop of rain fell. Before him, Lulu, ethereal and haunting, stood precariously near the edge of a crumbling cliff. Her dress whipped around her, her hair a wild, dark halo in the unseen wind.

"Lulu," he breathed, a desperate plea, stepping toward her.

She turned, her face a chilling shade paler than he remembered. Her eyes, pools of deep sorrow, held a terrifying, unyielding resolve.

"You're not where you think you are, Allan." Her voice, a mournful echo, seemed to come from everywhere at once.

He froze. "Where am I?"

"You're inside something," she whispered, her gaze distant. "A design. A web, whose mastermind is Thomas." The words were an icy chill down his spine.

"I came to find you," he insisted, though a cold dread was beginning to twist in his gut.

"And in doing so," she replied, her voice gaining an unsettling resonance, "you walked into a path far beyond anything you can comprehend."

The wind shrieked, carrying a cacophony of voices: whispering, chanting, a rising crescendo of sound. Behind her, a staff began to materialize, black and impossibly twisted, long, with a malevolent glow pulsating at its base.

Lulu's eyes widened, her last flicker of light before despair. "They will ask you to choose. Do not be quick to choose, for what you choose will be the road you walk."

And then, as if woven from the very storm, she simply vanished.

٭٭٭

Allan woke with a violent jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs, sweat slicking his forehead. He shot upright, disoriented by the dream's raw, visceral reality.

A soft rap at the door.

"Allan?" Canya's voice, hushed, drifted through the wood.

He hesitated, his mind still reeling. "Yes?"

"Can I come in?"

He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, then approached the door. "Why?"

"I brought food. You didn't eat earlier."

He pulled open the door. She stood there, a bowl of stew and rice steaming on a wooden tray. Her eyes, though tired, held a deeper, unsettled flicker.

"Come in," he said.

She entered slowly, placed the tray on the side table, and looked around the room.

"You slept?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "And I had a dream."

She turned to face him. "So did I."

That caught his attention.

She crossed her arms, a silent challenge. "Tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

He hesitated, then, "I saw Lulu. She warned me. There was a staff. Black, impossibly long, with something glowing at its base."

Canya's eyes widened, a dawning horror in their depths. "I saw the same staff," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But I was alone. The wind spoke my name. It said: 'You will have to choose, and your choice will be the path you walk.'" She looked at him, her gaze desperate. "But I don't even know what I'm choosing between."

Allan stared at her, a cold realization dawning. "Then you truly don't know what your father's doing?"

She shook her head. "I know there's a prophecy, but he never told me what it actually said. Only that I'd understand when it is fulfilled." She looked down. "And now you're here, and something is happening."

Allan turned toward the window. "He said my spirit stirred in your presence. He talked like he knew my fate better than I did."

Canya nodded slowly. "He believes he sees what's ahead, but I'm starting to think even he doesn't see the whole picture."

A heavy silence settled between them, charged with unspoken fears.

"I didn't want to be part of anyone's plan," Allan finally admitted, his voice rough. "I only came here because I thought I'd find Lulu."

"I believe you," Canya said softly, her gaze steady. "But I also believe you were meant to come here. Maybe not for the reason he thinks. And maybe not even for me."

Allan's gaze snapped to hers. "Then for what?"

Canya stepped closer, her eyes earnest, luminous with a new resolve. "That's what I intend to find out. I don't trust everything my father says. But I do trust what I feel, and I think whatever this prophecy is, it's about far more than just two people."

She gestured to the untouched food. "Eat. Rest. At twilight, Allan, we find out what my father has been hiding from both of us."