Torn Between Destinies

Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty One

The dawn after the mountain’s answer felt still, almost shy. A soft silver light floated over the valley floor. No wind moved the leaves. No birds called. It was like the world had paused, waiting for my next breath.

Orrin met me at the stone circle. He carried no bowl, no herbs, no carved tokens today—only a small staff of pale wood. Its surface was smooth, but old lines of power pulsed beneath the grain.

"Today," he said, "we step beyond flesh."

I rubbed sleep from my eyes. My throat still ached from last night’s howl, but strength hummed in my chest. "You mean leaving my body?"

He nodded. "The Second Way is Spirit-Walking. Your heart has found the moon’s song. Now your spirit must walk the song’s path."

He pointed to a patch of moss at the circle’s center. "Sit. Feet crossed. Spine straight. Breathe slow."

I obeyed. The ground felt cool even through my cloak. Orrin settled across from me, staff resting on his knees.

"Spirit-Walking is not a dream," he said, voice low. "It is not sleep. Your soul steps out while your body waits. If fear pulls you back too soon, you snap awake in pain. If pride pulls you too far, you may forget the way home."

A chill crept over my skin. "How do I know the right distance?"

"Trust your breath. Trust the moon’s hum." He tapped my chest lightly. "Your heart is the tether. Silver thread—unseen, but strong if you keep faith."

I closed my eyes. Orrin’s voice wrapped around me like warm smoke.

"Slow your breath. Feel earth beneath. Feel sky above. Feel the hush between each heartbeat. Let that hush open like a door."

I breathed. In. Out. The world faded to gray. The hum of the moon rose like a far drum. My limbs felt heavy, then light, then both at once. I sensed the tether Orrin spoke of—thin and silver, glowing behind my ribs.

"Now," he whispered, "stand on that thread and lean forward. Let spirit rise."

I leaned—not with muscle, but with something inside, something that listened harder than ears and saw deeper than eyes. A tug, gentle but firm, pulled at my chest.

And suddenly, I lifted.

My body remained on the moss. I felt it like empty clothes around invisible skin. Yet "I"—bright and weightless—hovered a breath above it. A faint silver line stretched from my heart to the shell below.

I gasped. The sound came without lungs. It echoed like wind in a cave.

"Good," Orrin’s spirit said. He now stood beside me, though his body still sat cross-legged on the ground. Spirit-Orrin looked the same—gray hair, clear eyes—but brighter at the edges, as if starlight lined his shape.

He held out his staff. "Come. The path to the world of souls is thin tonight."

We rose together. The valley below shimmered. Colors dimmed. The trees became outlines of light. The sky turned dark, filled with slow-moving sparks—souls drifting like dust in water.

I followed Orrin up an invisible incline. Each step felt like moving through deep water—heavy, silent. The tether at my heart stretched but did not strain.

A shape appeared ahead: a doorway cut from night itself, tall and arched. Beyond it swirled a gray haze. Orrin paused.

"Past this gate lies the bowl of spirits," he said. "All who ever breathed in this land leave echoes there. You will meet the wizard Elivas. He will test you."

My throat tightened though I had no throat here. "I’m ready."

He fixed me with a steady gaze. "If the memory drags you too deep, remember your tether. Pull on it, and it will pull you home."

I nodded. "Will you stay close?"

"I will watch," he said. "But you must walk alone."

I faced the gate. The hum of the moon beat steady. I stepped through.

Cold swallowed me. Sight vanished.

Then light flared.

I stood in a clearing under a moon so huge it filled half the sky. The trees wore leaves of silver. The ground shone like black glass. In the center of the clearing lay a figure in torn robes, blood pooling around him—Elivas.

He looked younger than I pictured—late twenties, sharp features, eyes green as summer moss. Even bleeding, he glowed with quiet power.

He saw me and pushed up on one elbow. "You are the child of breath and howl."

His voice rang like a bell. No anger. No warmth—only knowing.

"I am Luciana," I said.

He studied my face. "You carry my grief in your veins and your mother’s hope in your heart. Why do you come?"

"To end the curse," I said. "To ask forgiveness."

Elivas laughed softly. "Forgiveness? Those wolves long dead cannot seek it. But you live. Will you bear their memory?"

"Yes."

He rose, and the scene changed in a blink.

Now we stood on a hill overlooking a small settlement—huts, gardens, a tiny river. Wolves in human form worked and laughed. Children chased each other. Elivas watched from beside me.

"This was my dream," he said. "A place where magic served all. Where wolves and humans shared the same fire."

The air shifted. Howls echoed from the forest. A large pack burst from the trees—eyes wild, weapons raised. I recognized old Thornridge markings on their tunics.

They charged.

Screams lit the night. Fire spread. Wolves tore down huts, dragged humans into the dirt. Elivas ran forward, hands glowing blue, trying to shield children. But spears pierced him. Blades cut.

I felt every strike in my spirit body—sharp pain that echoed through centuries.

The scene froze. Elivas turned to me.

"Feel what I felt," he said. "Speak their names."

I knelt, trembling. Blood smoked in the stale air. I heard names slip into my mind—Kael, Riona, Dathan—those who died that night. I spoke them. With each name, a weight settled on my shoulders.

Elivas’s eyes softened. "Now choose: hold this pain forever, or return it to the earth."

I bowed my head. Tears fell though, as spirit, I held no water.

"I will carry memory," I said. "But not hate. I will plant their names like seeds. Let them grow as peace."

The hill vanished.

We stood once more under the giant moon. Elivas raised a hand. A white flame appeared above his palm.

"This is my sorrow," he said. "Take it. Shape it."

I reached out. The flame slid into my chest, warm and heavy. It did not burn. It settled, becoming part of my heartbeat.

Elivas smiled—sad, but free. "You have passed."

The clearing dimmed.

His figure blurred like smoke in wind. "The curse weakens. But you must finish. The final trial awaits, beyond breath and blood. Orrin will guide you."

I wanted to thank him, but light swallowed him whole.

Darkness closed.

I felt the tug of the tether. My spirit flew back, faster than thought, through the gate, down into my body.

My eyes snapped open.

The dawn had not yet broken. Orrin sat where I left him, eyes still shut. He opened them slowly.

"You returned," he said.

I nodded, tears still shining on my cheeks. I told him everything—the memory, the flame, the promise.

He closed his eyes in relief. "You have walked deeper than most ever dare. The Vale accepts your vow. The wizard’s sorrow now lives in new soil—your heart. Tend it well."

My chest ached but felt stronger, broader—like it could hold worlds.

Orrin stood. "Rest today. The Third Way begins tomorrow: Blood and Memory."

I lay back on the moss, staring at the pale sky as dawn brushed the highest leaves.

For the first time since entering the Vale, the past no longer felt like a chain.

It felt like wings.

And soon, I would learn to fly with them—higher than any curse could reach.