Nyla didn't move. The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unreal.
She couldn't believe it.
The seer's voice still rang in her ears, breathless and terrified. Lys stood frozen by the door, her eyes gleaming between awe and fear as if Nyla had already begun to change. As if she were no longer herself.
"I don't understand," Nyla said, her voice too calm. "That's not possible. How can I be…the one?"
Lys stepped forward slowly. "The stars shifted. I felt it." She placed her fingers to her temple. "There's only ever one vessel, Nyla. And this time… It's you."
"No," Nyla said. She shook her head. "No one chooses a Vessryn. I'm not even—"
"You're the last," Lys whispered. "That makes you everything."
Outside, the bells began to toll. Once. Twice.
Three times. The Blue Moon had reached its peak.
The rite was soon to begin.
"If what you say is true, then it cannot be," Nyla said, her breath shaking. "I will not allow it."
"That is not something for you to decide." Lys groaned.
"I do not desire to live with a god, let alone be bound to one." Her voice cracked. "I cannot do it." She turned sharply and headed into her house.
Lys followed. "Nyla, there is no picking and choosing when it comes to this. When it comes to destiny."
"If you are as powerful as you say," Nyla snapped, "then change the vessel."
"I cannot change the vessel because I do not make them. From the moment you left the womb of your mother, Nyla—it has been you."
Nyla shook her head, tears welling up. "No. You are wrong."
"You are blessed to have our Lord Ka'el," Lys said softly. "He is the god of light. His reign will bring peace to Myrenn. This is your destiny, child. Embrace it."
"I'm not chosen," Nyla said again, firmer now, as if repetition would undo the truth. "I'm a healer. That is all I have ever been and will be. I've never even left the village."
"Because you are meant for something greater. Aetheris awaits you. Ka'el awaits you."
Nyla stepped forward, her voice low and steady. "I will not listen to what you have to say. And I will not embrace it. You can leave."
"Nyla—"
"I said leave," she growled.
Lys turned slowly, her staff shaking in her hand, as if Nyla's rejection had knocked the breath from her bones. The door shut behind her with a heavy slam.
Nyla exhaled, her chest rising and falling. "No," she whispered. "No, it cannot be."
But deep down, she knew. Lys's visions never failed.
Her heart thundered. She was too young. Too young to be taken from her home, to be marked by a celestial being, to watch over the very people she once walked beside.
"This cannot be," she said again, her breath coming in short gasps. She raved into her room, dragging a sackcloth from beneath the bed. She shoved in what little clothing she had.
Then, a streak of light tore across the sky.
She froze and swallowed hard. Whatever it was she couldn't stay for it. So she moved faster.
She scribbled a short letter to her parents—just enough to say she loved them. That she had to leave. That she was sorry.
Then she slipped into the night, the wind cold against her skin, her heart beating louder than her footsteps.
She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she couldn't be in Myrenn when the gods descended.
She'd never run so far, not in her life.
The trees thinned behind her as she reached the edge of the Direst—a great chasm splitting the forest from the outer wilds. The wind here howled through the headstones of the dead.
Nyla's breath came in frantic bursts. Her hands trembled as she stepped toward the ancient bridge—tired and covered in moonlight.
The Blue Moon bathed everything in a soft glow, too beautiful for a night like this.
She placed a foot on the first plank and it groaned beneath her weight.
Her heart clenched. But she had no choice.
Her hand gripped the side rope, as she took another step, and another—halfway across, before she noticed it.
A figure. Standing at the far end of the bridge, silent and still.
She startled, nearly slipping. Her eyes fixed on him—tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked in darkness.
"Excuse me," she called, her voice faltering.
There was no answer.
She swallowed, steeling her voice.
"Good sir," she tried again, more formal now. "Might you lend me assistance? I seek to cross this way."
Still nothing. The wind caught her voice and scattered it. She frowned. "Sir?"
He moved then. One step forward. The light caught his face.
Nyla tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.
There was something off about him.
Something that bent the air.
Like his presence shifted time, as if the world breathed slower around him.
"I ask again, sir," she said carefully, "will you aid me or not? I have no wish to remain in Myrenn tonight."
He stepped forward. Just one step.
The moonlight touched his face.
Blond hair shimmered like gold. His features were sculpted, otherworldly. And his eyes—green, endless, and ancient.
A chill crept down her spine.
"Are you from the villages?" she asked, softer now.
He did not answer right away. Just watched her. Steady and still.
"I merely ask for your help," she said. "Please."
"You run from something," he said, voice deep and calm.
"I run from nothing," she lied quickly, throwing her cloak over her head.
His mouth curled into something between pity and amusement. "Then why do you flee?"
"I—" She faltered. "It is not your concern."
"It is," he said simply.
"Why?"
He stepped closer, his footsteps barely audible on the grass.
"Because if I help you… And you run, you disrupt fate."
Her breath caught. "What makes you say that?"
"I know who you are, Nyla of the Vessryn." He said darkly.
She staggered back a step. "What…? How do you know my name?"
He bowed his head slightly, and in that small gesture, the air shifted again—like the world had just decided to kneel.
"Because," he said, "I am your Lord Ka'el… and you are my vessel."