Prava lowered herself to the glowing circle, her knees pressing against the cool stone. The water shimmered brighter, and Kaelthar's voice rumbled through the cavern:
"Close your eyes, child. What you seek is not ahead, but behind. Look into the blood that made you."
The moment her eyes shut, the lake stirred. Images rose from its depths, woven of mist and light.
A young man appeared—strong, graceful, with eyes burning faintly like embers. But his form wavered, shifting between man and dragon.
Her breath caught. Father…?
The vision unfolded. Ten years ago.
The man wandered the human lands, shedding his scales for flesh. He sought freedom from the weight of destiny, wishing only to learn how mortals lived. But in the world of men, greed was sharper than any blade.
A banquet. A poisoned drink. His strength faltered, his breath heavy. He stumbled into the forest, his body failing him.
There, a young woman appeared—simple, weary from gathering herbs. She did not know who he was, only that he was dying. She tried to help… but his instincts and his desperation turned violent.
Prava flinched as the vision forced her to watch: her father, in pain and confusion, binding her mother's fate against her will. And from that night, her mother carried a child—the child the village would call cursed.
The vision shifted again.
The mother returned to the village, her belly swelling. Whispers spread like fire.
"An omen."
"A curse."
"If she bears that child, misfortune will fall on us all."
They drove her out—stones, shouts, the cruel weight of tradition crushing her. In the dark of exile, she gave birth… to Prava.
Tears stung Prava's eyes. Her voice cracked.
"…I was never wanted. Not by the village… not even by fate."
The image wavered, fading into the glow of the lake. Kaelthar's gaze held her, steady and unyielding.
"You were not born in sin, child. You were born of two worlds—dragon and human. Both rejected you, yet both flow within you. That is not a curse… but a trial. The question is not what you are… but what you choose to become."
Prava's hands clenched against her lap. The shame, the anger, the grief—they burned inside her like a storm. But in their fire, a fragile spark of resolve began to shine.