The village of Aerwyn slept beneath a curtain of mist. Smoke curled from thatched rooftops, and the quiet hum of early morning dew whispered through the grass like a secret only the earth could hear.
Elira stood alone at the edge of the only road that led out.
The satchel on her shoulder was modest—bread she had baked herself, a canteen of boiled spring water, and the silver pendant around her neck, its rune softly glowing like the breath of a sleeping star.
Behind her, the familiar warmth of the village flickered in her memory. The crooked chimney of Old Myra's bakery, the faded blue door of the orphanage, the moss-covered stones that lined the garden path.
All of it had been home.
But no longer.
Not since she had seen him.
Not since the reflection in the sacred pool had whispered her name back with longing and certainty.
She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
> "You're really leaving?" came a quiet voice from behind.
Elira turned. It was Tomas, the young stable boy with hay in his hair and sorrow in his eyes.
> "Yes," she said gently. "I have to."
> "You don't even know where you're going," he muttered.
Elira smiled faintly. "I don't need to know. My heart does."
Tomas looked down at the dirt. "Will you come back?"
Elira hesitated, her eyes soft. "If the stars will it."
He gave a small nod and slipped something into her hand—a small bundle of lavender, wrapped in cloth.
> "To keep your dreams sweet," he said. "And your steps light."
She pressed it to her chest and whispered, "Thank you."
Then she turned, and walked away.
---
The road was long, lined with silver birch trees that rustled gently, as if murmuring encouragement. Birds called to each other across branches, and the sky slowly shifted from pale gray to gentle blue.
Each step away from Aerwyn felt like a stitch being pulled free from her old life. But it didn't hurt—it felt like shedding skin, becoming something closer to what she was meant to be.
As midday approached, Elira paused beside a brook to rest. She knelt, cupped water in her hands, and sipped slowly. The rune around her neck pulsed softly in response—as if sensing she was on the right path.
> "Where are you?" she whispered to the wind.
Somewhere far across the kingdom, Kael opened his eyes.
He sat upright in his traveling cot, pulled by the same invisible thread.
> "She's moving," he said aloud.
Maren raised an eyebrow. "She?"
Kael's voice was steady. "The girl. Elira. She's left her village. I can feel it."
Maren gave a slow nod. "Then so must we."
---
Their caravan rolled along the merchant roads, Kael's specially crafted chair secured inside. Guards flanked their sides, posing as simple travelers to avoid suspicion. Though Kael was still a prince, few in the outer lands knew his face—especially with his hood drawn.
But inside his heart, a new fire had awakened.
Gone was the bitterness. Gone was the shame of weakness.
He didn't care if he could not walk.
He would still find her.
---
Elira's journey took her through meadows and forest paths, across creaking bridges and over silent hills. She traded bread for directions, offered mending work for coin, and slept beneath trees with stars as her only blanket.
But every night—she dreamed of him.
In her sleep, she saw his hands, strong despite the trembling. She heard his voice, warm despite the pain. She felt the echo of his soul, as if the heavens themselves had chosen them to belong to one another.
And every morning, the rune on her pendant glowed a little brighter.
---
One evening, as she entered a small mountain village, she found a group of travelers gathered around a fire. They were merchants, resting from their long ride from Theralis.
She sat at a respectful distance, but close enough to listen.
> "Have you heard?" one woman whispered. "They say the second prince is still alive—though cursed."
> "You mean the crippled one?" another spat. "A shame to the throne. Should've been drowned at birth."
Elira's fists clenched.
> "They say he wanders now," the first added. "Looking for something. Or someone."
Elira stood.
> "He's not cursed," she said, voice trembling but firm. "He's chosen."
The merchants blinked at her.
> "And how would you know that?" the man asked with a sneer.
Elira met his gaze without flinching.
> "Because I've seen him. And he is more whole than any king you'll ever know."
With that, she walked away—into the darkening woods, the pendant around her neck glowing brighter than ever.
---
That night, she lit a fire beneath an ancient tree.
The flames danced in patterns she could not understand—but somehow recognized.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out the parchment she had copied from the runes. The symbols pulsed faintly as the firelight touched them, revealing lines and curves she hadn't noticed before.
A map.
Or perhaps, a trail.
She didn't know how she knew—but she knew.
> "You're calling me," she whispered to the pendant. "And I will answer."
---
Far across the land, Kael stared at the night sky.
> "We're getting closer," he said.
Maren looked at the stars, then back at him.
> "And when you find her?"
Kael was quiet for a long moment.
> "Then… I'll ask if she still wants me. As I am."
Maren smiled gently. "I think you already know the answer."
---
The chapter closed with two souls walking toward one another—on roads that wound through trees, stars, and fate itself.
And somewhere, high above in the Celestial Realm, the gods watched in silence.
> "They move," the silver-robed goddess said.
> "Yes," answered the veiled god. "Toward the storm."