"Sometimes the hardest choice is not the one made, but the one refused."
---
The morning after the Festival of Flames, the village felt quieter — but not peaceful. The air carried the weight of unspoken words, and every glance I caught from the women around me held questions I wasn't ready to answer.
The sun had barely risen, casting pale gold through the canopy. The coolness of dawn whispered against my skin, but inside, my chest felt tight — like a knot tangled too deep to undo.
I stayed in my room longer than usual, tracing the wooden grain of the window frame with trembling fingers as the light shifted across it. The distant sound of laughter and footsteps drifted faintly, but I felt detached, suspended somewhere between two worlds.
Nysa's red ribbon gleamed faintly on my wrist — a quiet pulse against my skin. It was a reminder — or maybe a chain.
My mind replayed every moment from the festival: the flames, the dance, her hand in mine. The near-kiss. The way the firelight had seemed to make her scars glow like constellations.
Could I let myself feel that?
---
A soft knock at the door pulled me back from the edges of my thoughts.
"Amara, the village leader wishes to see you," Nysa's voice was calm but carried an edge I hadn't heard before.
Her presence at the door felt both grounding and heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks.
I swallowed hard and nodded, rising slowly.
The red ribbon felt tighter, as if it sensed the weight I was about to carry.
---
The Elder's chamber was simple, lined with shelves of old scrolls and jars filled with herbs that smelled faintly of earth and sage. The soft flicker of candlelight made shadows dance against the stone walls.
She sat behind a wooden desk, hands folded neatly, her dark eyes studying me carefully — sharp, unwavering, as though she could see every secret I was trying to hide.
"Sit," she said, voice low but commanding.
I obeyed, though my legs felt like they wanted to give out beneath me.
"I imagine the Festival left you with many thoughts," she began. "It is a time of celebration — and reckoning."
I nodded, unsure what to say.
She took a measured breath, her gaze never leaving mine.
"You were brought here by the mirror's choosing. That cannot be undone."
My heart clenched painfully. I already knew that.
"I don't know if I belong here."
The Elder's gaze softened slightly, like a flicker of warmth in a cold stone.
"You have a choice."
I blinked, confusion blooming.
"A choice?" I whispered.
"Yes. To fully commit to the bond. To accept the community, its rules, and your place within it."
Her words settled over me like a heavy cloak — suffocating, impossible to ignore.
"Or you may refuse. Leave Myraea. Return to the world you came from."
I swallowed again, feeling the air grow thick and tight around my throat.
"Is it really that simple?" I asked, voice trembling with disbelief.
"Simple, yes," she said quietly. "Easy, no."
---
The silence between us grew thick and heavy, pressing into the corners of the room.
I thought of my old life — the suffocating expectations, the lies, the fear that had wrapped itself around me like chains.
I thought of Ebuka, the boy my mother wanted me to marry, the quiet promises I'd never meant to keep.
Then I thought of Nysa — her fire, her scars, her quiet strength. The ribbon on my wrist. The bond that pulsed between us even when I tried to deny it.
"I don't want to make that choice," I said finally, voice low but steady.
The Elder's eyes narrowed, sharp as blades.
"You must."
I shook my head, defiance rising despite the trembling in my limbs.
"No. Not yet. I need time. I'm not ready to give up who I was… or who I might become."
She leaned forward slightly, voice sharp and unyielding.
"This is not a game, Amara. The village has rules. The bond is sacred. You cannot live between worlds."
I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of tears threatening to fall.
"Then maybe I won't live here. But I also can't go back."
---
I stood abruptly, heart pounding like a war drum inside my chest.
"Am I not allowed to choose my own path?" I asked, voice rising, breaking the fragile silence.
The Elder's expression was cold now — a hard line cutting through the warmth.
"You can choose. But the consequences will be yours alone."
I turned and walked out without another word, the heavy door closing behind me with a final, echoing thud.
---
Outside, the village felt like a cage. Every step echoed painfully in my chest.
The early sunlight filtered through the branches, casting fractured shadows that seemed to reach for me.
Nysa was waiting near the training grounds, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"You refused," she said simply, voice steady but not unkind.
"I did."
Her jaw tightened. "Why?"
"I'm scared. Confused. And I don't know if I can trust myself yet."
Her gaze softened — but her voice was firm, steady as the earth beneath my feet.
"You don't have to trust yourself all at once. Just take the next step."
I looked away, the sting of tears rising.
"I don't want to lose you."
"You won't," she said quietly. "But if you push me away, I can't promise what will happen."
---
I turned and walked into the forest, the shadows wrapping around me like a shroud.
The scent of pine and earth filled my lungs, but I could barely breathe past the knot in my chest.
I sank to the ground beneath the ancient trees, the moss soft beneath my fingertips, heart heavy with doubt and fear.
The sky above was a tapestry of stars, cold and distant, like distant eyes watching me from another world.
For the first time since I arrived in Myraea, I felt utterly alone.
But deep inside, a small flame flickered — fragile but persistent.
A promise whispered on the wind: You will find your way.
---
I didn't know what the future held.
But I knew one thing for certain.
I wouldn't let fear decide for me.
---
The day stretched on, and with every breath I took, the weight on my chest shifted just a little.
Each moment in the quiet woods was both a retreat and a reckoning. The rustle of leaves, the distant call of a bird — all reminded me that life moved forward, even when my own heart hesitated.
I thought of Nysa's steady gaze, the way her hand had lingered in mine, a tether between certainty and doubt.
Maybe — just maybe — the next step wasn't a leap, but a quiet footfall.
---
That evening, I returned to the village under the fading light, the sky painted
with streaks of orange and purple.
I felt the ribbon on my wrist, warm and constant.
I still didn't have answers.
But I was no longer running.