Mrs Goodtree set the receiver down with a soft click, her hand lingering on it as though the plastic still held warmth. She drew in a long, shuddering breath.
Zahra hadn't gone to class again.
Under any other circumstance, she might have scolded her or tried to reason with her. But today, the news only confirmed what she already knew.
The time was drawing close.
Not in a vague, ominous way — but in the way a mother senses the moment she must let go of her child… no matter how many lifetimes she has waited to hold her again.
She closed her eyes. The dreams had returned these last few months. The Goddess's voice — gentle and mournful — whispering through the veil of sleep, like she did on the day she died, all those years ago.
Prepare yourself.
The darkness rises again.
She will need you one last time.
You have done well.
The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet. Mrs Goodtree wrapped her arms around herself, the memories unfurling like desert sand caught in wind. She remembered the palace — sunlight glinting off limestone, the smell of incense curling through the hallways. She remembered her husband's desperate arms around her as her body weakened, his tears falling into her hair. They had prayed for a child for years, a dream that never came.
Then her body grew even weaker as grief and illness hit all at once. They tried everything, but no medicine helped. Then they turned to the only thing they had left, legend.
The Forgotten Oasis. Their only hope.
He set off by himself; she couldn't bear to see him go. Countless others had sought it and were claimed by the sands. But somehow, he had made it; the Gods saw him and granted him passage. And there, in its heart, he had found Zahra.
The child they had longed for.
The child she had died for.
The moment the Goddess spoke to her, gave her the choices, and promised to respect whatever she chose, she knew what she would do.
Live a short remaining life and watch darkness claim the world…
Or die — and wait.
Wait across lifetimes. Across centuries. Across reincarnation, after reincarnation.
Wait for her.
And she had waited — faithfully, fiercely, painfully — through lifetime after lifetime, searching for the girl she had once held in her arms.
Until one winter morning, a terrified little child with wild eyes and bare feet had been left on her doorstep.
Zahra. Her daughter.
And now — now that same divine pull, that same ancient darkness that once had threatened their world — she felt it again. Stronger. Closer. As if the centuries between then and now had been nothing more than the inhale before a storm. She knew what it meant.
There was an unspoken truth between the Goddess and the servant.
A tremor of grief shook her.
She moved to the kitchen with slow steps, the weight of countless lifetimes pressing against her spine. Climbing onto the small stool beside the bin, she reached for the top of the cupboard. Her fingertips brushed cold ceramic.
The jar.
Once filled with money solely to pay fines, it was now her offering.
Her preparation. Her farewell.
She brought it down gently, as if it were a relic, and placed it on the counter. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the last of the cash that she had. Folding the notes neatly, she slipped them through the thin opening and worked them gently into the pot. The notes inside barely rustled — she had packed it tight with money Zahra would need for the journey ahead.
Money for destiny.
Her gaze drifted toward the hallway, toward the small table drawer where a tin box rested — the same box Zahra had been found with. A sacred box. A promise made in another life.
Her throat tightened painfully. She was ready to give it to her… but her heart wasn't ready to let her go. She pressed both hands against the ceramic jar and bowed her head.
She had lived hundreds of lives to find Zahra again.
She had raised her. Loved her. Cared for her the only way she knew how.
But destiny does not bend for love.
It never has. Some things are already written.
Though the Goddess had returned to her dreams with warnings and the darkness felt closer each night, she was still just a mother, trembling at the thought of losing her child again.
"It's too soon," she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
"It's far too soon…" But the air around her seemed to hum with ancient certainty.
The time was coming.
And she would have to let her daughter go.