Her veil of smoke shifted as if caught in an unseen wind. For an instant, I thought I saw her eyes—violet and aglow with some ancient power. They burned, not with malice, but with something far more dangerous: truth and love.
“Mo fhíorghrá,” she whispered, her voice soft now, almost tender. My true love.
I staggered back, clutching my chest as if that could calm the storm she’d awoken inside me.
“You don’t belong here,” I said, but it was a broken plea, not a command.
“I belong wherever you are,” she replied, her voice threading with sorrow. “Even if you don’t understand why. Not yet. But the day will come. I’ll be waiting.”
The shadows rippled, swallowing her whole. Her words, soft and haunting as the echoed through the void, curling around me like smoke as the night swallowed the last of her presence.
I dropped to my knees, the earth beneath me trembling in resonance with my own unsteady spirit.
I knew what I had to do. I had a duty to Órlaith, to my people, to my Queen.
But the darkness in me, the one tied to my being in my dreams, whispered something different. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which voice I’d obey.
