Zyar shows far more interest in whether the Kairon have accepted me and if his plans can move forward than in my well-being. Sylas carefully tends to the wound, indicating his care and attention, but Zyar does not seem to be emotionally concerned about it at all. Since I’ve spent my life far away from the Losniw, he is convinced that my powers lie dormant somewhere deep within me, waiting to be awakened. According to him, every Elindine possesses the powers of their village by the age of five. The fact that I still don’t have mine, in his opinion, stems from my indecision.

  “What did you say to them that made them bid you farewell from their world like this?” Zyar asks, utterly bewildered, looking at me expectantly. “Vespera, this isn’t some trivial game!”

  “I know that!” I reply indignantly. I stand up, and Sylas pulls his hands back to avoid stopping me. “But how am I supposed to answer the question of why I stand with the Solniw?”

  “You tell them that the Losniw mean no good and that you’re doing Elindros a favor by opposing Losnat!” he snaps, beside himself. “How hard can that be?”

  “Could you turn against your own kind?” I counter, but immediately realize it was a mistake.

  Zyar now looks at me questioningly, arms crossed over his chest. He taps his foot restlessly on the grass. “You have no reason to ask yourself that question. After all, you didn’t grow up in Losnat.”

  “That’s true,” I admit, yet I feel a deep sadness within me. All these years, I’ve found no place in the human world because I actually belong in Losnat. “But I can’t just blindly take your side. I need proof that the Losniw are truly as terrible as you’re trying to make me believe.”

  “Proof, is it?” Zyar asks, as if to ensure he’s understood me correctly. “It seems you’re still not ready to accept this truth. But fine, you can shirk your destiny. It’s not the first case in your family.” He’s talking about my mother. Weren’t they once friends? How can he speak of her like this? “But don’t expect anyone in Elindros to treat you kindly once they find out where you really come from.”

  Sylas remains silent. He’s risen from the ground and now stands still beside his father. Despite all his efforts to care for me, he hasn’t taken a side in this matter. He, too, must harbor deep hatred for the Losniw if he won’t support me in this. Why? Why does he even care about me then?

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do, in your opinion?” I ask, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “Should I become the new vessel for the Sonatius Mortaeda just to satisfy the Elindine? Should I be the first Losniw to beg for forgiveness for the deeds of my ancestors? What exactly do you expect from me?”

  “Exactly that is what you must do,” Zyar replies with a bitter look, his eyes reflecting his hatred for the Losniw. What is the origin of this hatred? The betrayal of Velris Entium cannot possibly linger for 500 years! “You, Vespera Entium, are to be the Losniw who brings peace to Elindros. You must stand with the righteous and safeguard the power of the Primordial Being.”

  “And what about the Losniw after me?” I ask, horrified. “What happens if the next vessel doesn’t fall under your control? Who knows if you’ll even be alive by then, considering the last eight vessels were born within 500 years!”

  Zyar remains silent but fixes me with an intense gaze that leaves no room for doubt. He sighs and lowers his arms. “Very well. Your task is to free Losnat from its current tribal leader. You are not the rightful heir to the throne, but it was easier to tell you that on the surface of the sea than to explain the history of the Solniw and Losniw in such a short time.”

  “The tribal leader of Losnat?” I repeat, looking at him curiously. “Who is this Elindine, and what has he done to deserve removal?”

  “Drelos Entium,” Zyar replies without hesitation. “A cruel Elindine who oppresses his own people. You must strip him of his power and ensure that the next vessel does not fall into the hands of these power-hungry Losniw.”

  Overthrow a leader? Bringing down a king is already a bold endeavor, but a violent Elindine?

  “What if I manage to overpower him with a strength I don’t currently possess?” I ask, looking at Zyar challengingly. “What happens then? As long as no one knows where the Sonatius Mortaeda is, there won’t be a new vessel in Elindros. What if Drelos Entium knows the answer but refuses to share it unless we work with him?”

  “I suspect that by mastering the Thought Weaving, you will establish direct contact with the Sonatius Mortaeda,” Zyar says confidently.

  “So I’m supposed to act on yet another assumption?” I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “Fine, let’s say I trust your words and follow this path: how am I supposed to convince the Kairon of my intentions?”

  “They know your heart, Vespera,” Sylas says in a calm voice. “Your words are secondary. Your destiny is to protect those Elindine who have done no wrong but simply want to live. The same applies to the Losniw. Those among them with pure intentions deserve your protection. The vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda is a beacon of light in the pervasive darkness of Elindros.”

  Despite all my objections and resistance, I feel an urge to help Zyar and Sylas execute this plan. Sure, Losnat is my home village, the place where I might truly belong. But it is fate that I have become the vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda. My encounters with Noctalis and Solaria have already left their mark. I was uncertain, hesitant to stand against the Losniw—but now I feel clarity, a decision taking shape: to make a choice, I must see this world with my own eyes, understand Solnya, Losnat, and every place in between. My eyes must face the truth so that my path can be illuminated.

  “I will stand by your side,” I finally admit, the determination in my voice unmistakable. “If necessary, I will become the new vessel of the Sonatius Mortaeda to keep its power from the Losniw. I will take on this task.”

  The thought of sharing my soul and body with this mighty being fills me with deep fear. But if this is the only way to avert the looming threat, I will no longer shirk my destiny. I look at Zyar, and in his gaze, I see satisfaction—but also a hint of worry etched in the lines of his forehead. Not concern for me, but… something else. But what?

  “That is a good start,” he says firmly. “However, this journey will pose a greater challenge, as we don’t know the current state of Losnat.”

  “Does the king not know what his subjects are up to?” I ask incredulously.

  “The king only cares about what harms him personally,” Zyar sighs. “He is obsessed with his power. Dareth Feroy made a pact with Velris and her people: as long as the power struggles remain confined to the village, he lets them do as they please. All he cares about is the power of the Sonatius Mortaeda.”

  A king who puts his realm second and makes secret deals for his own benefit—disgraceful! A king should protect his kingdom, not make covert arrangements.

  “And what’s the plan if no one knows where the Sonatius Mortaeda is?” I want to know. “I don’t know all of Elindros, but searching the entire world would be impossible. Or are you suggesting I travel straight to Losnat tomorrow? To the other end of Elindros?”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Zyar raises his hand. “Focus on mastering the Thought Weaving. Leave the planning to me. Sylas will assist me.” He turns to his son. “We have much to do, and it must be completed before Vespera awakens her powers.”

  Sylas nods and approaches me. His gaze lingers for a moment on my treated wound. “Before you go to sleep, I need to tend to it once more,” he says with a gentle smile—the only warmth in this cold world.

  Both of them retreat into the house, leaving me alone with the Kairon. The two beings study me incessantly, and ever since our last encounter, their presence makes me uneasy. But I have no choice. If I am to master the Thought Weaving, I must pass their trial. I know it will demand everything of me, yet a single failure cannot deter me.

  Determined, I face the mighty beings who, though insignificant chess pieces compared to the Sonatius Mortaeda, still fill me with fear. This time, they do not rise from the depths of the ocean; instead, they swim in circles, as they did in Zyar’s garden, and I stand in their midst.

  “The vessel has made a decision,” Noctalis declares, his voice dangerous and cold. “Speak—what is your answer?”

  Solaria steps forward. “What do you fight for, Vespera Entium?”

  “For myself,” I reply, feeling the certainty within me, the clarity of my decision. The Kairon remain silent, their circling unbroken. “I do not know if this choice will lead me to a better Elindros. But no one—no Elindine, no other being—can demand this of me. I will fight alongside those who strive for peace with me. But first, I will understand Elindros itself and uncover what the term ‘peace’ truly means in this world.”

  Noctalis and Solaria face each other, their gazes interwoven, piercing and filled with unspoken meanings. No breeze, no stirring of the sea can distract my senses from the weight of the moment. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, and a paralyzing fear grips me—the fear that they might reject me again, that they might deny me a second chance. This dread chokes my breath.

  “Awakened by blood...” Noctalis speaks, his voice like the roar of a tempest.

  “...bound by fate,” adds Solaria, her melody resonating deeply within my soul.

  In unison, as if their voices were one, they declare: “You shall be the vessel, as were those before you. Fulfill your purpose and honor the covenant. From now on, your life is no longer yours, and your body no longer your own.”

  The Kairon’s circling quickens with each passing second. The vortex they create makes my hair stand on end, and the sea rages. The colors of Noctalis and Solaria merge, their forms indistinguishable, a whirl of light and darkness.

  Suddenly, the world around me plunges into utter darkness. The only thing my senses can perceive is a faint glow in the distance. Without thinking, I begin to move toward it, as if an invisible force compels me. With each step, the glow takes shape.

  It is an infant. Peaceful, serene, as if unaware of the world. I hear its soft, rhythmic breathing, as though it happens directly in my ear. In this darkness, there is no one but me, no one but this child who—whatever it may be—is utterly alone in this void. I lean over the cradle to examine the child’s face more closely.

  And then it happens. The infant opens its eyes—one blood-red, the other a radiant gold. Its gaze pierces through me as if seeking to obliterate my very essence, and a chilling terror shoots through my body. My instincts urge me to recoil, but an unseen force holds me captive, forcing me to remain in the darkness.

  In a single, shattering moment, images flash before my eyes—images I cannot comprehend, threatening to tear me apart. A desolate, somber village devoid of hope. The infant being carried into the darkness of a house by a woman with long, snow-white hair and green eyes clouded with worry.

  Could it be? Is it possible that this woman… is my mother? And the infant—could that be… me? But how? Where am I—in the human world or in Elindros?

  The woman gently strokes the child’s hair, a tear rolling down her cheek as she places a finger on its forehead. The infant lets out a piercing scream, so powerful it strikes me like a storm, hurling me back like a leaf in the wind. Yet instead of falling to the ground, I find myself ascending. The blue sky stretches above me as though it has consumed me to carry me away.

  Before I can grasp what is happening, my body plunges downward with blinding speed—and then, as though the universe itself has rejected me, I suddenly find myself once again before the Kairon. Panicked, I clutch my forehead, feeling a pulsing sensation embedded deep within me, as if the woman from the vision had inflicted this pain on both the infant and me.

  “Are you all right?” Sylas’s concerned voice reaches me as he kneels beside me. His eyes dart quickly to Noctalis and Solaria, who observe silently, like sentinels. “The Kairon have shown you.”

  “What… what did they show me?” I stammer, still reeling from the vision that shook me to my core.

  “Fragments of your past,” Zyar says in a low voice, fixing me with a gaze of unfathomable depth. “They have removed the block in your subconscious, enabling the Thought Weaving.”

  A realization dawns on me. “I’ve taken the first step!” But a burning question lingers. “Why did I feel the pulsing pain in my forehead, as though the woman in my vision inflicted the same agony on both the infant and me?”

  “It’s simple,” Zyar responds gravely. “You were that infant. Your body was made the vessel for the Sonatius Mortaeda.”

  “Then my mother carried it within her! But why is the entity now nowhere to be found?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  “That is what I intend to uncover,” Zyar says thoughtfully and advises me to gather strength for the tasks ahead. I want to protest—but my body craves rest.

  “I’ll show you around the village,” Sylas offers with a gentle smile, a smile that stirs both nervousness and hope within me. “Don’t worry, the Solniw have already been informed of your arrival. Soran Vaylon, the current leader of Solnya, has granted permission for you to stay in the village at the start of your journey.”

  “Doesn’t anyone mind that the vessel has returned to Elindros?” I ask, a note of concern in my voice. “Isn’t that considered a bad omen?”

  Sylas shakes his head resolutely, as though the idea that my return might bring misfortune is utterly absurd. “On the contrary,” he says, his voice lowering, almost reverent. “As I’ve said before, you are a beacon of hope to many Elindine. Elindros hasn’t been a safe place for a long time. To us, you are the salvation we have desperately awaited—the deliverance promised to us in our darkest hours.”

  His words pierce through me like a ray of light, unfurling within me into a glowing certainty. In the human world, where wars are waged over land or riches, I had never truly imagined that Elindros might also be shattered by such struggles—a world imbued with forces and wonders. How naive I was to think things would be different here.

  Yet the vastness of this world, the unknown terrain beyond Zyar’s estate, fills me with uneasy apprehension. So far, I have only met the father and his son—no other Solniw. But with Sylas at my side, I feel ready to face whatever dangers lie ahead.

  Zyar hasn’t joined us. He decided to stay behind and conduct research, leaving Sylas and me to walk the streets of Solnya alone. Strangely, I find myself enjoying this unexpected situation. Would normal girls my age feel the same excitement about a walk alone with a handsome man? Should I even allow myself such childish thoughts? Once, I was the presumed-dead princess of the human world, and now I am the long-awaited savior of Elindros—the one who could change everything.

  “You shouldn’t dwell too much on what lies ahead,” Sylas suddenly whispers, his words like a soothing breeze in the heat of the moment. He has noticed my wandering thoughts and gently pulled me back to the present. “Since your escape from the human world, you’ve faced nonstop challenges. Don’t you think you’ve earned a moment’s reprieve?”

  I no longer wish to resist. It feels as though the fight is futile, as though my strength is spent. He’s right—his words echo within me like an unshakable truth.

  “I’ll show you a new shop that just opened,” Sylas says, his tone calm yet firm. “Do you like fish?”

  I hesitate for a moment, sensing the weight of the question, standing on the brink of an inner abyss. “I don’t eat meat,” I confess at last, the words heavy on my lips. He looks at me in surprise, and I can almost see the question in his eyes.

  “I don’t like the thought of consuming other living beings,” I add, and the memory strikes me like a shadow from the past, plunging me into darkness. I tell him about my past and the reason for my aversion to meat. I lower my gaze, as if I can still see the chicken leg before me, as if I can still smell the bloody memories. My stomach knots, and the sounds and tastes of that time overwhelm me. “I threw up afterward,” I murmur.

  “I understand,” Sylas replies, his voice subdued, almost apologetic. “Forgive me if I’ve reopened old wounds. We don’t have to go there.”

  But something within me resists retreating, resists hiding my weakness. “No, no,” I say quickly, shaking my hands as if to dismiss the words. “Let’s go there. Maybe there are other dishes I can try.”

  Sylas smiles, and in that moment, as his smile falls upon my heart like a gentle ray of sunlight, I feel something bloom within me. A warmth spreads through me, one I haven’t felt in a long time—a spark of joy after all the sorrow that has held me captive for so long.