She nodded, the choice made. Then, the light dimmed, though it wasn't the sun setting. Canya blinked, and the world shattered.
The sky tore open like stained glass, dust on the ground exploding in torrents of red, gold, and violet. The sigil beneath her father's body flared, imploded, then burst into a blinding mirror—and through it, she was dragged, screaming.
She landed not on ground, but on thought itself.
Everything floated. Above her, the sky was an endless swirl of memories not her own. Whispers drifted down like falling leaves: her mother's lullabies, her father's incantations, laughter from her childhood, and the ancient chants of seers whose bones had long turned to dust.
She stood in a realm of echoes. And then, the voices came—so many voices.
"Canya," came her father's tone, not his dying whisper, but strong, like when he taught her spells by moonlight. "Stay. This is your place. Our place."
Another voice, like wind through reeds. Her mother. "You must protect what we gave you, child. The legacy, the chain—it binds more than just blood. You are my firstborn daughter; you carry more than magic."
Then came others. Dozens. Hundreds. The long-dead seers of her line. Their faces shimmered in the shadows of the air. Their mouths moved with ancient tongues, but their meaning burned into her mind like fire: Stay. Continue. Fulfill. Obey.
She sank to her knees, head in her hands, their will hammering her like waves against rock. Her breath came shallow. Her heart beat like a caged animal.
"No," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. "I didn't ask for this. I don't even know what this is."
Suddenly, the voices ceased. Silence bloomed like a wound.
And standing before her was Allan.
His presence didn't banish the echoes, but it quieted them. He said nothing, only looked at her. His face was unsure, even afraid. He didn't stretch out a hand. He didn't plead. He only stood there—waiting. Unmoving. Uncertain, but present.
Her eyes swam with tears. Why did you come into my life only to split it in two? she wanted to ask him.
Behind her, the image of her father flickered again. "We bled for this legacy," he said. "Don't turn away from it."
"You bled for something that killed you," she muttered.
"We bled for you," he said more softly. Her mother, now beside him, nodded. "Everything we did was for you."
Her hands shook. "But I don't know what you did."
That was when her hand brushed something folded into the seam of her cloak. The letter.
The parchment felt warm, as if her aunt's hand had just left it. She unfolded it with trembling fingers and read it again.
There are things your father has not told you, not because he doesn't want to, but because he doesn't know...
The words reached her in a new way now.
When the moment comes—and it will come soon—you must choose with your heart, not the will of the voices of dead seers or your mother and father. The boy is not your destiny, but he may help you find it.
Not her destiny—but a companion through it. That was enough.
The world around her shimmered. The seers whispered louder, faster—panic rising. They knew they were losing her. The ghosts of her parents reached for her hands, but her arms dropped to her sides. She stood tall.
"I am not a relic of the past," she said. "I'm not your voice. I am my own. I am sorry."
The world tore apart.
Colors screamed. Air bent. The ground cracked like eggshells under fire—and in a final burst of wind, she fell forward, out of that realm.
She landed hard on her knees—back in the real world.
The sun was dipping, painting the earth red, the air still.
Allan rushed to her side, grabbing her before she could collapse fully. "Canya! You vanished—are you... what happened?"
She looked at him, eyes brimming. "I chose," she whispered.
His breath caught. "You chose...?"
"I don't know what's ahead. I don't know what's right. But I know this—the burden of my two bloodlines can't stick me to these forests. I want to walk forward. With you."
He didn't respond at first. His grip on her arms tightened—steadying her, anchoring her. Then he nodded, wordless.
From the shadows, the woman with the staff smiled faintly. "Then the chain is broken," she said. "And something new begins."
"What about them?" Allan asked, pointing at Canya's siblings.
"Matthew is eighteen; he can take care of the other two. Besides, Canya's grandparents are already on their way, coming for them." The woman smiled.
In the distance, a wind picked up—fresh, unsure, but promising.