The days after the festival were a blur. Mira went through the motions of life, but something had shifted. The air felt heavier; the temple ruins lingered in the back of her mind like an unsolved riddle. The fire she had seen—the warmth that had seeped into her bones—was impossible to explain, and yet she had felt it.
She hadn’t spoken of it to anyone, not even her mother. Not yet.
Instead, she found herself back at the ruins, drawn by something she couldn’t name. The towering pillars, once grand, were now cloaked in vines and time’s embrace. She traced the carvings again, her fingers brushing against the symbols as if they could answer the questions burning inside her. The moment she closed her eyes; she felt it again—the sensation of being watched. Not with malice, but with expectation.
“You are ready.”
Mira’s breath caught. The voice was not external, but something deep within her. The same voice she had heard that night.
She stumbled back, her heart hammering. She wasn’t losing her mind. This was real.
That evening, as she sat by the fire at home, she finally broke her silence.
“Mother…” she hesitated, unsure where to begin. “Have you ever felt… something strange at the ruins?”
Her mother’s hands paused mid-motion over the pot she was stirring. Across the room, her father, who had been tending to the fire, turned slightly.
Mira’s pulse quickened. They knew something.
Her mother exhaled softly. “Why do you ask?”
Mira hesitated. If she spoke of the fire, the whispers, the feeling of being chosen, would they believe her?
“I just… I had a strange dream. A vision, maybe.” She met her mother’s eyes. “I think something is calling me.”
Silence stretched between them. Then her father stood, brushing the soot from his hands. “It was only a matter of time,” he murmured.
Mira’s breath caught.
Her mother sat down beside her, the weight of years reflected in her gaze. “We had hoped to spare you from this, at least for a while longer.”
Mira’s stomach twisted. “Spare me from what?”
Her father sighed, his face lined with something she couldn’t quite place—sorrow, maybe, or resignation. “From your fate, child.”
Mira swallowed. Fate. The word felt heavy, like a door creaking open to something vast and terrifying.
“The temple…” her mother began, choosing her words carefully. “It was not just a place of worship. It was a sanctuary, a place where knowledge was kept, where the old ways were safeguarded.”
Mira listened, barely breathing.
“But knowledge is dangerous,” her father continued. “There were those who wanted it lost. And so it was… buried. Erased. The world moved on, but some of us still remember.”
Mira’s hands clenched into fists. “And I’m supposed to bring it back?”
Her mother reached out, cupping Mira’s face with calloused hands. “You were born for this, my love. We knew, from the moment you were born.”
Mira’s throat tightened. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. That she hadn’t asked for this. That she wasn’t ready.
But the embers in her mother’s eyes told her something else.
She had no choice.
Something ancient had chosen her. And whether she liked it or not, the path had already begun to unfold beneath her feet.
