Prologue
A temple, many centuries ago…
Amidst the whispering petals of an ancient cherry blossom tree, the Oracle’s voice trembled as it wove a prophecy that would shake the very foundations of the world.
“When twilight weaves its veil and the world’s breath falters,
a God of arcane power and purity shall be born,
his mind a darkened mirror of wisdom and cunning.
As darkness ascends,
he must find a counterpart
whose voice weaves the fabric of magic itself.
Their silent spells will breathe life into his shadowed power.
Their fates will entwine, their shared strength a thread that binds
the Fate of all.”
The Oracle’s eyes rolled back into her head, her hands clutching the stone surface until her knuckles whitened as she repeated the prophecy over and over. The priests stood their ground around the altar, knowing it was wiser not to interfere when the Fates had a message for them. The Oracle had never spoken a prophecy that hadn’t come to pass, but this time something more violent accompanied herprediction. Even the eldest priests, who had served through decades of her trances, exchanged uneasy glances. Whatever spoke through her now did not come softly, and it did not ask to be heard, it demanded it.
The Oracle’s eyes snapped open, irises glowing like molten gold, and she silently pointed toward the temple entrance.
A woman covered in blood came running through the temple, carrying a crying infant in her arms. With her last strength, she placed the babe in the arms of the old Abbot.
“Dear Fates, it is already happening.”
I
Part One
When twilight weaves its veil and the world’s breath falters,
a God of arcane power and purity shall be born,
his mind a darkened mirror of wisdom and cunning.
Chapter 1
The threads of my life had always been pulled by unseen hands, weaving a path I had no choice but to follow. Today was no different. The needs of others piled up like the unwashed linens at my feet. Endless, demanding, and never mine to begin with. From dawn to dusk, I stitched their wounds, soothed their worries, and carried burdens I never chose. And yet, the Fates seemed to delight in testing how much more I could hold. Like they were daring me to snap. One day, I might give them what they want.
* * *
One more bandage to cut and wrap up, and I would finally call it a day and lock up the surgery for the night. Dr. Marris had left hours ago, leaving me to clean up the treatment room and prepare for the next day, as usual. I glanced at the clock again. I had meant to leave hours ago, but knowing I’d have to get up even earlier tomorrow to get everything ready in the morning, I had decided to stay.
A sharp throb pulsed behind my eyes, but it was the wave of dizziness that made me pause, my legs feeling like theymight give way. I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself, blinking hard to clear the fog creeping into my vision. The dizzy spells had started a few months ago, creeping in ever so slowly, but often making it impossible to focus on the task in front of me.
I got up from my place at the window, where the last of the sunlight illuminated my workspace and carefully walked over to the small kitchen. Some cold water on my hands usually helped to ease the dizziness and the tingling sensation in my fingers and palms. Taking deep breaths, I tried to slow down my racing heart and focused entirely on the feeling of the cold water on my hands. The cold water turned my fingers numb, but I welcomed the dull sensation, watching them turn red from the cold. The dizziness eased and I looked up to see my reflection in the mirror.
My dark brown hair was tucked up into a loose bun atop my head, my fringe hiding the worry lines on my forehead. The reflection in the mirror stared back with wide, uncertain eyes. My cheeks were round, the kind people once called cherubic, though today they looked a little puffier than usual. The pale skin suggested I hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, and my face, usually full of warmth, looked oddly still, lifeless even. My shoulders slumped, weighed down by more than the day’s exhaustion. The slight tremor in my hands betrayed the effort it took to stand upright, my back stiffened against the urge to collapse. I stuck out my tongue at my reflection, then straightened my trousers and blouse.
Drying my hands on the kitchen towel, I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in my chest loosen a bit. My fingers brushed over the items in the doctor’s bag: gauze, bandages, the stethoscope. For a moment, I almost resented the routineof it. But tomorrow, it would be different. Tomorrow, I could be out of this place, going on house calls with Dr. Marris. It was my favorite day of the week, when I got to leave the stuffy surgery behind and spend my day following the doctor around the community, helping those who couldn’t make it to the surgery. Maybe that was what I loved most. Not the escape itself, but the reminder that what we did mattered, that the ache in my hands at the end of the day meant someone else could rest a little easier.
Going through the itinerary for the day ahead one last time, I snuffed out the oil candle and fastened my bag across my shoulder.
