So I do the only thing I can.
I drop to my knees. My head bows low before them. My throat tightens. My voice cracks in my chest before it ever reaches the air.
“Saela . . . what do I do?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for Saela to answer me—like she did months ago, when I could barely breathe beneath the weight of my parents’ death.
But this time—like before—it isn’t only Saela who answers.
It’s all four gods at once.
Two female voices. Two male.
Threading together like a single melody—woven not with sound, but with soul. A harmony meant only for my aching heart.
My gaze lifts, tears streaming freely down my face—as if an unseen hand gently raised my chin.
And I see them.
All four statues are glowing, each alight with their element’s essence.
Nerai, wreathed in sapphire light, shimmering like sunlight dancing on deep water.
Saela, pulsing with a quiet, living green—like the heartbeat of the earth beneath bare feet.
Vaerion, crowned in hearthlight, orange flames flickering likebreath over kindling.
Auren, haloed in silver currents, ribbons of wind swirling around him in soft, endless motion.
Their light sings.
Their lips do not move, but I hear their voices.
Our beloved Spiritborn.
We feel your fear. Your doubts are ours to carry.
You are chosen—not only by the Gods, but by him.
The son of Vaerion rises beside the daughter of all.
But you must choose, in return, toseethe path forward.
A part of me wants to shout back—what if I didn’t want to be chosen? What if I wanted to choose?
But I don’t. Because the truth is—I think I already have.
Then—movement catches my eye.
I glance down at the stone pavers beneath my knees. A single stem pushes through a narrow crack.
A flower. Reaching upward.
My breath stutters.
I know that bloom.
Pale yellow petals unfurl slowly as the stem stills, its growth slowing as if sighing into place. I’ve seen it before—every summer in the rolling fields just north of our village. It lined the roads. Grew wild near the orchard. My mother used to pick them and tuck them behind my ear.
