And dream.
No colors or shapes. Just endless darkness.
I float—weightless, nameless—only stillness cocooning me.
Then, a flicker.
A single thread of light arcs through the dark—flame underwater. Then another. And another.
Soon, the darkness is laced with glowing strands, like constellations stitching themselves across the void. I don’t know how I know, but they’re not stars. They’re threads. Lines of an intricate ancient pattern.
They pull me towards . . . moments. Memories. But not mine.
A girl in gold robes, runes glowing on her palms, standing in the heart of a storm. She speaks, and the wind obeys.
A warrior queen, braids like fire, arms slicked with blood as she charges forward, leading an army of light.
A healer, kneeling beside a dying child, her hands pressed to his chest. She smiles as she gives him her life.
A seer atop a mountain shrine, eyes turned skyward, incense curling around her. She chants into the wind—and the sky splits open.
I feel everything.
The hum of the storm. The heat of battle. The ache of sacrifice.
None of these women are me. But something deep inside me pulls tight, like a string being plucked. Like some part of me already remembers.
The threads glow brighter—then unravel all at once, dissolving into a sea of light. It’s blinding. Beautiful. Terrifying.
And then, I fall.
The world reforms in pieces. Mist. Stone.
A narrow path winding through a forest I don’t recognize but feels like I should. Silver-veined trees. Glassy leaves. Branches that seem to breathe when I’m not looking.
I keep walking—I don’t know why, I just know I have to.
Then I see her.
At first, I think it’s another thread, another memory. But sheturns—and I freeze.
She looks like me, but not exactly. Her hair is longer, loose and wild around her shoulders. Her skin glows faintly. Her right hand is marked with veins of gold light that pulse, as if something sacred is stitched beneath her skin. Her eyes are the same shape as mine, the same color brown—no. Brighter. Like firelight reflected in dark water.
She stands barefoot in the clearing, her hands lifted, palms open to the sky. The ground around her is cracked open in a perfect circle—earth, wind, flame, water, and something else all swirling in motion at once, controlled and effortless.
And then she looks at me.
And the world stills.
Something inside me aches. A longing so deep it feels like remembering something I lost before I was born. I don’t know who she is. But I know she’s me. Or who I’m meant to become.
I take a step forward—and she vanishes. The light breaks, the forest collapsing into darkness.
And I wake—gasping.
We work the fields early, load the wagon, and ride for the village.
I’m riding ahead on Solara.
