It was an inheritance.
The world vanished.
She fell.
40
Esther
How to Carry a Legacy: You begin by burying the seeds your mother died to plant.
Esther’s vision drowned in red and gold. Gravity wrenched her downward, her stomach twisting as if she were falling through a moment she’d already lived. Déjà vu pulled at her bones.
She hit cold concrete on her knees. No pain. Just shock.
When her sight steadied, she saw a heavily pregnant woman sitting at a plain table, worry creasing every inch of her face.
“Mother?” Esther whispered.
She stumbled forward, reaching out—but her fingers slipped straight through Estella’s shoulder. Through her hair. Through her.
No warmth. No weight. No mother.
The absence hurt more than any wound.
Esther drew her hand back slowly, curling her fingers into a fist as if she could trap the sensation that should have been there. Her chest ached with the effort of breathing, grief pressing down until the world felt narrow and distant.
She had imagined this moment so many times—reunion, explanation, comfort.
Instead, she was a ghost haunting her own mother.
The magic wrapped tighter around her shoulders, unmistakably protective. Estella’s presence lingered not in flesh, but in intent.
You’re not here to be held,Esther realized.You’re here to be taught.
Esther wiped her eyes. She refused to miss a single moment. Her mother had left these memories for her.
The memory blossomed.
The transition had no edges. One moment, Esther stood in cold absence—the next, she was submerged in color and sound and living breath. The air felt heavier here, textured with the weight of choice and consequence.
This wasn’t a recollection.
It was a place her mother had prepared, layered carefully so Esther could walk on it without breaking.
The realization steadied her. Whatever lay ahead, Estella had not left her unarmed.
Estella sat across from an older man in deep violet robes, one hand resting over her stomach.
“Master Aaron, I don’t know what to do,” she murmured. “Why do I keep having visions?”
“Unheard of… but not impossible,” he muttered.
Esther drifted closer, aching at the tenderness in Estella’s movements and at the protective way she touched her belly.
“I’ve found no records of prophetic magic,” Estella said. “No guidance.”
“That is because prophecy cannot be learned,” Aaron said, shutting a ledger. “It is inherited. And you carry phoenix blood.”
