Page 3 of Rebel's Fated Mate
"Elara? What’s happened? It’s the middle of the night."
"I...something strange happened. I need answers," I whispered, glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting the soldiers to burst through the roots.[MN10]
He took in my disheveled appearance and fearful gaze. "Elera, what’s happened?"
Marek's eyes widened as I told him about the sudden appearance of the soldiers and how I defeated them with the manifestation of power.
"Elera, you know what this means, don’t you? You could be the weaver. You have to go see Old Hemma," he murmured after a moment's thought. "She knows all about the old stories and the magic of Sylvanaar."[MN11]
Me? The Weaver? That was impossible, wasn’t it? Thanking him with a tight smile, I darted off to find Old Hemma, one of the oldest people in our Kingdom. She lived in a secluded part of the underground , surrounded by ancient texts and relics.
Hemma’s home was a cavern of knowledge, every surface covered with scrolls and books. The air was thick with the scent of moss and old paper. She was sitting at a large oak table, her eyes peering at me over her spectacles as I entered.
"Child, what brings you here at this hour?" Hemma asked, her voice was concerned, yet curios.
I took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out. I told her about the incident in the ruins, how the stones reacted to my touch, revealing symbols and emitting power I didn't understand.
Hemma listened, nodding slowly, her wrinkled hands resting on a large, open book. When I finished, she sighed, her expression solemn.
"Elara, you are entwined with something much larger than yourself," she began, her voice cautious. "You have heard the whispers of the Weaver prophecy, haven't you? It speaks of one who is destined to challenge the empire and bring freedom to our people. She will be protected by a powerful guardian—a controlling alpha."
My heart sank. "Protected...controlled?" I asked, the words heavy with the weight of what that might mean for my freedom.
Hemma’s eyes met mine, sharp and clear. "That is the question, isn’t it? But remember, child, every prophecy has its shadows. You must find your own light within it."
That night, as I lay on a mat on the floor of my grandmother’s house, the flicker of the oil lamp casting ghostly patterns on the stone ceiling, I couldn’t shake Hemma’s words. Protected or controlled? The thought twisted in my gut.
I yearned for freedom, to explore the extent of my powers and my connection to the ancient magics of Sylvanaar. Yet, the prophecy seemed to bind me to a fate I hadn't chosen. It promised safety for my people at the cost of my independence.
As I drifted into a restless sleep, my dreams echoed with the sound of shifting stones and glowing symbols, a silent battle between destiny and desire playing out in the theater of my mind.
Then it all took a more vivid and unsettling turn. I found myself in a crumbling city, stones and mortar giving way under the relentless march of time.
The air was thick with dust and despair, the once majestic buildings now skeletons of their former glory. Amidst the ruins, a massive figure loomed—a bear, but not merely an animal.
It shifted, a shudder running through its form, and before my eyes, it transformed into a man, his eyes a piercing blue, filled with a sorrow that seemed as old as the ruins themselves.
This bear-man moved through the fallen city with purpose, his steps echoing in the empty streets. He was searching for something, or perhaps someone, and I felt an inexplicable pull to follow him, to help him in his quest.
But as I moved, the city around us trembled, walls collapsing further, blocking my path, separating us. His figure grew distant, and a sense of overwhelming loss gripped me.
I awoke with a start, my heart racing, the images from my dreams burning bright in my mind. They felt like memories, or perhaps premonitions—hauntingly familiar yet undeniably foreign.
As dawn crept into my grandmother’s small chamber, , [MN12]I couldn't shake the feeling that these dreams were more than mere figments of my imagination.
Driven by a need for answers, I rose from my bed, my decision already forming. Today, I would return to the ruins.
There was something there, some thread of truth woven into the very stones that had reacted to my touch. Perhaps they held the key to understanding the mysterious bear-man and the crumbling city that haunted my dreams.
Throughout the day, my thoughts returned unbidden to my dreams, each detail etched into my mind with unsettling clarity. I could almost feel the rough texture of the ancient stones under my hands, and hear the haunting echoes of the bear-man's steps.
Standing on the surface above the Kingdom, the dense forest beyond seemed both forbidding and inviting, holding the promise of answers and the threat of dangers unknown. The ruins called to me, a siren song of ancient secrets waiting to be unearthed.
Standing there, at the threshold of the known and the unknown, I felt a surge of purpose. The visions, the prophecy, my strange connection to the ruins—it was as if threads of a larger tapestry were beginning to weave together, hinting at a destiny that was mine to claim or reject.
From the shadows of the towering trees, I could feel eyes watching me—some curious, others calculating. Whether protectors or threats, I was yet unaware.
But my decision was made. And whatever awaited[MN13], I was ready to face it, driven by a newfound strength that the visions had awakened within me.