I was standing in a grove.
A small waterfall spilled into a clear pond, just big enough to wade in. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting gold. A soft breeze moved through the air—real air, alive and warm.
“Hello, Sahora.”
The voice was gentle but sure. I turned, and there she was: a tall woman with sun-tanned skin and hair like living fire falling in waves down her back. She wore a simple brown dress, the kind made for comfort, not ceremony.
“Who are you?” I asked, though the answer already sat heavy in my chest.
“You know,” she said. Her voice was soft, patient. Waiting.
I swallowed hard. “Kathera.”
“Yes.” She smiled faintly. “I’m here because I need you to believe what’s happening.”
I shook my head. “I promise I’m not the person to be carrying your soul. Please, pick someone else.” My voice cracked. “I just want my peace back.”
“I didn’t get to choose,” she said quietly.
“Then who do I talk to about returning the favor?”
Her eyes shimmered; not with anger, but with understanding. “Fate does odd things, Sahora. It twists time, takes our hearts, and reshapes them into what the world needs, whether we’re ready or not. Your world has not been kind to you. You carry scars no one has seen.”
She stepped closer. The air around her hummed, warm and bright.
“Now you have a chance to be part of a world that sees you as more than what you’ve done. A world that needs you. The blood on your hands won’t vanish. There will be more before this is over. But the reason behind it will be worth it.”
My throat felt tight. “You sound awfully certain.”
Kathera’s smile faded. “Certainty is a luxury the dead don’t have. I only know what fate allows me to see.”
She reached out a hand, palm open, light gathering in her touch. I hesitated, then took it. Her skin was warm, impossibly warm, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
“Find the others,” she whispered. “And when the time comes, don’t run from what you are.”
The light flared, soft pink, then gold, and the grove began to dissolve like mist.