“Fix you?” said the paladin, face scrunching up at the statement.

“Yes, fix me. To deal with this,” she said, holding out her arms to expose the dark scars, “the dreams, the visions, if I go with you, will you fix me?”

The paladin opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Naia.

“We can teach you how to control your abilities, and how to resist their effects. Am I wrong?”

“That’s an oversimplification, but yes,” mumbled the paladin.

No one spoke after the affirmation, their eyes wandering between each-other while they waited for someone to take the first move.

“Fine then. I’ll go,” she said, sagging back onto the floorboards. The decision brought no relief, only a sense of exhaustion.

“I’m coming with you,” said her mother, prompting an immediate protestation from her father. Before that could devolve into a proper argument, the paladin butted in.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Church law forbids the birth parents from coming with their children.”

Her mother was aghast at the prospect, only growing more furious at the explanation of the character of the Bequeathed and the effective ‘parental’ status of the church. Flurries of violent objection followed until Aya laid her hand on her mother’s arm.

“You got what you want,” she said, with a fair bit more venom than she’d intially intended, “now give me the chance to say goodbye. This is my home, it’s where I was born.”

“Of course-” began Naia.

“Alone.”

If the man was taken aback by the sharpness of her demand, he didn’t show it. He merely stood up and gestured to the paladin.

“We’ll be waiting in the village centre. Take all the time you need.”

Niche looked to add something about how they were actually on a schedule, when a touch from Naia silenced him. The two men headed out the door, Aya waiting until she was sure they were gone entirely before she got up.

“You can’t mean this, Aya,” said her mother, getting up beside her, “you can’t actually want to-”

“I want to go to the house. Please,” she said.

Maybe it was the expression upon her face or the tone of her voice, but whatever it was drove them to their feet without a word. The alderman also didn’t say a word as he watched them exit in to the mid-morning light. The walk back up through the meadow path was a grim march, while Aya tried to burn the site of the hills and mountains around her into her memory. The trio stopped when they saw the ring of dead grass, life refusing to soften its edges.

“I did this,” Aya said, struggling to remember the conditions of that day, the anger, the visions, the dark serpent that coiled across her arm and drained the life out of the greenery.

“You did,” her mother said, voice trembling on the verge of tears.

“It’s a sign of your gifts,” her father said, “you just didn’t understand how to control them.”

Aya supposed there was some truth to that, although ‘gift’ wouldn’t be the word she’d use.

“There’s other ways,” her mother said, “we could take you to Karkos, to the guild there.”

“You are not taking our daughter to be ‘examined’ by mages, Assiera,” her father said, with an air of certainty that could only come from religious zeal.

“And it’s so much better giving her away to the church to be used for god know’s what?”

“Yes! It actually is!” her father insisted.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” she said, touching the dry grass.

“You do. You don’t have to go, Aya, no matter what they say.”

“And what’s my other option? We wander out into the valley and get attacked again? This time without the knights to save us?”

Her mother’s lip was trembling, trying to grasp at an argument to save her daughter.

“What can I do?” Aya said, “the dreams get worse and worse. Sometimes I wake up not remembering who or where I am, or who you are. I nearly hurt Shyana, without meaning too. What happens if next time I hurt someone, or you?”

Her father laid a hand on her shoulder.

“All who are called to greatness have difficult lives,” he said, trying to channel the sermons of the village priest. Aya found it less than comforting, and worse, redundant. She shrugged off the hand, and continued up the path to the lonely little house on the hill. The meagreness of the dwelling was at odds with the fierce nostalgia she felt at sights of stones and thatched roof.

In that moment, she realized, despite all her curiosity about the outside, her hunger for stories, she truly didn’t want to leave the sleepy village of her birth.

A wind that did not move the tips of the grasses and flowers blew then. It smelled of hot earth and something sweet. She realized that it was the scent of strawberries, stronger than she’d ever experienced. Within a moment, it was gone, leaving her even more desolate than before.

Her mouth felt like a dead lump of stone, numb and useless as she turned away from the house to face her parents. Her father looked as if he’d only now begun to consider the implications of the past hours. Her mother like she’d aged ten years in the span of a few minutes. The expression of utter helplessness was a hot iron twisted within Aya’s heart.

But the decision was made.

“There’s nothing I can do,” she said, tears beginning to flood down her face, “I have to go.”

Her mother rushed her and embraced her then, so tightly Aya could barely breath. She whispered of how brave her daughter was, how intelligent, saying that everything would be okay. Aya imagined a dozen different daring escapes, each more implausible than the last. The fancies faded away as her father joined the hug, nearly picking up his wife and daughter.

At last, they broke away her mother wiping her eyes as she departed inside to retrieve something. She was left with her father, who’s own eyes were glistening.

“Aya, you must feel like… like I’m abandoning you,” he said, fumbling for the words.

She said nothing, for it was true. She was being turned away from the home of her birth, how could she not feel ‘abandoned’?

“I want to say that I, er… you, you’ll be safer with the church then you could ever be with us. You have a destiny, one that stretches far beyond this village.”

Her infamously taciturn father was dredging up all the words her could to reassure her, and yet she still felt resentful. Something about the dissonance felt curiously separate, as if it was being informed by something outside of herself.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, taking her by the shoulders, as he did whenever she’d made a ‘magnificent’ meal. He left it at that as her mother emerged from the house, carrying a bundle in her arms.

“I had intended… I wanted to give this to you if you ever chose to go back home. To Karkos, I mean,” she said as she unravelled the bundle.

“The pendant of our family,” she said, producing a small bronze device with a red sygil and black stones studding the flat surface, “show that, if you’re ever in the city, and your grandmother will take good care of you.”

Next came a beautiful, hand embroidered cloth depicting a marsh tree, dozens of names stitched upon the green cloth. One was her own, full name, rendered in golden, looping script. After that was a small personal knife, its hilt also stamped with the sygil of her family.

“Take them, and never leave them alone,” she said, as she wrapped them once again and ferried them into her daughter’s hands, “they’re your birthright.”

With that task finished, as well as some extra clothes for the road, they were done here. The sun by that time had reached its midday apex, the light catching the paladins dark face. It was Lillian this time, whose arrival spoke words clearer than any langauge could. The underlying threat of Naia’s statements also came to mind.

It was time.

Both parent wrapped her in her arms, then walked her down the path. The paladin followed in solemnity, Aya not bothering to gauge her expression a she gripped her parents’ sides. Her heart fell further and further with every step, until it was almost too difficult to move. The procession of knights loomed around her, the carriage seeming more like a cage as she stepped toward it.

The goodbye as she was herded into the carriage was short, almost comically so. She felt robbed, as if the world was not kind enough to even grant her that small respite. The paladin stepped behind her and closed the door, shutting her mother’s face behind the dark wood.

She sat with Lillian on the cushioned seats, feeling her body settle, as heavy as a bag of stones tossed carelessly into a river. She couldn’t even muster the energy to glance out the window. Maybe if she didn’t, maybe if she simply sat in the seat and did nothing, it would all turn out to be a a bad dream. The carriage rolled on down the main road, the open views of the forest merging into individual trees as they descended into the woods.

Aya lay her head upon the wooden panelling, grimacing as it rattled against her skull. Despite sleeping not a handful of hours ago, she she began to drift off, hearing the whispers of the twins across from her. It merged into the darkness as the cabin vanished around her. In its place was the grassland, with its impossible ribbons of rock.

Only this time, there was another.

The sun wreathed the head of the person in front of her, blocking most of their features from view. They were tall, broad, standing hip deep in the long stalks as dark hair blew in a breeze. In the shadows cast by the sun, only their eyes glimmered, blazing with internal light. There scene was coloured by the aftermath of an argument, the sharp words still hanging in the air between them.

The sun seemed to dim and flicker just for a moment as the whole scene shimmered. Then the grass began to wilt, dissolving into dust as the wave of decay raced across the hills. She surged to her feet, knowing that this was an action that predicated a severe response. She reached for this person, something dark and violent welling up, before it faded away.

She was left with arms outstretched, reaching for that person, only for them to turn and walk away into the dead fields.

Then the scene melted away, consigning her into a deep dreamless sleep.