Chapter 16: Fragments and Foundation

  Time: 25:43, Day: Gibrandr, Week: 3, Month: K?rgoyde, Year: 36651

  Ayanna sat alone, tears streaming down her face. Her knees pulled to her chest, her head between them, embracing herself. Her wings wrapped tightly around her, and her tail around her waist. Her hands balled into fists, as she sobbed.

  Her sobs drowned out the crackling of the fire in the hearth affront her. Her hair was still damp from the bath she very much needed after Grim had left.

  His words echoed through her mind:

  “You’ll never beat me so stop challenging me and just focus on getting better control of your Essences. There's a reason we're all born with certain types of magic, and yours isn't to die before you figure out how to use it. I'll be back when you've figured out how to control both your magic and your emotions.”

  She knew he was right.

  Knew he was just trying to push her.

  But she couldn't help but feel like he was abandoning her to her own fate.

  How could she control herself when she didn't even really know herself?

  How could she control the magic in her that she couldn't even feel?

  How was she supposed to even survive?

  “Nephal, how long are you going to focus on the wrong things?” Fate's voice echoed through Ayanna's mind, soft, feminine, and sisterly, “You wanted to be treated as an equal, and now you are, so how long are you going to cry?”

  Ayanna embraced herself tighter, sobbing harder. It wasn't that she felt like he was abandoning her, it was the fact that she couldn't even take a single hit from him and then told her that she was too weak to control any part of herself. She had been forced to learn the basics of Essence, Souls, and Magic. She knew full well that everyone's soul was made up of Essence and Spirit, and that's what determined their Soul and Aura.

  Essence was the foundation of one's magic. Spirit was their emotional strengths and weaknesses. Both of those make a single soul, which physically produces an aura specific to that being. Any emotional changes directly affect one's essence, and alter the soul, which changes their aura.

  She knew this better than she knew anything else, and yet she still didn't know anything about her specifically. Most of all she knew that there was no way for her to find out, and that's what made her weak.

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  That's what made her a liability.

  That's what made her unworthy.

  “You don't understand…” Ayanna’s whispers cracked, muffled by her legs as she sobbed harder.

  “I don't understand? Is that truly what you believe? That I do not understand your struggle? I may be Fate now, but that is not what nor who I always was. I bled long before I became this.” There was an edge to Fate’s tone, “Yes, you were shown and told your weakness. Yes, you are trying to do things that should have come naturally to you, 250 years too late. No, that does not make you weak. Living like a slave made you weak. Focusing on magics that neither helped nor hindered you, made you weak. Learning from books without practicing the lessons, made you weak. Being beaten throughout the day made you weak. Now. Now you must accept your weakness and rise above it. That is a lesson that she does not govern.” Fate's voice echoed through Ayanna's mind, though it did nothing to soothe the broken pride and confidence of the shattered woman.

  “Then I am just a weak Nephalem that will never figure out her own power because she can't even figure out herself.” Her own words tasted like muck and cut like daggers, as the weight of them pushed her further down into despair. Even as she sobbed harder, snot running from her nose, and her tears turning to rivers, Fate would not let her drown.

  “This path of self-doubt and self-destruction will only push you further away from him and into your grave. Only a day's time has passed since you stood tall and announced your claim to grasp your power and forge your own destiny, yet now you hide and cry. What are your tears worth? Stagnation, or progress?” Fate's words dug further into Ayanna's heart, only making her sob more.

  It started as a small, muffled, giggle. Quickly it grew to a loud, ugly, maniacal cackle, with tears still flowing freely down her face. Her laughter echoed from the Obsidian Cottage, scaring away the Sprites that danced outside in the light of the moons. Her head had snapped back, her watery gaze to the ceiling as she reached up for nothing. She laughed until her bruised ribs were on fire and her lungs no longer held air.

  “Stagnation or progress? That's the ultimatum? How can I choose when I feel like I can't even handle throwing a punch without breaking my hand?” Ayanna asked softly, her breaths shallow and ragged, her gaze falling back to the hearth.

  “Don't wildly throw blind punches, Nephal, your strength is not in your fists anyway. Your strength is in the brewing storm you refuse to acknowledge.” Fate's words finally, successfully, landed a blow to Ayanna's self-doubt.

  “Brewing storm?” Ayanna whispered, looking at her hands, “You're right…”

  “Then stop whining and do something about it!” Fate snapped, clearly frustrated.

  “My strength…?” Ayanna studied her palms, opening and closing them repeatedly, extending and retracting her two inch claws, but still searching, “My strength is the brewing storm inside my soul?” She whispered, “Brewing storm…”

  “Yes, Nephal, as a Nephalem your Essence is constantly at war with itself, though you could also look at it as constantly keeping itself balanced between Chaos and Light Essences. Chaos Essence is susceptible to Light Essence, and vice-versa, which means that 258 years of life is an achievement all on its own. This makes you and I the oldest of all Nephalem ever born.” Fate’s tone was softer and happier now, as a smile spread across Ayanna's face, despite the tears she was still shedding.

  “So you really were a Nephalem too…” Ayanna spoke through happy sobs, feeling much less alone than she ever had. Fate had never revealed her life to Ayanna before, not out of secrecy or malice. It just wasn't something that Fate had seen as necessary, then again, no other Nephalem had lived nearly as long as Ayanna, not even Fate herself.

  — The Curator’s Notes —

  your heart hitch?

  The next chapter waits. Try not to lose yourself before we get there.