Four Mates of Destiny

PART ONE | Chapter One

~ Coming of Age ~

I gazed out of the window, the first rays of dawn casting a gentle glow upon the world outside. The wind whispered through the leaves of the ancient oak tree, a sentinel that had stood the test of time, its branches cradling secrets from generations past. Today marked the eighteenth anniversary of my existence, a day teeming with both jubilant anticipation and a subtle pang of melancholy.

My heart longed for my mother’s presence, especially on this momentous occasion. As much as I yearned to embrace the day’s festivities, there was an undeniable void in my soul, a longing for her to witness this pivotal juncture in my life.

In the tranquil stillness of the morning, memories of a bygone era swirled through my mind, vivid as ever. I could envision my mother’s warm smile, the tender touch of her fingers brushing a stray wisp of hair from my forehead, and her laughter that had once reverberated through the corridors of our home. Our family had been a tapestry woven with threads of love and shared experiences. But then, the cruel grip of an unforeseen illness had swept her away, leaving us with only memories and the haunting emptiness of her absence.

Closing my eyes, I allowed the past to envelop me like a comforting shroud. I recalled the sensation of her fingers threading through my hair, her melodic voice weaving tales by the crackling fireplace, and the gentle lullabies that had carried me into peaceful slumber. These memories were cherished treasures, etched deep within my heart, constant reminders of the love and resilience that coursed through my veins.

Stretching beneath the embrace of my cozy sheets, I was keenly aware of the duelling emotions that tugged at my heartstrings. Today marked the threshold into a new chapter of my life, one that held promises and mysteries yet to be unveiled. The Moon Circle Coven, my coven, would host the coming-of-age ceremony for all sorcerers. At the age of eighteen, we would finally discover our affinity for magic and forge a connection with a familiar.

The thought filled me with excitement, twisted with heartache, knowing mom won’t be here to see it happen. She had always been excited, gushing . I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my eyes caught sight of an intriguing object on my desk. It emitted a soft, enchanting glow that beckoned me closer. Curiosity spurred me to investigate, my fingers brushing against the lush, intricate cover of a powder-blue journal. I wondered if it was a gift from my father, but a peculiar sensation coursed through me as if the journal held a secret of its own. Cradling it in my hands, I hesitated for a moment before opening its pages.

A single piece of paper fluttered to the ground, and as I bent to pick it up, the script upon it began to emit a soft, ethereal light. The handwriting was delicate and familiar—my mother’s. I lowered myself onto the foot of the bed, my eyes fixated on the illuminated words.

“To my extraordinary daughter,” my mother’s message began, and a surge of bittersweet emotions washed over me.

Before I could fully process the depths of my mother’s words, my older brother, Acelin Howler, affectionately known as Ace, made his entrance, his cheerful greeting breaking the reverie. “Good morning, sis!”

I met his gaze, my eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. “Morning, Ace,” I replied, my voice laced with a hint of nostalgia. Rising to my feet, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions.

“Breakfast is ready; don’t keep it waiting!” Ace’s voice rang out from downstairs.

I chuckled softly, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m on my way.” Everything was happening so quickly.

As I descended the stairs, the warm aroma of pancakes greeted me, wrapping me in a familiar and comforting embrace that whisked me back to my childhood. Mom’s spirit seemed to linger in the cherished recipes and the laughter that had once filled these walls.

A banquet of fantastical foods lay spread out on the table. Fluffy moonberry pancakes, glowing with a mysterious inner light, nestled beside shimmering honey-dew nectar. Crystalized starfruit adorned plates like sparkling jewels. My heart swelled with emotions as I surveyed this feast, each dish a testament to my family’s love and creativity.

“Dad,” I greeted, my heart swelling with affection for the man who had taken on the roles of both mother and father since her passing.

“Happy birthday, my plumberry!” Dad beamed, his eyes crinkling with joy as he expertly flipped pancakes in the kitchen.

“Thanks, Dad,” I replied, the emotions evident in my voice.

“This is wonderful,” I commented, referring to the delicious spread.

Dad’s smile widened. “Well, it’s not every day our little sorceress turns eighteen. Enjoy, my dear.”

Just as the moment took a sentimental turn, Ace interjected, “Oh yeah, completely forgot. Today is your birthday.”

I shot him a pointed look. “Really, you forgot?”

He casually shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind. Sorry, sis.”

I glanced at Dad, seeking confirmation, and he reassured me, “He’s just messing with you, Ace.”

Ace couldn’t resist teasing, “For real, are you messing with me, Ace?”

I rolled my eyes at his childish behaviour. It was hard to believe he was two years older than me.

“Toadface.”

He retorted, “Nesthair.”

I huffed, “I do not have nest hair.”

“You do now.” I began to argue, but before I could, Ace ruffled my hair aggressively. “Hey,” I protested.

He shrugged. “Told you, Nes-thair.”

I huffed in annoyance but was grateful for my magic as I effortlessly fixed my hair.

Dad chimed in with amused affection, “I can’t believe my little girl is all grown up,” Dad chuckled, trying to defuse the situation.

I smirked playfully, injecting a touch of sarcasm. “You mean your ‘not-so-little’ girl.”

Dad’s laughter filled the room, a sound that echoed the happiness that had always been an integral part of our family. I took a seat, savouring a hearty plate of pancakes crowned with plump berries and a generous dollop of whipped cream. Mom had made this special breakfast for me every year until her untimely departure.

“Is everything alright, plumberry?” Dad inquired, sensing the emotions behind my smile.

I responded with a smile that held a hint of tears. “You miss her too,” he stated, understanding my heartache.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice gentle and tender.

Ace chimed in with a witty comment, lightening the mood, and we continued to share laughter and conversation, creating new memories that blended with the old, shaping a day filled with both joy and sorrow.

After the hearty breakfast and spending precious time with friends, I found myself back in my room, my heart a swirling tempest of emotions. Tomorrow’s coming-of-age ceremony loomed on the horizon, and a mix of excitement and trepidation gnawed at my thoughts.

However, two special gifts stood out amid the celebrations. From Dad, an amulet resembling a bird, imbued with protective magic of mysterious origin. From Ace, a teleportation orb, a rare and lavish gift that left me awe-struck and profoundly grateful.

In the quietude of my room, my attention was drawn to the Book of Spells, another heirloom from my mother, passed down through the generations of women in our family. I sighed, longing for her to be here to witness it all. But ruminating on the past would not bring her back, no matter how fervently I wished for it.

Then there was the other book, the one purposefully blank, which had caught my eye earlier. I reached for the journal, its pages calling to me in an almost mystical way. I opened it, savouring the faint scent of new paper, though it was anything but new. A pen found its way into my hand, and with a sense of destiny, I began to write.

“Dear Mom,” I began, addressing the journal as if it were a portal to the past. My words flowed freely, bridging the chasm between the world of the living and the world beyond. “Today has been extraordinary, yet incomplete without you here to witness the woman I’m becoming. Your laughter and wisdom are sorely missed.”

Memories danced in the air around me, my mother’s essence a gentle whisper that filled the room. I continued to write, capturing the laughter, the tears, and the profound moments of understanding that had shaped our bond.

With every word, the journal transformed into a sanctuary for my emotions, a realm where I could pour out the ache of her absence and my aspirations for the future. The pen glided as if guided by an unseen hand, weaving a tapestry of thoughts and dreams that intertwined my past with my present.

I watched the moons ascend higher in the night sky, ushering in the veil of darkness. I closed the journal, its pages now etched with the beginning of my journey. The wind outside seemed to carry my words, dispersing them into the cosmos like seeds of intention. With a deep breath, I placed the journal back on the bedside table, its cover catching the moonlight in a way that felt almost otherworldly.

“Happy birthday to me,” I whispered into the night, emotions swirling within me like a magical storm. I settled into my cocoon of blankets, a contented yawn escaping my lips as I surrendered to slumber, eager to embrace the adventures that awaited in the dawning days of my new chapter.