The weaver’s daughter

Episode Five

Killia walked as though fear itself had learned her pace and chosen to follow her. Her feet struck the earth faster than her shadow could keep up, skirts brushing against her legs, breath coming in uneven pulls. Every step carried her farther from the Aloha Kingdom, yet every memory dragged her backward especially her mother’s voice, heavy with truth and sorrow.

Run, Kadida had said. No matter how much it hurts, keep going.

The words echoed in Killia’s mind like a drumbeat, steady and relentless. Whenever doubt crept in, whenever her legs threatened to give way, she held to those words. Fear walked beside her, but determination pushed her forward.

By the time she finally slowed, the land around her was unfamiliar. The tall trees of Aloha had thinned, replaced by a wild stretch of forest untouched by tradition. The sky had deepened into a bruised purple, the last light of day bleeding into night. Killia realized she had walked for miles more than she ever thought her body could endure.

Her stomach twisted with hunger, and exhaustion settled into her bones like death.

She needed to rest.

Killia searched for a safe place, her eyes looking at the darkening forest. At last, she found a small clearing shielded by thick shrubs and jagged stones. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. She gathered dry wood with trembling hands, stacking it carefully, then struck stones together until sparks flared and fire came to life.

The warmth felt like mercy.

She sat close to the flames, hugging her knees, and allowed herself a small portion of the food she had carried from home. Each bite reminded her of everything she had lost her mother, her bed, the only world she had ever known. Yet she ate anyway, because survival demanded it.

When the fire burned low and the forest fell silent, Killia lay down upon the earth. The ground was hard and cold, but exhaustion claimed her before she could protest. Her eyes closed, and the night swallowed her whole.

Sleep took her fast but it was not gentle.

She found herself standing beneath a vast moon, too bright, too close. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of blood and earth. Slowly, shapes emerged from the shadows.

Wolves.

They circled her in silence huge, powerful creatures with eyes that glowed like light. Killia’s heart thundered in her chest, yet she could not move. Her feet felt rooted to the ground.

Then she saw him.

A massive white wolf stepped forward, his fur glowing beneath the moonlight, untouched by shadow. He was larger than the rest, his presence commanding, ancient. As his eyes met hers, something strange happened.

Fear melted away.

Warmth filled her chest, keeping around her like an embrace. Somehow without knowing how Killia understood.

Father.

Tears welled in her eyes as the white wolf drew closer. She felt safe. Protected. Loved in a way she had never known before. The other wolves bowed their heads, retreating into the dark as the white wolf stood before her alone.

Then the moon began to change.

Its pale glow bled into crimson, staining the sky red. The warmth vanished. The air grew sharp, violent. The wolves returned, their eyes burning with hunger. The white wolf lifted his head and howled a sound that split the night in two.

Before Killia could scream, the wolves surged forward.

The white wolf jumped.

Pain, terror, confusion everything joined at once.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Killia screamed and bolted upright, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The fire beside her had burned to embers, and dawn’s pale light barely touched the forest floor.

Standing before her was a woman.

She was old, yet impossibly beautiful, her skin marked by time but glowing with quiet strength. Her hair, silver as moonlight, fell loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes held centuries within them deep, knowing, and calm.

“Fear not, Killia,” the woman said gently.

Killia went backward and held her necklace. “How do you know my name?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

The woman smiled a soft, familiar smile that eased the tension in the air. “It has been a long time,” she said. “Your mother’s name was Kadida, was it not?”

Her fingers reached out and brushed the necklace Killia wore the very one her mother had given her before she fled.

Killia’s breath caught. “You… you know my mother?”

“Yes,” the woman replied. “Kadida was a good woman. A brave one.” Her smile faded into something heavier. “When darkness was growing within Aloha, she fought for me. She begged them to let me stay.”

Killia stared at her, shock freezing her in place. “But… my mother never told me about you.”

“There are many things she could not tell you,” the woman said softly. “Some truths are dangerous before their time.”

“Who are you?” Killia asked.

“My name is Sade,” the woman answered. “I was once in Aloha until I was banished.”

Killia felt the ground tilt beneath her. “Banished? Why?”

“Because I refused to bow to evil disguised as tradition,” Sade said, her eyes darkening. “And for that, I paid the price.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

Sade studied Killia carefully, then spoke again. “Your journey will be long, child. Rougher than you can imagine. There will be hunger, pain, and temptation. You must not give up.”

Killia swallowed. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”

“You will,” Sade said. “But hear this do not be distracted. There are no friends on this path. Not yet.”

She turned and began to walk away, her steps slow but purposeful.

“Wait,” Killia called out, hurriedly gathering her bag. Her mind raced about the dream, the white wolf, her mother’s silence, and Sade’s warning. “Where are you taking me?”

“Toward truth,” Sade replied without turning. “And toward what you are meant to become.”

Killia hesitated only a moment before following. As she walked beside Sade, fear and curiosity warred within her. The forest seemed to watch them, shadows stretching and retreating as if alive.

Behind her, the thoughts of her dream lingered. Ahead of her, an unknown destiny waited.

And somewhere between the two, Killia walked on uncertain, unprepared, but unwilling to turn back.