13.What Was Always There
822 Words
The hum from the cliffs didn’t stop overnight.
It faded with daylight, softened enough that most villagers pretended not to notice. But Lira still felt it — not in her ears exactly, more like a pressure behind her ribs. Familiar, though she couldn’t say why.
She hadn’t slept much.
Cael noticed immediately. He always did lately.
“You’re carrying something,” he said quietly as they stood by the cottage window that morning. Not accusing. Just observant.
“So are you.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But mine has a name.”
“The Void.”
He nodded.
Lira hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of the table. “I’m not sure mine does yet.”
Silence settled between them — not awkward, just thoughtful.
Then she spoke again.
“Marta mentioning my parents yesterday… it stirred things up. Memories I usually keep boxed away.”
Cael didn’t interrupt. That alone made it easier.
“The night they disappeared,” she continued, “everyone blamed the storm. Sudden weather isn’t unusual here. But I remember something else.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
“The air felt wrong before it hit. Too still. Like yesterday in the fields. Like when that thing appeared in the cottage.”
Cael’s expression sharpened slightly.
“I was eleven,” she said. “I woke up before dawn because the house felt cold. Not winter cold — just… empty. And I remember standing outside watching the sea. The water looked darker than it should. Almost thick.”
“Did anything else happen?” he asked gently.
“Yes.” A small pause. “Lights. Faint ones. Gold, mostly. Around my hands. I thought it was fear playing tricks on me. I never told anyone.”
The admission hung in the air.
“That wasn’t imagination,” Cael said quietly.
“I’m starting to think so.”
She leaned against the table, processing aloud now.
“After that night, strange things kept happening. Small things. Injuries healing faster when I helped. Animals calming down when they shouldn’t. Even crops improving when I spent time in the fields.”
“Anchor effects,” Cael said simply.
“No grand destiny? No cosmic chosen-one speech?”
He gave a faint smile. “Anchors aren’t chosen like heroes in stories. They’re… compatible. Some humans naturally stabilize celestial energy. Rare, but not mythical.”
“So I didn’t suddenly become this when you fell.”
“No. I think you always were. My arrival just activated what was already there.”
That sat surprisingly well with her.
Less pressure.
More identity.
“And the mythology?” she asked. “I should probably understand what I’ve signed up for.”
Cael considered his words carefully.
“There isn’t much mythology, honestly. Guardians maintain barriers between realms. Anchors help us stay stable when interacting with human worlds. Without one, power gets volatile — dangerous to everyone involved.”
“Like your previous partner.”
“Yes.”
“Were there many anchors before her?”
“Over centuries? Yes. But rarely more than one active per region at a time. And they usually live ordinary lives unless a breach happens.”
That reassured her more than dramatic prophecy ever could.
“So theoretically,” she said, “I could still be… me? Healer, rule-breaker, occasional troublemaker?”
He stepped closer.
“I hope so. Because that’s the version of you I trust most.”
Warmth spread through her chest — emotional this time, not magical.
“But it also means responsibility,” she said. “If this started years ago… if my parents’ disappearance connects to it… then ignoring it isn’t an option.”
“No,” he agreed. “But neither is losing yourself to it.”
They stood close now, not touching yet. The space between them felt charged with unspoken understanding rather than urgency.
“For what it’s worth,” he added quietly, “anchors don’t just stabilize power. They stabilize people too. Guardians included.”
“You’re saying I keep you sane.”
“I’m saying you remind me why this world is worth protecting.”
That landed deeper than she expected.
Outside, the village noises carried normally — carts, distant laughter, the illusion of peace holding for now.
Lira exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” she said. “So no dramatic destiny speech. Just compatibility, responsibility, and figuring it out as we go.”
“Exactly.”
A faint chill brushed the window again — brief, but unmistakable.
Both noticed.
But this time, Lira didn’t tense.
She simply reached for his hand.
The warmth came easily. Naturally.
Not overwhelming.
Just steady.
Whatever she was — anchor, healer, stubborn villager — it wasn’t something new.
It was something she’d been growing into all along.
And now she finally understood enough not to be afraid of it.
Outside, unseen beyond the cliffs, the hum deepened slightly.
Not stronger.
Just closer.
- Writer
