A Forest That Remembers
801 Words
The journey to the Seer began before dawn.
Riven rode ahead, his horse a beast of solid black muscle, eyes glinting with awareness. Calla followed close behind on a smaller mare, her cloak pulled tight against the chill. The forest wasn’t silent—it breathed. Trees creaked with ancient voices, and shadows watched from behind moss-laden trunks.
Calla’s thoughts churned.
Another Moonblood. A boy. And he was coming.
Her mark still ached from the vision, and no matter how tightly she wrapped herself, she couldn’t block the heat coiling beneath her skin.
“What if she doesn’t speak to me?” Calla asked as they passed under a twisted arch of thorns.
“She will,” Riven said without turning. “You carry her mark.”
“She marked me?”
“In a way. The Seer doesn't brand flesh—but she sees fate. And your fate has always bled into hers.”
They reached a grove unlike any part of the forest they had seen. The trees curved inward, forming a natural cathedral. In the center, a circle of white stones surrounded a pool of still water. A raven perched on one of the branches above.
“She’s here,” Riven said.
Then he dismounted.
---
Calla stepped into the circle alone.
The moment her boots touched the stone, the world dimmed. The air turned thick, heavy with magic and memory. The pool rippled, though no wind stirred. Then a figure emerged—from the shadows, from the mist—it was impossible to tell.
She was old. Ageless. Her face veiled in gray silk. Eyes glowing behind it. Her voice sounded like wind through bones.
“Moonblood,” she whispered.
Calla swallowed. “You know me?”
The Seer smiled. “I knew you. Long before you were born. Before this skin you wear. Before the curse was broken.”
“There’s another,” Calla said quickly. “He has the mark too. He’s coming. I need to know what we are. What this is.”
The Seer tilted her head. “You are two halves of a story never meant to be read aloud.”
Calla stepped closer. “What does that mean?”
The Seer’s fingers dipped into the pool. Images swirled in the water: a child of flame, a tower in ruin, a hand reaching across a battlefield.
“You were created from magic that defied gods,” the Seer said. “Two souls forged to balance power—destruction and mercy. One cannot exist without the other. But when separated... chaos reigns.”
“He’s my opposite?”
“No,” the Seer replied. “He is your mirror. Everything you feel, he feels. When you burn, he scorches. When you love, he craves. When you hate... he destroys.”
Calla’s breath caught.
“I saw him. In a vision. He was afraid.”
“He should be,” the Seer said darkly. “Because he’s been awakened too soon. And his bond to you is unclaimed.”
“What bond?”
“The oldest kind. Older than mates. You are soul twins. You were made together. You die together.”
Calla took a step back, her heartbeat deafening in her ears.
“Then why do I feel drawn to Riven?” she asked quietly. “Why does the mate bond still hold?”
The Seer turned her head.
“Because fate is not loyal. And neither are hearts.”
---
Outside the circle, Riven waited, jaw clenched.
He couldn’t hear the Seer’s words, but he could feel the shift in energy. Whatever Calla was learning in there—whatever power she was touching—it was changing her.
When she finally emerged, her eyes shimmered with gold light.
“What did she say?” he asked.
Calla hesitated.
“She said I wasn’t made to survive alone.”
Riven stepped closer. “You have me.”
Calla looked at him—and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if that was enough.
---
Far across the wildlands, the second Moonblood stood at the edge of a black river. He knelt and dipped his fingers into the water. Visions crashed into his skull—of Calla, of the Seer, of fire licking at her heels.
“She’s coming into her own,” a voice behind him said.
He turned. The cloaked man had no face—only shifting mist beneath a hood.
“And soon she’ll remember what you did to her.”
The boy closed his hand, golden flames leaking from between his fingers.
“I’ll make it right.”
“You can’t,” the figure said. “You can only end it.”
The second Moonblood rose, eyes glowing brighter.
“Then I’ll end everyone who stands in the way.”
- Writer
