Alma: Surrounded by destiny

Preparations

July 13th, 2025

The sun crept through the window shades as the morning of my twenty-fourth birthday dawned. In just three days, I will be headed to the border of our territory with two other coven members to meet with the leaders of the Black River and Green Sea Packs.

It was hot and humid, and my hair seemed to notice — going in at least five different directions as I slipped out of bed. The scent of incense lingered in the air, curling around the half-burned stick on my nightstand. Mom came in while I was sleeping. A smile tugged at my lips as I headed to the bathroom, feeling loved and cared for.

I've always loved celebrating birthdays — mine or others'. The festivities, the food, the laughter. Celebrating life, power, and growth always felt sacred to me.

After a shower and a fresh change of clothes, I made my way downstairs. Our house was big — the first floor was built with river stones that kept it cool even at summer’s peak, while the upper floor was made of strong wooden panels. Most of the common areas were downstairs, and I followed the scent of fresh herbs and warm bread into the kitchen.

My four sisters were already making a mess, arguing over who would decorate my cake. Mom, ever the patient one, stoically ignored them.

She turned to me, her brown eyes soft and full of love. One day soon, I would remember this moment with such aching longing that my heart would splinter at the memory.

"Good morning, princess," she said, handing me a mug of warm milk with cinnamon.

"Good morning, Mama. What time did you get up?" I asked, eyeing the spread of food on the counters.

"Same as always”

"She got up at 4:30 to bake and cook everything from scratch," Liliana interrupted. "She’s really excited to pass the torch to you."

My sisters laughed, and although Mom furrowed her brows, we all knew she wasn't truly annoyed — otherwise, someone would've already gotten a smack.

The heavy thud of work boots echoed from the doorway. I turned, launching myself at my father and wrapping my arms around his neck like I was four again.

"Someone’s up early," he chuckled, his beard brushing against my cheek as he kissed me before going to greet Mom.

My father was a respected figure in our community. Even though men typically had weaker magic — or it manifested differently — he commanded attention the moment he entered a room. I was lucky to have two strong examples to look up to.

After breakfast, my sisters and I took the car into town. Liliana and Lavínia were closest in age to me, while Mirella and Camila were still teenagers. Ours was a small town, and people even recognized our car as we passed — waving or honking at us.

We stopped at the mall. Mom let us pick out new dresses for both the upcoming ceremony and my birthday party tonight.

"Aren’t you worried about the meeting?" Lili asked, holding up a dress. You don’t seem anxious. I heard Mom and Dad saying the Black River alpha’s son will be representing their pack. Do you think he’ll be wise like his father?"

I shrugged, trying to sound composed. "There’s no point in worrying about things I can’t control, Lili. I’ll go — that’s my responsibility — and I’ll deal with whatever happens when it happens."

What I didn’t say was that my heart was racing, and my stomach had been twisting since I opened my eyes that morning.

After trying on dresses, we went to lunch. My younger sisters wandered off with a group of teens from their school. Lili and Lavínia would be accompanying me to the border meeting, though only as observers. My official companions would be Ingrid — my best friend — and her mother, Cecília, our clan's second-in-command after my mom. We'd also bring a couple of guards. Global peace didn't mean we had to be reckless.

As evening approached and the sound of music and laughter filtered into my room from the party in the backyard, I slipped into the green jumpsuit I had bought that afternoon and finished my makeup.

"Wow," Ingrid said as she walked in, like she lived here. "You look beautiful. You might even score a boyfriend tonight — if you bother to look at any of the boys."

"Shut up," I said, rolling my eyes. "Not everyone’s willing to give up half their powers for a night that’s not even going to be that memorable."

"Ouch," she laughed. "Wouldn't you rather just slap me in the face?"

I was only half-joking.

Ever since we began mingling with humans, this truth has been conveniently ignored by most. But it remained undeniable: any sorcerer who lay with a man would lose half her magical power. Her strength would weaken as she shared her spirit and soul — even if only for a moment — forging a connection that couldn't be undone.

It always seemed too intense for me. The kind of trust and confidence it took to give something that sacred to just anyone? Not my thing.

As I got downstairs, everyone was already having fun, my father threatening one of the younger boys with the meat tongs if he dared touch the fire in his barbecue. It was easy to be happy in such an environment and as the night wore on I wouldn’t call my birthday anything less than eventful.

My stomach was heavy from all the meat I’d eaten, and sweat clung to my skin — my hair sticking to my arms and back after hours of dancing with my friends.

It was a particularly hot night. The sound of toads croaking and crickets chirping echoed through the yard, growing louder until it felt like a steady buzz in my ears. My eyelids grew heavy. My body moved on its own, my legs carrying me to the center of the yard.

Suddenly, everything felt thick — the air, the sound, even the effort of breathing. I couldn’t seem to draw enough air into my lungs. My ears rang.

Then — the sound of a flute.

It shattered the trance only to cast me into another, deeper one. But this felt different.

The music touched my skin like raindrops, each note electric and alive. My eyes flew open, and I found myself spinning, arms lifted, fully immersed in the moment. Around me, women gathered in widening circles, flowing like a living mandala — dancing, spinning, singing into the night. The men sat nearby, instruments in hand, guiding the rhythm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Something powerful cracked open inside me — a wave of pride, of belonging, of connection. It bloomed in my chest, fierce and uncontainable. Overwhelmed, I felt my mother’s arms wrap around me as we danced.

Her eyes glowed softly, her voice threading into my mind like a sacred whisper. I could only hear her — as if everything else had fallen away.

Warmth bloomed along my arms. I looked down and saw glistening light tracing over my skin — glowing patterns like ink spreading from my fingertips to my shoulders.

And I understood: I belonged to something ancient and beautiful — and it belonged to me.