Eira’s Manipulations
The letters burned in Isla’s mind as she sought out Eira, her resolve hardening with every step. When she found the silver-haired woman standing in the sanctum’s garden, the moonlight cast an ethereal glow over her poised figure.
“Did you know about these?” Isla demanded, holding up the letters.
Eira turned, her expression calm as she glanced at the papers in Isla’s hand. “I did,” she said simply.
Anger bubbled beneath Isla’s skin. “And you didn’t think to tell me? My mother left these for me—pieces of her, her thoughts, her fears—and you kept them hidden?”
Eira’s blue eyes softened, but there was no apology in her voice. “Your mother asked me to safeguard them. She believed the time would come when you were ready to read them. Not before.”
“Don’t twist this,” Isla snapped. “She wanted me to know the truth about who I am and why she left. And now that I do, I can’t help but wonder what you’re hiding.”
Eira stepped closer, her movements unhurried but deliberate. “Your mother was right to fear the power in your bloodline, Isla. It’s not just a gift—it’s a bond. One that ties you to your children, to the Moon Goddess herself. Every choice you make now ripples through that connection.”
Isla’s heart twisted at the mention of her children. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel that weight every second of every day?”
Eira’s voice was soft but firm. “Then you understand why patience is necessary. Rushing into this—into unlocking your full power—could cost you everything.”
“Cost me?” Isla repeated, her silver eyes blazing. “I’ve already lost almost everything. My sister is taken. My children were threatened. And you think waiting is the answer?”
Eira’s gaze held steady, unflinching in the face of Isla’s fury. “Yes,” she said. “Because if you fall, they fall with you. You can’t save them if you’re consumed by this power before you’re ready to wield it.”
For a moment, Isla faltered, her anger clashing with the doubt that Eira’s words stirred. But the image of her future children—lost, vulnerable, needing her—hardened her resolve.
“I won’t stop,” Isla said, her voice low but resolute. “Not for you. Not for anyone. I’ll find my children, and I’ll use whatever power I have to bring them home.”
Eira’s expression remained unreadable as Isla turned and walked away, the letters clutched tightly in her hand. When she was out of sight, Eira’s calm facade wavered for just a moment. Her gaze lifted to the moon, her whispered words carried away by the wind.
“Forgive me, Xyla. But she’s not ready.”
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