A Cryptic Discovery
The unease clung to Isla like a second skin, refusing to let her rest. Each moment that passed without her twins brought new waves of doubt and fear. That night, the quiet of the packhouse felt stifling, every creak and rustle amplifying the anxiety in her chest. Driven by a gnawing sense of urgency, she slipped into the cold night air, her silver hair glinting under the moonlight as she made her way toward Eira’s tent.
The tent was dimly lit, the faint glow of magical wards casting shifting patterns on the canvas walls. Isla hesitated at the entrance, her heart pounding as she pushed the flap aside. The scent of dried herbs and parchment filled her senses, mingling with the hum of magic in the air. The meticulous order of the space only deepened her unease.
Her eyes scanned the shelves and tables, lingering on jars of shimmering powders and bundles of strange plants. At the center of the tent, a stack of letters bound with a thin silver thread caught her attention. Isla’s breath hitched as she approached, her hands trembling slightly as she untied the thread and lifted the first letter.
The parchment was smooth but oddly cold beneath her fingers. The ink seemed to pulse faintly as if alive. She read the words aloud under her breath:
“Sacrifices must be made. For legacy. For balance. For power.”
Her stomach twisted, the ominous phrase gnawing at her resolve. The words seemed too calculated, too close to the very justifications she’d heard in her vision of her father and mother. Her silver eyes darted over the other letters, searching for more, but the words were vague and cryptic, each hinting at a larger, more sinister plan.
A sharp memory flashed through her mind: her mother’s broken body, her father standing over her, and Eira’s detached gaze. The vision had felt too real, too visceral to be a fabrication of her pain.
“What is this?” Isla whispered, clutching the letters tightly as her heart pounded. Her breath quickened as she realized the implications. If these letters were connected to her mother’s death—or worse, her children—then Eira was far more dangerous than she’d imagined.
Isla stepped back from the table, the letters clutched tightly in her hand. Her mind raced, torn between fear and fury. Eira had secrets, and Isla was determined to uncover every one of them.
