He watches his wife from the doorway, silently sharing her pain. A score has passed since they handed their darling baby girl into the hands of those who would see to it that she was given a good home, a safe life, and each year…each day his wife seemed to grow more frail. His wife’s hand passes over the still water in her glass, her pain, love, and desperation to see her child amplifying her scrying abilities so that she needn’t utter a single word in spell. The surface of the water shimmers as their child—now a woman—appears.
He can stand it no longer as she chokes out a sob, and he wraps his arms around her. “It’s fine, my love. Look at her. She’s a beautiful, strong woman.”
She looks through her tears to see her only child at a desk, typing away at her computer as she inputs the words she has scribbled haphazardly on a legal pad beside her. Her dark hair was up in a ponytail, her green eyes alert and sharp, expressing the intelligence behind them. “Yes she is.”
He kisses his wife’s cheek softly, knowing that it was for the best that they had acted as they did. They had told everyone that they had lost the baby, that he had been stillborn. And so far it had worked. The magical community that had been previously on the brink of a mighty war and power struggle calmed, writing off the prophecies as misinterpreted and false signs. None had known where the disruption in the Weave had stemmed from, so with the baby in the hands of mortals the ripples had faded almost entirely. Not to mention that so far, their daughter had no idea of the power coursing through her veins.
“Do you think she hates us?” His wife’s soft question brings him out of his thoughts and his arms tighten around her as a new wave of grief overcomes her.
“No, my love….no.” He answers with more conviction than he feels, wondering himself how she truly feels about her birth parents. He wishes silently that they could talk to her, that perhaps that would be able to rejuvenate his sweetheart and bring her back to the strong woman she used to be. As it is he fears that she won’t last much longer, that her broken heart will pass her on to the next realm. Even as he pushes the sad thought from his mind, his wife collapses in his arms. Alarmed, he picks her up and rushes her to the bedroom, where he places her on the bed and quickly calls for a healer.
His daughter’s fading image still projects on the water’s surface, and he doesn’t see the way her face pales, or the way she faints when she tries to stand up from her desk. The projection shimmers, leaving the water’s surface clear and untouched.
* * * * *
A figure in a dark cloak feels himself suddenly ripped from his meditation, and his eyes widen as he realizes the truth of it. He makes his way hastily through the monastery and pushes open the heavy doors to the Council’s Chamber without waiting for invitation or permission. Several men, also in the dark cloaks of their order, look up with anger in their eyes from his disruption.
“The prophecy,” he blurts out, before they can scold him. “It wasn’t false as we presumed. The signs were true. The Destroyer is alive.”