Page 40 of Moonlit Fate

“Always,” he said.

I directed my focus to the path that lay ahead. The soft murmurs of leaves and the unmistakable aura of inevitability enveloped me.

Atticus moved with such certainty, slipping through the dense undergrowth as though he was born of the woods themselves.

Hale had been cryptic, mentioning only the currents stilling and standing stones as markers.

Atticus stopped beside a cluster of willow trees. “Here.” He pulled back the branches, unveiling a breathtaking lake that carved a path through the landscape. The still water perfectly mirrored the expanse of the sky. He was fixed on something beyond the water, and I strained to see what had captured his attention.

“What is it? What caught your eye?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the enchantments that guarded our destination.

He pointed toward a series of tall stones that rose from the earth. They formed a circle, their surfaces carved with runes that pulsed with a subtle light.

“Standing stones,” I said in awe. “Hale was right.”

“He always is.” Atticus’s smirk was practically audible, and I rolled my eyes, though my lips quirked in response.

“Let’s not inflate his ego any further by telling him,” I said as we crossed the stream, each step bringing us closer to the stones and the seer’s hidden abode. A current of energy danced across my skin, a tangible reminder that we were trespassing in a realm that bridged the mundane and the mystical.

Atticus glanced back at me, his eyes asking me if I was ready. I answered with a nod. We passed between the standing stones, stepping into the unknown.

On all sides of us, the forest came alive and exhaled, its magical breath sending vibrant energy pulsating in every direction. It hummed beneath my feet, a thrumming power that seemed to beckon and warn all at once.

The only sounds were the gentle crunch of our footsteps and the faint rustle of leaves dancing above us. Then, as if emerging from the very essence of the forest, a door appeared before us. It was almost invisible against the dense foliage growing along the rock face, crafted to be part of the landscape. Atticus pointed to it, his finger halting just shy of the wood as if touching it might break its spell.

“There,” he said softly, and I instinctively stepped forward, the energy echoing from the very depths of my being captivating me.

My hand hovered by the door, not quite touching it, as intense vibrations of something I couldn’t identify hummed against my skin. The atmosphere was charged with an ancient and majestic magic, its whispers penetrating our souls in a language that transcended words.

Atticus’s presence was a force that both anchored me and unsettled me with its intensity.

“Like the tide calling to the shore,” I said. Damn it all. I was caught between the desire to flee and the need to step forward into whatever fate awaited us beyond that door. I turned to Atticus. Fear flooded my veins, and my adrenaline surged. “What if we find out something that changes everything?”

“Then it changes everything,” he said with a certainty that bolstered my faltering courage.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out, and my fingers brushed the rough texture of the door. A spark of connection jolted through me, a confirmation that we were crossing a threshold into the extraordinary.

The door creaked open, sighing with the knowledge of eons and revealing a realm that defied the simple laws of space I knew.

“Welcome, welcome,” a voice rich with amusement boomed. It had an odd timbre, which suggested that the speaker didn’t use it often.

A man with a wild mane of gray hair emerged from behind a stack of decrepit books. His weathered face was lined with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes, yet he somehow possessed an ageless quality. His clothes, a bizarre tapestry of textiles and patterns, hung on him like the very embodiment of chaos.

“Ah, the sixth son of a sixth son descended from an oracle,” he proclaimed, a quirky grin playing on his lips as if he was privy to a joke we had yet to comprehend. “That’s me, by the way.Youmust be the ones tickling the threads of destiny.”

“Tickling?” I repeated, unable to suppress the wry smile that was forming. He had humor, I’d give him that. “I’m pretty sure we’ve been giving them a good yank.”

The seer chuckled, the sound echoing off the cluttered walls. His curious gaze flitted between me and Atticus, penetrating to the depths of my soul. “Took you long enough to arrive. I’ve been waiting for you. In fact, I expected you before now. Time bends oddly around those destined for greatness or catastrophe.”

“Greatness, hopefully,” I muttered as I took in the eclectic array of oddities filling the cave. The shelves were a hoarder’s paradise, spilling over with items whose purposes eluded my wildest guesses. Jars filled with swirling mists and pulsating lights, and substances I couldn’t identify lined the walls. Artifacts that could belong in a museum or a madman’s collection crowded every available surface.

“Is this place real?” Atticus whispered, awe mingling with disbelief.

“Real as the blood coursing through your veins,” I said. Power hummed in the air as tangible as the ground beneath my feet. I reached out, my fingertips grazing the spine of a leather-bound grimoire. Its knowledge seemed to seep into my skin.

“Careful now,” the seer said with a glint in his eye. “Some truths aren’t so easily unlearned.”

“Isn’t truth what we’re here for?” I asked.

---