Page 83 of Unravelled
Mira's pulse slowed, the thunder in her ears fading to a soft rhythm, like the lull of waves against the shore. Her limbs felt light, as if the burdens of truth and lies, of rebellion and loyalty, had been lifted from her shoulders.
Danlea's face remained the only anchor, her expression filled with understanding, with an unspoken promise. Mira’s balance wavered. But it was not a violent collapse. She sank back into someone's hands. Gentle, careful, cradling her as she was lowered.
???
A vast nothingness that pressed against her skin seeped into her bones. She drifted within it, weightless and unmoored. The world was not solid here. It breathed, shifting like mist caught in the wind.
Shapes emerged.
At first, faint smudges against the black, little more than whispers of color and light. Then, clarity. A hall. The Great Hall. But not as she remembered it. The towering banners of Bharalyn, once rich with gold and deep crimson, were torn, their fabric curling like dying embers.
Dark veins, like creeping vines, cracked the polished marble floors, once mirrors of the heavens. The air smelled of smoke and something older, something wrong. At the center of it all, the throne. Mira knew, before she even saw him.
Brahn. He sat there, draped in midnight blue and silver, a crown glinting atop golden hair, his posture as relaxed as a man who had always known he would win. The throne fit him too well, as if it had been shaped for him long before he ever reached for it. His hands rested on the armrests, fingers tapping a slow, patient rhythm.
A king in waiting. A king who had already claimed his prize. The sight of him sent a wave of nausea through Mira, an aching, twisting sickness that clawed at her insides. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
She took a step forward and the world rippled.
A woman stood before her. A queen. Sarelle. Her dark hair was a river of moonlight, her eyes piercing. Tears streaked her face, though she held herself with the stillness of someone who had long since learned not to tremble. She stood in a chamber that felt eerily familiar. The scent of aged paper, candle wax, and something sweet, pear maybe, filled the air. Sarelle’s lips moved, but the sound was distant, blurred by time, as though the moment was struggling to reach her.
Mira leaned forward, straining, then another voice. Ren. She turned. He stood behind her. A younger Ren, not more than seventeen. He looked softer, his dark hair falling over his brow, his eyes uncertain. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, fire curling around his wrists like bindings.
Sarelle reached out, her fingers brushing his cheek. He flinched. Not in fear. In grief.
“Blood of my blood.”
The words sent a shiver through her, sinking into her bones, nestling into the hollow spaces of her memory. Sarelle’s touch was not that of a queen. It was my mother's. Mira’s breath caught in her throat. Truth coiled in the pit of her stomach like a snake awakening from slumber.
The moment fractured.
Fire spread and burned through, folding over itself. Heat of the room melted into something, cooler. The floor beneath Mira’s feet faded, replaced by a surface that seemed to glow from within, like moonlight captured beneath glass. The fire dissipated to mist and pulled back, revealing a familiar figure standing at the center of this dreamscape. Queen Danlea. The mist cleared to show her stood beneath a canopy of stars, her dark gown woven with threads of twilight.
The veil over her eyes was gone, revealing soft, silver irises that held no blindness. Her expression was calm, lips curved in a gentle smile, and her presence washed over Mira like a warm breeze, a stark contrast to the jagged edges of the previous vision.
“You are safe, Mira,” Danlea said, her voice a melody.
Mira’s thoughts spun, confusionknotting with the remnants of fear. Danlea moved closer, her bare feet silent against the light-filled ground.
“The strongest among my kingdom can share our visions. And what you saw now is what I saw when I looked at the succession of your kingdom.” Danlea’s expression saddened, shadows passing over her features. “The usurper stands upon the precipice of a throne not meant for him. But what you have seen is not an ultimate future, but a thread of what may come.”
“What do I do?” Mira’s voice wavered, caught between the fear of what she had seen and the quiet comfort of Danlea’s presence.
“I do not know,” Danlea said, her eyes full of sorrows. “I never know. The future is not a set path but a sea, ever-changing. I can show you the waves, the pull of the tides, but only you can decide which way to steer.”
Danlea pointed to Mira's feet. Mira looked down to see a boat rocking gently beneath her. Its polished wooden hull dipping with the rhythm of unseen waves. But there was no sea, no horizon, only an endless sky stretching in every direction. The stars were not above them, they were below, within the waves.
The boat drifted through a sea of constellations, their golden threads weaving intricate, shifting paths. Mira gripped the edges of the vessel as she leaned over the side. The stars pulsed, their glow piercing through dark waters that were not waters at all, but light.
“This…” Mira whispered, voice hushed with awe. “This is what the Navigators must have felt like.”
Danlea sat across from her, the folds of her gown pooling around her feet like mist. She smiled, dipping a single finger into the glowing water beside them. Ripples spread. The constellations twisted, their threads unweaving and rewinding, into thesame patterns. The boat rocked slightly as Danlea lifted her hand, pointing toward a particular place among the tangle of stars across the waters, a convergence.
Mira’s gaze followed, landing on the glowing knot of threads where many constellations met. Unlike the others this one did not pulse. It waited.Mira swallowed, a strange weight settling in her chest. It glowed beneath them, a golden heartbeat beneath the sea of night. Mira looked across the waters and saw others like it. They seem uncommon, and this was the closest one.
Mira reached forward, hesitating. The moment her fingers brushed the waters, warmth flooded her. A deep, resounding pull, like the tide changing direction, like she had been caught in a current too strong to fight.
Her voice was barely a breath. “What is it?”
