Chapter Three
The morning air in Rivenglade crackled with a crisp, invigorating energy, carrying the promise of boundless skies and untold adventures. It was a morning born for freedom, for untamed exploration—and within Mira Roehart, a matching restlessness began to simmer, then boil. Today—finally, gloriously today—she would answer the insistent, seductive call of the forest, a pull that had been tugging at her spirit since the first pale streaks of dawn kissed the horizon.
Ignoring the half-hearted attempts at Zenithian hymns drifting from neighboring cottages, Mira practically flew from her doorstep, her bare feet barely skimming the worn cobblestones as she rushed toward Kat's house, a whirlwind of barely contained anticipation. She pounded on the familiar wooden door, the rhythmic knocking echoing her own impatient heartbeat.
The door swung inward with a creak, revealing Kat standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her usually placid brow already furrowed with suspicion, her lips curled into a knowing, slightly exasperated smile. "Oh boy," Kat sighed, her voice laced with affection despite the mock severity. "What are you up to now, Mira Roehart?"
Mira only chuckled, a low, conspiratorial sound bubbling up from deep within her, a wild, untamed gleam sparking in her violet eyes. Words were unnecessary in moments like these. Instead, with a playful grin spreading across her face, she reached out, grasped Kat's wrist with a firm, playful grip, and yanked her unceremoniously onto the cobblestone path.
"Wait! Wait!" Kat yelped, caught off guard and stumbling backward. Her carefully composed demeanor dissolved into startled laughter. She jerked her arm free from Mira's grasp, shaking her head with mock indignation, then darted back inside her cottage. "Honestly, Mira!" she called, her voice trailing behind the closing door. Moments later, she reappeared, her worn leather satchel slung securely across her shoulder, fastening the door firmly behind her with a definitive click.
Before Kat could launch into the anticipated, and somewhat predictable, lecture about responsibility, Mira, with a swift, mischievous grin, seized her hand once more. Their fingers intertwined, and Mira whisked her away, a whirlwind of infectious energy pulling her steadfast friend toward the beckoning shadows of the ancient forest.
They ran as children again, breathless laughter echoing through the awakening woods, the wind whipping strands of dark hair free from Mira's loose braid and tugging at the edges of Kat's neatly styled curls. The familiar path blurred into streaks of vibrant green and dappled gold as the trees rushed past them, a living tapestry woven with sunlight and shadow. The rhythmic pounding of their feet against the soft forest floor became a steady drumbeat beneath the melody of their joyful escape.
"You know," Kat called breathlessly, her voice laced with amusement despite her exertion, struggling to keep pace with Mira's boundless energy, "you're going to get us into serious trouble one day—with your wild, untamed spirit—just running off headlong into who knows what, and who knows where!"
Mira only grinned mischievously over her shoulder, violet eyes alight with unrestrained delight. "You'll see," she called back, her voice ringing with carefree confidence. "It'll all be worth it—I promise you, it'll be entirely worth it!"
They pushed onward, deeper into the woods than they had ever ventured before—beyond the familiar, well-trodden paths, into the hushed, ancient heart of the forest. The air grew noticeably cooler, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, carrying a weight of something old, something untouched by civilization, something inherently... wild. A hushed stillness settled around them, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant, high-pitched calls of unseen birds.
Finally, as they rounded a bend in the overgrown path, Mira abruptly halted, pulling Kat to a stop beside her. Before them, a towering wall of tangled vines loomed, an impenetrable curtain of green obscuring whatever lay beyond. And from somewhere deep within, a low, distant rumble vibrated through the very ground beneath their feet—a deep, thunderous roar, ancient and powerful, as though the forest itself was breathing.
Mira turned to Kat, her grin widening, excitement bubbling over like an overflowing spring. "Look," she breathed, her voice hushed with awe and triumph, gesturing toward the vine-shrouded barrier. "Look at what I found."
Without waiting for Kat's response, Mira reached out, her fingers deftly parting the thick curtain of tangled vines, pulling them aside. What lay beyond stole the breath from her lungs—a hidden oasis, untouched and untamed, carved from the heart of the ancient woods. A cascading waterfall, a silver ribbon against dark, moss-covered stone, tumbled down a craggy cliff face, plummeting into a deep, shadowed pool below. Its surface shimmered beneath the sunlight, fractured like a shattered mirror.
A delicate mist curled lazily upward from the water, cool and airy, clinging to a massive, moss-covered boulder nestled at the pool's edge—a silent sentinel guarding the secluded sanctuary. The thunderous roar of the falls, now deafening, resonated through the clearing, an infinite symphony that seemed to pulse in Mira's very bones.
"Come on!" Mira cried, her voice ringing with unrestrained joy, her violet eyes alight with invitation. Without hesitation, she pulled off her simple tunic and trousers, casting them aside onto a sun-drenched patch of moss. Her movements were swift, unselfconscious, and utterly free.
Kat took an instinctive step back, her hazel eyes widening with both awe and alarm, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "Oh no," she stammered, shaking her head quickly. "No, no, no. This... this one is all you. I'll just—" she gestured vaguely toward the boulder, "stay here."
Mira laughed, a bright, unrestrained melody that echoed through the clearing, weaving through the mist-laden air. "You have no sense of adventure, Katalina Petari!" she teased, shaking her head with mock exasperation, her grin wild and unrepentant.
Kat chuckled despite herself, the initial hesitation in her expression softening. She settled gracefully onto the mist-covered boulder, choosing a perch that offered both a sweeping view of the hidden oasis and a safe distance from Mira's reckless abandon. Reaching into her worn leather satchel, she pulled out her parchment and a stick of charcoal, her fingers already itching to capture the raw beauty before her, to translate the cascading water and dancing light into lines and shadow.
Mira, meanwhile, scrambled up the mossy rocks lining the pool's edge, her bare feet nimble against the slick, water-smoothed stones. She moved with the effortless grace of a wildcat in its domain, fearless and unrestrained. Reaching the highest point—a craggy outcrop overlooking the waterfall—she paused, silhouetted against the mist and sunlight, poised at the edge of pure, uninhibited joy.
Then, with a triumphant scream that pierced the roar of the falls, she leapt.
A rush of cold air—then the exhilarating shock of icy water engulfing her senses. For a breathless moment, Mira was submerged, weightless in the dark depths, before breaking the surface with a sputtering gasp. Her hair clung to her face, droplets streaming down her flushed skin, the invigorating chill setting every nerve alight. A wide grin stretched across her lips.
"It's... it's so beautiful!" she gasped, her voice ringing with awe. "I can't believe we've lived in Rivenglade our whole lives, practically at the edge of this forest, and we've never found this place before!"
She floated lazily on her back, the cool water cradling her body as she looked up at the towering waterfall. The deafening roar of the cascade filled her ears, an overwhelming yet strangely soothing symphony. The air was thick with the rich scent of moss and damp stone, mingled with the crisp, fresh spray of the falls—a sensory comfort that washed over her, cleansing away the suffocating burden of the Zenithian Hall, the unspoken pressures of Rivenglade society.
Kat sat perched on the mist-shrouded boulder, her charcoal sketching momentarily forgotten as she watched Mira with quiet amusement. Her hazel eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It is beautiful," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the thunderous falls. "Truly... an honor, isn't it? To be among Zenith's beautiful creations. We are so blessed to witness such wonders, to be gifted with such a bountiful world."
Mira, still floating, let her gaze drift toward the patches of sky visible through the canopy above. She rolled her eyes—just barely, a fleeting, involuntary reaction—before catching herself. She masked the instinctive irreverence, choosing instead to say nothing. Kat's newfound devotion was unshakable, and Mira had long since learned to pick her battles.
Instead, she shifted the conversation, steering it away from the rigidity of faith and into something older, something wilder. "They say," Mira mused, lowering her voice to a devious whisper, weaving folklore into the air like an ancient spell, "that the Wild Gods once roamed these very forests. That nymphs still watch over hidden pools like this one. That dryads whisper secrets through the ancient trees, that..."
Kat stiffened, her fingers tightening around her parchment and charcoal, her once-relaxed features tensing with unease. The beauty of their hidden sanctuary was suddenly darkened by Mira's words, tainted by the specter of forbidden lore. "If... if they do linger," she murmured, hesitant, her voice laced with quiet dread, "then may Zenith's Light swiftly drive them out. Dispel their shadows." She exhaled, as if steadying herself, then shook her head. "They are... demonic creatures, remember? Whispers of chaos and deceit. It's better, surely, if they are all gone from this world—cleansed by Zenith's purifying grace."
Mira frowned, the playful joy momentarily fading from her features, replaced by a flicker of genuine concern, a moment of sadness darkening her violet eyes. "You didn't always talk like this," she murmured, her voice laced with quiet reproach, a yearning for a time before certainty hardened into doctrine. "You... you used to believe in the Wild Gods too. Remember? We both did. We used to leave offerings for the forest spirits, weave flower crowns for the nymphs, whisper our wishes to the dryads in the oldest oaks..."
Kat's expression remained firm, her voice carrying an unshakable conviction that Mira had never heard from her before. "That was before, Mira," she said, her tone clipped, definitive, leaving no room for nostalgia. "That was before I found the truth. Before Zenith's Light illuminated the shadows, before I truly understood the path to salvation, to real and lasting peace."
She continued, her voice softening, though her words carried the unmistakable weight of Lucien's sermons. "Zenith's Light makes sense. More than anything else ever has. Don't you want peace? Don't you want something that finally makes sense?"
Kat leaned forward on her boulder perch, her hazel eyes earnest, searching, her voice taking on a gentle yet insistent urgency. "Don't you want that, Mira?" she implored, her gaze locked onto Mira's with an almost desperate intensity. "Don't you want a world finally, truly free from war? Without the constant threat of violence, without endless suffering, without people hurting each other, tearing each other apart in the darkness?"
Mira hesitated, her eyes slipping past Kat's to the waterfall, to the feral wildness of the hidden oasis. Her thoughts tangled in the familiar tug-of-war between the deep instinct that told her something was wrong and the relentless pull of Rivenglade's growing faith. Finally, with a sigh—half resignation, half weariness—she offered a carefully measured response.
"Of course I do, Kat," she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the roar of the falls. "Of course I want a world free from suffering, from pain, from the endless cycle of violence. Who wouldn't?" She paused, struggling to give shape to the unease that refused to fade. "But... that's just not how life works, is it? Not really."
She gestured vaguely toward the forest around them, to the raw, unruly beauty that had thrived long before Zenith's Light had ever touched Rivenglade. "The world has balance. Light and shadow, joy and sorrow, creation and destruction, good and evil... they have to coexist. They're two sides of the same coin, aren't they? Entwined and inseparable. Too much of either—too much light, too much shadow—it creates its own kind of chaos, its own kind of... unbalance."
Kat shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed in gentle disagreement, her voice adopting a softly chiding tone, infused with the unwavering certainty of her newfound faith. "No," she countered firmly, her hazel eyes steady with conviction. "There's no such thing as 'too much good.' No such thing as 'too much light.' That's just... not possible. Even a single drop of evil, a whisper of darkness, is far, far too much in this world."
Mira sighed, a quiet exhalation of weariness and resignation, pushing herself up from the cool water and wading toward the rocky bank where Kat sat perched like a watchful guard. She reached for a spare cloth, drying herself with slow, methodical strokes, the friction grounding her as she searched for the right words. "I know, Kat," she said gently, her voice careful, measured, seeking to bridge the growing divide between them. "I understand what you're saying, I really do. And... in principle, I don't even completely disagree with you." She met Kat's unwavering stare, willing her to see the sincerity in her eyes. "A world without suffering, without pain—it's a beautiful dream, a noble aspiration. Of course it is."
She hesitated, wrapping the cloth more tightly around herself, as if it could shield her from the creeping anxiety that Kat's words stirred within her. "It's just that... well... it's just not how life is. Not realistically. Not in the world as we actually know it. Not in this messy, complicated, imperfect reality."
But Kat only shook her head again, her determination absolute. "But it could be that way, Mira!" she insisted, her voice rising with urgent hope, as if sheer conviction could will the world into order. "It can be that way—for all of us. For the entire world. If only we all truly believed, if only we all had enough faith."
She leaned forward, her parchment and charcoal momentarily forgotten, and took Mira's hands in hers, her grip surprisingly firm, almost desperate. "Mira," she whispered, her hazel eyes wide and imploring, searching Mira's face with an intensity that made it difficult to look away. "Why don't you become one of The Chosen? Why don't you do the Baptism ritual? Just... try it. Please. Be one of us."
Mira sat beside Kat on the moss-covered boulder, her damp skin prickling as the forest air cooled against it, her heart suddenly burdened with a weight heavier than the water she had just emerged from. She didn't answer, couldn't answer. Instead, she let her eyes fall to the pool's still surface, her fingers trailing lightly over the water's edge. The cool touch brought no clarity, no peace, only a deep, unsettled quiet within her.
The waterfall's roar, once a soothing chorus, now pressed against her ears, a relentless pounding that mirrored the insistent drumming of her own conflicted thoughts.
"I just... I just don't know if that's what I truly want," Mira admitted quietly, a fragile confession of her deepest, most carefully guarded doubts. "I don't... I don't feel it. Not really. I don't feel that pull, that certainty that you and everyone else seem to feel so strongly. And... and honestly," she hesitated, her voice dropping lower, barely audible, a hushed confidence shared only with the indifferent waters of the hidden pool, "it all feels so... fake."
Kat's gentle smile, once meant as reassurance, faltered, then faded completely, replaced by a quiet, almost pitying understanding. "Zenith will take away that doubt," she said with steely determination, her voice soft yet firm, an echo of Lucien's certainty. "He will hear your prayers. He sees into the depths of every heart, knows your anxieties, your fears, your deepest yearnings. But," she emphasized, her gaze locking onto Mira's with quiet intensity, "you have to be willing to open yourself to Him. You have to take that first step. You have to... be one of The Chosen."
Mira swallowed hard, the strain of expectation pressing down on her like an unseen force, a suffocating pressure to conform. Her gaze remained fixed on the dark, still surface of the pool, searching for answers in its depths, for a reflection of her own conflicted soul amid the rippling distortions of the trees above. She wanted to belong, a deep, primal yearning she could never quite silence—the desire for connection, for acceptance, for the comforting embrace of community. But at what cost? At the expense of her own truth? At the sacrifice of the wild, free spirit that had always guided her? At the inevitable, soul-deep lie of forced conformity?
Kat's grip on her hands tightened slightly, her voice softening with gentle persuasion, with loving concern. "I've felt so much peace," she murmured, her tone laced with quiet urgency. "Such a profound sense of strength, of steadfast purpose, ever since I underwent my Baptism ritual. It changed me. It washed away all my anxieties, all my fears, all the doubts that used to plague me in the darkness." She hesitated, squeezing Mira's hands, her words a careful entreaty. "It could change you too, Mira. I know it could. I believe it could."
Mira didn't answer. Her gaze remained fixed on the still surface of the pool, her thoughts tangled in a web of contradictions. The fierce, primal yearning for freedom that pulsed in her blood clashed violently with the equally powerful, equally human longing to belong—to be accepted, to find solace in the comforting embrace of community, even if that embrace felt more and more like a cage.
"Talk to Lucien," Kat urged gently, her voice dipping into a persuasive whisper, a soft nudge down the path she so fervently believed was the only true way forward. "Just... just talk to him. Tell him everything you're feeling—your anxieties, your doubts. He'll help you understand. He has a way of... of making everything so much clearer. So much... brighter."
Mira hesitated, her mind a battleground of warring impulses, torn between her deeply rooted skepticism and the seductive pull of Kat's absolute faith. Between her fear of losing herself and the aching desire to finally, irrevocably belong. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken anxieties, pressing against her like an unseen weight.
Then, finally, she nodded. It was a reluctant gesture, barely more than an imperceptible dip of her chin, but it was enough. "Alright, Kat," she murmured, her voice barely audible above the persistent roar of the waterfall. "Alright. I'll... I'll talk to Lucien. Maybe... maybe you're right."
And as she sat there, with the roar of the falls filling the quiet spaces between them, a knot of unease tightened in her stomach—a sharp, persistent fear curling cold and unshakable in her chest.
Because she wasn't sure if she meant it.
Not at all.
Not even a little.
And the lie—the slow, insidious lie she was about to step into—felt heavier, more suffocating, more terrifying than the deepest, darkest depths of the hidden pool beneath the whispering falls.