Page 25 of The Curse of Ophelia

“You cannot go!” I turned frantically around my room in search of him as the blurring effect of the Angellight faded and the chaotic mess of my life returned to clarity. “I don’t know what to do. Damien!” I hissed, daring to use his first name.

“The truth lies within you, Chosen Child. It is yours to uncover.” The voice echoed through my room, but Damien was gone. When the words faded, the night breeze drifted in through my open window, penetrating the heat the Angellight had brought.

Pulling my blanket up around my neck, I fell back to my knees. My brain swirled with a fog of questions, but at least Damien’s appearance had dimmed the effects of the wine. Feeling slightly more sober, I took one deep breath. Then, I spoke out loud to myself. “First step—recall the rhymes he spoke.”

I threw my blanket aside and picked up the first piece of parchment and ink I saw on the floor. Moving to the bench beside the window, I curled up to write by the light of the moon.

My reckoning, I scribbled, shivering. It sounded as though I was to be put on trial. Had I committed a crime that upset the Angels?

No, that could not be, for I remembered the words he spoke later. I am their last resort. If I existed as a chance at salvation, then the trial he spoke of could not be punishment for a crime. They needed me. Specifically, me. What did I have that others did not? I was a fierce warrior, though I wasn’t fully ascended. But I was determined. Was the challenge a test of strength or will? Surely, that would be something I could conquer, if I set my mind to it. But what exactly would the trial present?

Though I wasn’t sure what group Damien referred to when he said I was their last resort, I could only assume it was the Mystiques. He was our forefather, watching over us for eternity. I scribbled the possibility in my notebook, quickly followed by the few other lines I recalled from the Angel’s mouth. Each was discouraging in their own right.

Your deepest wish awaits.

Try your spirit.

Everything that will be nothing.

You will right the wrongs.

The rest of his words were lost in a rush of rhymes and Angellight, but what was before me did not make sense. I was to undergo a test, and this trial would decide my fate. Not only my fate, but that of the ambiguous “them.” I did not see how I could be anyone’s last resort. Sure, my father’s bloodline was honored in its own right, and I was a strong candidate to ascend, but I had not even completed the Undertaking. Without full status, what was I to do?

My stomach turned over in uncertainty as the list of unknowns grew, and I wrapped my arms around my bare torso in an effort to keep myself from being sick. I rocked back and forth in the moonlight, shuddering at the predictions the Angel had voiced. My eyes scanned the page in circles. Chosen Child.

Something deep in my bones purred the longer I stared at Damien’s words. A part of me, be it soul or fate or pure intuition, acknowledged the Angel’s premonition and hummed in acceptance. It was that small piece that told me it was true, despite my doubts.

After all, I had been promised to the future leader of our people and received the Bind with him. The magic of that promise ran through my skin, blood, and bones. We would have been a force among warriors, two powerful bloodlines merging.

And I was powerful on my own. Spirits, with Malakai gone, I may even be the strongest warrior of our age. Cypherion could likely beat me in a fight, but I had been trained at my father’s hand as future Second, and I had observed the cunning instincts of female warriors before me, adopting them as my own.

So how could I truly deny the Angel’s proclamation? The thrum of my Mystique Warrior blood coiled hungrily at the possibility.

I held my wrist out beneath the moonlight, running my thumb over the stinging spot where the Curse manifested itself. I barely wanted to admit the question brewing in my mind. Could this heal my affliction?

It was unlikely. The Curse had no known cure. If it was capable of being healed, we would not have lost so many warriors to its cruel fate.

Fate. My fate…Your fate has not yet been decided. Maybe I was not to die by the hand of this plague. Maybe I could do something, anything, to right the path my people were put on, restore our grand standing.

Right it…

The words I had last written in my notebook seemed to darken. Something connected in my brain like the end of a fuse being lit. My thoughts burned up the incinerating trail. “Right the wrongs…” I whispered.

My mind traveled at warp speed, begging to reach the result I was scared to admit. I had been wronged—cheated—in a number of different ways in the past two years. My future, my destiny, my love all ripped away. There were pieces of Damien’s words that hinted at what I must do and what results those actions could derive, but I was almost afraid to voice them. My blood pumped faster in encouragement, that second pulse awakening.

Your deepest wishes…

The closer I got to the answer of Damien’s quest, the louder my heart and the new pulse in my blood beat. The fuse that had lit was about to combust, the spark burning faster to its destination. I only needed to accept the task for it to explode. In its wake, I would travel the path burst open by the Angel.

There were two truths that I was certain were hidden beneath Damien’s words. I did not know what results they would yield, but my blood sang in confirmation, encouraging me to trust the First Warrior—

I must complete the Undertaking.

The trial before me, the path meant to test my spirit, was not a punishment for crime. It was the Mystique Warrior’s greatest journey. I had to claim this fate. I did not know if or how this was tied to the affliction burrowing into my wrist, but it was the future for which I always knew I was fated. And if the Curse was to kill me, I needed to act quickly—I had days at best.

The second truth, the greatest desire of my blackened heart—Malakai was alive.

I fell back against the windowsill, staring up into the heavens. At my understanding of Damien’s message, the stars seemed to shine brighter. As I watched, one constellation—a long line of stars with a shorter one intersecting near the bottom—winked at me. It was the Sword—the constellation of the First Mystique Warrior. Tonight, it was brighter than the other six constellations of the clans.

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