The road to the mountain was still slick with mud.
Khari climbed it faster than she should have, anger driving her as much as grief. By the time she reached the old woman's house, her breathing was ragged and her sandals caked brown.
She did not knock.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Her grandma sat near the hearth, as though she had been expecting her.
Steam curled from a cup of tea in her hands.
Khari stood there, trembling.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.
The woman looked up at her quietly. "Because when you were younger," she said, "you would not have understood."
"Then I understand now?" Khari snapped. "Now that my life is falling apart?"
The old woman set the cup down, "Yes."
Khari laughed bitterly. "Do I? Because all I understand is that the people I trusted most have lied to me."
"I did not lie."
"You let me believe—"
"I let you love me."
That stole the next words from Khari's mouth.
Grandma rose and crossed the room slowly. Age bent her spine, but not her gaze. She reached beneath her robe and drew out the necklace Khari had seen in her vision—the golden chain, the red crystal set at its center like a trapped drop of blood.
Khari's breath caught.
"This belongs to you," the woman said.
"I don't want it."
"You must take it."
"I came here to save my sister."
"And you cannot do that as you are."
Khari's hands shook. "I do not want powers I do not understand. I do not want voices in my head. I do not want temples and rituals and destiny. I want my sister safe."
The old woman's expression hardened for the first time. "This is the same thing."
"No, it isn't!" Khari backed away. "I love someone," she said, the words spilling out hotter now. "I want a normal life. I want a home. A husband. Children. I want laughter and food and work and everything simple. I do not want to become some sacred vessel in the mountains."
The old woman's mouth thinned. "You would abandon your calling for a man?"
Khari lifted her chin. "For my life."
"For your appetite," grandma said coldly. "For a warm body beside yours. For the softness of ordinary dreams."
Khari recoiled as though slapped. "It is my truth."
Grandma stared at her, disappointment plain in her face. "Think with your head, not your heart."
"No."
"Your heart is weak."
"Then let it be weak."
The words hung between them.
Outside, wind rattled the walls.
Khari looked at the necklace once more, at the red crystal glinting in the firelight, and felt something ancient stirring around it. Something that frightened her not because it was evil, but because it was powerful.
Too powerful.
Too final.
"If your gods wish me well," she said, voice trembling, "then they can help me without demanding I become someone else."
Then she turned and left.
Behind her, the old woman did not call her back. She only wished for her to come to her senses and realize that the approaching fight was anything but ordinary. And that she was powerless, on her way to be horrendously defeated.
...
That night the village seemed changed.
Nothing looked different. Smoke still rose from cookfires. Children still ran between huts. Women still drew water and men still mended tools.
And yet everything felt sharper to Khari, as if the world had tipped and only she had noticed.
The secret sat inside her like poison.
Five days.
Five days before the priests returned.
Five days before the carriage took Sirene away.
Five days before whatever waited in the palace closed its jaws around her family.
Khari stood outside her house long after dark, watching the faint light through the doorway.
Inside, she could hear her parents talking in excited murmurs. Sirene laughed once, softly, uncertainly. Fabric rustled. Gifts were being unfolded again and admired by lamp light.
The sound made Khari want to cry.
Because they were already halfway gone.
Not in body.
In spirit.
Hope had taken them. And hope, she realized, could be as deadly as any blade. Above the village, clouds drifted across the moon. Khari wrapped her arms around herself and stared toward the dark shape of the mountain.
She had no plan.
No ally.
No proof anyone would accept. Only the terrible knowledge that a beautiful promise had entered her home wearing silk and royal words—
and her family had welcomed it with open arms.
***