Tides of the Moon

The path wound deeper into the Veil of Echoes, and Divine felt the weight of her pendant growing heavier with each step. Its glow, once steady and comforting, now flickered erratically, as if the power within it were straining against her.

Caelan followed a few steps behind, his presence grounding but distant, as if even he couldn't pierce the growing tension surrounding her.

"Divine," he said finally, his voice breaking the silence, "are you sure you're okay?"

She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on the pendant, its surface shimmering with images—faint, fleeting glimpses of moments she couldn't fully recall.

"Caelan," she said softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty, "do you think it's possible to truly atone for the past?"

He stopped walking, startled by the question. "I think… if anyone can, it's you. You've already come so far."

Divine nodded, but doubt lingered in her eyes. "I'm not sure I deserve to. Every step I take forward feels like I'm carrying the weight of every mistake I've ever made. What if I can't bear it?"

Before Caelan could respond, the path widened into an open expanse, and the air shimmered with golden light. In the center of the space stood a pedestal, upon which rested a glowing crystal orb. The orb pulsed faintly, its rhythm matching the erratic flicker of her pendant.

Divine stepped forward, drawn to the orb as if by an unseen force. As her fingers brushed its surface, the light flared, and the world around her shifted.

She stood alone in a vast, starry void. The pendant around her neck glowed brightly, its light casting long shadows across the endless expanse.

"Why do you hesitate?" a voice echoed, deep and resonant.

Divine turned to see a figure approaching—another version of herself, this one older, more regal, and radiating an aura of immense power. Her doppelgänger's eyes burned with a silvery light, and her expression was one of cold authority.

"You have the power to shape the tides, to guide the moon's light, to command the very fabric of this world," the older Divine said, her voice sharp. "And yet, you falter. Why?"

Divine stared at her counterpart, a chill running down her spine. "Because I know what happens when that power goes unchecked. I've seen what it can do."

The older version of herself sneered. "Power is neither good nor evil. It is only the wielder who determines its purpose. You fear your own strength because you are weak."

Divine's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not weak. I'm trying to be better."

"Better?" the older Divine scoffed. "Better for whom? The people who abandoned you? The ones who turned on you the moment you faltered? They don't deserve your devotion. You were born to rule, to be worshipped."

The words stung, striking at a part of Divine she didn't want to acknowledge. There had been moments—fleeting, shameful moments—when she had craved that power, when she had reveled in the adoration of those who looked to her as their savior.

"I don't want to be worshipped," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "I want to be worthy of the trust I lost. I want to protect the people who need me, not rule over them."

The older Divine stepped closer, her presence towering and oppressive. "And what will you sacrifice for that noble ideal? Your power? Your identity? You cannot save them if you do not first save yourself."

The pendant around Divine's neck began to burn, its light growing unbearable. She fell to her knees, clutching it tightly as the older version of herself loomed over her.

"Accept what you are," the older Divine commanded. "Embrace your power, or be destroyed by it."

The pain in her chest was overwhelming, but Divine forced herself to look up. "I will embrace it," she said through gritted teeth, "but not the way you want me to."

Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Divine rose to her feet. The pendant's light flared, matching her resolve, and the older version of herself began to dissolve, her form breaking apart into fragments of light.

"You cannot escape what you are," the older Divine whispered as she faded. "But perhaps you can redefine it."

The starry void collapsed, and Divine found herself back in the open expanse, the orb now dim and lifeless on its pedestal. Caelan rushed to her side, his face pale with worry.

"Divine! What happened?"

She looked at him, her pendant glowing steadily once more. "I faced myself," she said simply. "And I'm still standing."

Caelan studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Then we keep moving."

Divine took a deep breath, the weight on her shoulders lighter than it had been in a long time. For the first time, she felt a glimmer of hope—not just for the journey ahead, but for herself.