A Promised Prophecy

Chapter Two

I never shared my prophecy with Ophelia, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of magnetic pull prompting her to bring up Dreadshade Summit. It felt like a losing battle—a reminder that, with each passing year, I edged closer to fulfilling the prophecy Celeste had given me a decade ago.

It was toward the end of my studies with Celeste, just after turning eighteen. At the time it felt like Celeste was my only real family; my own parents had abandoned me when they realized I didn't have the gift of prophecy. They left me on Celeste's front door and immediately left Silverleaf. As the leader, she took me in, teaching me every form of magic she knew, even those she didn't possess herself. I had a hunger to learn and a determination to prove my worth beyond the power I lacked. I treated training with Celeste like a form of therapy.

In Silverleaf, a witch's eighteenth birthday marked a day of celebration, symbolizing the cusp of adulthood when a witch's powers were enhanced by the elements and cosmic energies. To celebrate, Celeste gifted me a mage's robe—a deep purple tapestry with no adornments. When touched by light, the robe shimmered with luminescence. As I tried on the floor-length robe, the hood framing my face, I felt an immense sense of honor to receive my first robe from my mentor, especially on such a pivotal birthday.

I spun around to show her the robe, excited to see her reaction. Except, when I stopped, she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were white, pupils and irises completely erased. I had witnessed her give prophecies to others, though never to me. And Celeste was not one to give an unsolicited prophecy. Something felt off, no, wrong, about the moment.

"Rhea."

The voice that emanated from her mouth was forceful, awe-inspiring, and God-like. I was just as entranced as she was. There was something exciting about receiving a prophecy, especially on my birthday and in a moment that I felt so loved.

"An ember has ignited; a crucible of trials awaits you. Beneath the shadows of Dreadshade Summit, through the whispers of a trickling flame, a phoenix will rise from the ashes. Thou shalt rise, the strongest witch forged in fire."

I felt damn good. Who wouldn't want to hear that they were destined to become a strong, badass witch? Especially an eighteen-year-old who had spent the last six years fighting to prove her worthiness of love and acceptance. Celeste had given me the best birthday gift imaginable. As her body relaxed, she looked at me, her face dropping, and I felt mine do the same. She reached for my cheek, her hand grazing the hood I still had on, a tear rolled down her face. I shook my head, reaching for her hand with my own, leaning into her touch.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She smiled softly before whispering, "You must never go to Dreadshade Summit."