Canya floated in a fog of confusion and fading pain. The warmth from her newly awakened power still pulsed gently beneath her skin, a soft reminder of what she had become. But the moment of peace didn't last. The world shifted, and the cavern faded away.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing within a strange, dreamlike space. Pale blue light filtered through unseen walls. Wisps of silver fog drifted across the ground. It was not the cave—nor any place she recognized.
From behind her, a voice called, "You are in a fragment of something ancient."
She turned to find Samantha, her aunt, standing barefoot upon a smooth rock floor that seemed to stretch into eternity. Samantha looked both ethereal and rooted, a presence between two worlds.
"Where are we?" Canya asked, her voice shaky.
"A fragment," Samantha repeated, "of something old and waiting."
Canya's brow creased. "Waiting for what?"
Samantha approached her slowly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Waiting for you, child. For the one who walks with the bearer of the Brush of Eminence."
Canya's heart fluttered. "Allan?"
Samantha nodded. "Yes."
Canya's mouth felt dry. "So, the prophecy is true?"
Samantha looked away, her gaze distant. "True, but not as Thomas thought."
"But I'm the stick, right? That's what he said. That Allan is the brush and I'm the stick."
Samantha shook her head gently. "No, Canya. The brush is Allan, yes. But the stick? That part of the prophecy doesn't refer to you."
Canya blinked. "Then who is it?"
Samantha smiled softly. "That you will know when the time comes. For now, your path lies here. You must tame the beast."
Canya's chest tightened. "Tame it? How? I can barely stand against it."
Samantha sighed and turned her back. "That, I do not know. The knowledge must come from within you."
"Don't go," Canya pleaded, stepping forward. "You can't just leave me with that thing. I can't do this."
Samantha looked over her shoulder, her expression resolute. "You can. Believe in yourself, Canya. You've already begun."
Then she was gone.
Canya stood alone again in silence. Her breath hitched. Tame the beast? She didn't even understand what the beast was—only that it had nearly killed her.
She sank to the ground, mind racing, body aching. But as she closed her eyes, something Allan had once told her floated back.
It had been a quiet morning. They had sat beneath the tall cedar trees. Allan was struggling with his fear painting, trying to depict something from his nightmares. His brush trembled with every stroke. Then suddenly, something shifted in him. His face relaxed, his hand steadied. And when he painted—not from fear, but from clarity and purpose—his brush seemed to move with magic.
He had told her then, "When I paint from my heart, when I clear the noise, even the sky listens."
That painting had drawn birds from far away. Bright, beautiful birds that had danced before his work as if celebrating it.
Paint from the heart.
Canya took a deep breath. Her leg still throbbed, but she forced herself to sit cross-legged. She shut her eyes. She inhaled deeply, letting go of the panic, the ache, the fear. She quieted her thoughts and focused on her center, where the spiraling energy slept.
And then, from the core of her soul, she whispered—not with words, but with emotion: Come to me. Be my companion. Let us walk this path together.
She called not with dominance, but with sincerity.
Slowly, she felt the energy respond, coiling and dancing, rippling outward from her chest in gentle waves.
Then—footsteps.
The beast approached, silent but present. She could feel its eyes on her, curious, uncertain. Canya opened her eyes slowly.
The creature stood before her, its massive form outlined by a soft golden glow. And then, it bowed—low and deep—a gesture of reverence.
A trembling smile spread across Canya's face. She had done it. Not with force, but with heart.
But just as she felt the joy swell within her, everything changed.
The light vanished.
The cavern melted away.
Darkness fell like a curtain, and she was somewhere else entirely.
A cold cave. Jagged. Damp.
Henry lay sprawled on the ground nearby, unconscious, his hand still clutching a small glowing device. Standing above him was Mashahl—arms folded, cloak billowing, his eyes like empty voids.
Canya stared at him, breath caught.
In her hand was a hide—smooth and ancient, folded with deliberate care. It pulsed faintly with power.
Mashahl tilted his head. "So, you come with the fragment."
Canya held the hide closer to her chest.
She looked at Henry, still motionless.
"What did you do to him?"
Mashahl's expression didn't change. "He tried to retrieve you. Foolishly, without understanding the bounds of your talisman's energy. The feedback overwhelmed him."
Canya narrowed her eyes. "Why am I here?"
"Because you hold what I seek. And because... you are changing. Faster than expected. You managed to free yourself from me."
She took a step back. "I'm not giving this to you."
Mashahl laughed softly, a sound that felt like blades scraping against stone.
"We'll see."
Behind her, the air shimmered again. Samantha's voice echoed, faint but clear: Stand tall, child. The beast is yours. The choice is now yours too.
Canya planted her feet, her grip tightening on the folded hide.
Mashahl's eyes glowed faintly. For the first time, she saw something flicker behind them.
Fear.
And she knew.
This wasn't the end.
It was just the next beginning.