Never ownED myself

divinities and wars

divinities and wars
https://youtu.be/cJt8RDOjKBU

I like this chapter;
I hope you will like it as much as I do.
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Quote time:

"The more tranquil a man becomes, the greater is his success, his influence, his power for good." - James Allen

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Deep in the forest of the human realm, the night held its breath.

For a brief moment, the singing ceased. Even the insects stilled, as if the world itself were listening. Then the voices rose again together across races and tongues. The sound pressed upward, carried by magic older than the forest roots.

The gods had heard them.

Annie drifted between earth and sky.
Below her, Tom stood knee-deep in water, arms raised, fingers spread as if he could catch the moon itself. His eyes were closed. Silver light washed over his face, too bright, too still. He did not move.

Her breath caught.

The light around Annie tightened, pressing inward until the pressure rang behind her eyes. A voice spoke.
"You have carried what was taken from you," it said. "You were made to forget so you would endure. But forgetting fractured you."

The air split.
Not with sound, but with force.
A pale beam cut through the white and struck Annie's crown. The impact drove her breath from her lungs. Heat flooded her skull. She cried out as the light forced its way through paths that had long been sealed.

Something inside her resisted.
Then broke.
Memories surged. A weight. A warmth. A voice she had learned to survive without.

"Leah, I'm here."

Her body convulsed as the fog in her mind tore apart. The spell that had thinned her thoughts, softened her emotions, dulled her instincts unraveled thread by thread. Synapses flared, reconnecting in sharp bursts of sensation.

She remembered being seven.
The first night she had heard Leah. Her voice was steady and curious, tucked inside her thoughts. Leah had been there when Annie was afraid of the dark, when the house felt too quiet, when words crowded her chest and nowhere to put them.

From seven to twelve, she had never been alone.
Leah had laughed with her. Argued with her. Warned her. Comforted her. A constant presence, closer than breath. Not a parasite. Not a curse.
A twin.

The beam followed the damage deeper.
Her mother's incantations rose in her memory. It layered the voices of the coven, deliberate and cold. Magic threading into Annie's mind, erasing not pain, but connection. The voice had faded slowly. Questions went unanswered. Silence becoming a burden.

Annie had grown up believing that was strength.
Now the light peeled that lie away.

Her heart seized as the realization hit her whole: Leah had not left. Leah had been buried. Pushed into the void with nothing but her pain and confusion, trapped there while Annie lived on incomplete, hollow without knowing why.

The darkness ahead recoiled as the beam widened, flooding through her skull, mending what had been severed.

"You were not weak," the voice said. "You were divided."

The beam lifted.
The rupture sealed.

Annie collapsed forward, hands clawing into the ground as breath tore back into her lungs. Her chest burned. She was whole again but it was so sudden it hurt. Her thoughts were clear now. Too clear.