Whispers of Astoria

Chapter Sixteen: Beneath the Surface

Darkness engulfed Florence, swallowing him whole as the tendrils of magic dragged him down into the earth. The world above—the storm, Andre's shouts, Johmarrian's frantic spells—faded away, leaving only silence. His body felt weightless, as if suspended in some endless void, and yet the pressure of the magic around him was suffocating.

He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His mind raced, panic clawing at the edges of his thoughts. Was this the end? Was he being pulled into the Void, lost forever to the darkness?

Florence...

That voice again. It echoed through his mind, wrapping around him like a cold shroud. It was different this time—not the distant, insistent call of the storm, but something deeper, more intimate.

Florence, don't be afraid.

His heart pounded, and he strained to see through the darkness. He wasn't sure if it was real or if his mind was playing tricks on him, but there—just ahead—he saw a faint, glowing figure. A silhouette, familiar and comforting.

"Mother?" His voice trembled, barely a whisper.

The figure stepped closer, her features becoming clearer. It was her. His mother. But how? She had been gone for so long—lost to him in a past life, before Astoria, before the magic. And yet, here she was, standing before him, bathed in a soft, ethereal light.

"Florence," she said gently, her voice soothing. "You don't have to be afraid."

Tears welled up in his eyes. "What... what is this? Where am I?"

She smiled, though there was a sadness in her eyes. "You're in a place between worlds. Between the storm and the Void. It's where you must make your choice."

"My choice?"

Her expression softened. "The power within you, Florence... it's ancient, older than Astoria itself. It's both a blessing and a curse. You can control it, but only if you embrace it fully."

Florence shook his head, his mind spinning. "I didn't ask for this. I don't want this."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. "I know. But this is your fate. You were chosen for this, long before you were born."

The weight of her words pressed down on him, crushing him beneath their significance. He felt the magic inside him—wild, uncontrollable, like a storm raging just beneath his skin. How could he control something like that? How could he be expected to carry the weight of this power?

"I don't know if I can," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"You're stronger than you think," she said softly. "But you have to make the choice. Will you accept this power and fight, or will you let it consume you?"

Florence stared at her, his heart aching with the need for answers. But before he could speak, the ground beneath him shifted, and the darkness began to pull him deeper.

"Mother, wait!" he cried, reaching for her, but she was already fading, her form dissolving into the shadows.

"Remember, Florence," her voice echoed, distant and fading. "The storm is not your enemy. It's a part of you."

And then she was gone.