Contentions

A Fractured Reflection

Alara sat at the base of a grand stone fountain at the courtyard's center, tracing her fingers along the intricate embroidery along the hem of her blue and white robe. The mermaid goddess Aedre sat perched upon the top of the fountain, holding her arms outstretched, her hands together as water pooled into her stone palms before spilling into the basin below. Her carved hair seemed to ripple like waves, and her serene face was a vision of grace. Yet to Alara, the goddess's external beauty appeared hollow—a cold, unfeeling lie etched in stone.

Like a heartbeat, faith pulsed through every wall and soul in the temple. She chased it for many years, spending many sleepless nights praying for some trace of it to find her. All she discovered was silence—no whispers, no signs, just her grappling with her doubts.

Is it me? She wondered, a dull ache in her chest. Am I the one who's broken?

What made it worse was that she was not just anyone struggling with faith. She was supposed to be Aedre's Chosen Speaker. As the only daughter of Emeresia's royal family, her destiny was to be the goddess's voice, connecting her divine will to her loyal worshippers. But Alara considered herself a fraud. Every prayer she whispered went unanswered. Every ritual appeared empty. She finished her tasks mechanically each day, experiencing a growing distance from her beliefs with each passing hour.

She leaned over the fountain's basin. The statue above loomed over her, reflecting Aedre's face beside hers, warped in the rippling water. The image seemed almost mocking. Was the goddess watching her falter? Did she know she wasn't enough?

"Why won't you speak to me?" Alara asked, her voice so soft the trickling water drowned it out. She did not expect an answer. She never did.

But this time, as if in response, the water calmed and sharpened into focus. Alara watched herself blink in surprise, startled to see her every movement mirrored with uncanny precision as if the collected water had transformed into a perfect glass. A cool breeze brushed over her skin, sweeping the hair not restrained by her braid across her face, yet the water below remained undisturbed despite the loud trickling of water that overwhelmed her ears. Beneath that sound, she could barely discern another. A low hum?

Her fingers tightened around the fountain's rough stone edge. Her mind was blank and unfocused as her right hand approached the mirror. A primal urge to touch it overtook her, wanting to break its illusion. Would it ripple if she touched it? Or would it feel solid against her fingertips? They trembled as she hovered them above its still surface.

A muffled shout shattered the spell, jolting Alara from her trance. She spun toward the noise, following the sight of two of her fellow acolytes darting past her across the courtyard. Engrossed in their own matters, they did not seem to notice her or care as they exchanged their low, pressing, and unintelligible whispers.

Once they were out of sight, Alara returned to the fountain, bracing herself for what awaited. But the water had returned to its natural rhythm, fracturing her reflection into shifting indistinct shapes. The hum she thought she heard was gone. Alara looked up to the statue above, then back down to the basin. Everything was just as expected—unremarkable.

She leaned away from the fountain, scoffing as she sank to the ground. What had she just seen? An illusion? A trick of the light? Had she been staring at the fountain for so long that her tired eyes played cruel tricks on her? It seemed possible, but a lingering sense of hope remained. Is this it? The sign we had been waiting for?

She rose to her feet and shook her head. She smoothed her robe with shaking hands, attempting to calm her mind by choosing to focus on the acolytes who had rushed past her. Why had they been in such a rush?