Realmshift: Triad Ascendancy.

Annora I

[ANNORA]

I woke to the cool morning air brushing against my face, sunlight spilling through the cracks in the wooden walls of my small bedroom. The cottage was quiet, the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth the only sound. As I climbed out of bed, I misjudged the height and landed face-first on the hard wooden floor. My nose throbbed, but I scrambled up quickly, glancing around to make sure no one had seen me.

The living room smelled of ash and herbs, my mother's presence filling the space like a comforting warmth. She stood near the table, her golden hair catching the morning light, and turned toward me with a soft smile.

"Good morning, sweetie," she said, her voice as warm as her gaze.

"Morning," I mumbled, rubbing my still-sore nose.

"Let's get some water," she said, taking my hand. It was a daily routine—walking to the stream together to fetch fresh water. She said it was to teach me responsibility, but I think she just liked the time we shared.

I followed her outside, the crisp air waking me fully as we walked toward the stream, the fields quiet and peaceful in the early light.

As we reached the stream, the cool, clear water sparkled under the sunlight, and my mother and I worked quickly to fill our buckets. The task was familiar and calming, our quiet rhythm broken only by the sound of water splashing and birdsong overhead. With our buckets full, we began the walk back to the cottage, the weight of the water making my arms ache slightly.

I was careful at first, stepping over roots and rocks, but my small feet betrayed me. My toe caught on something uneven, and before I knew it, I was falling forward. The buckets slipped from my hands, crashing to the ground as water spilled in all directions.

The impact was sharp and immediate. Pain shot through my leg as I landed, and I gasped, feeling a dull throb in my knee. I scrambled to sit up, my hands shaking as I turned to face my mother. "I'm sorry," I stammered, my voice trembling.

But she wasn't looking at the spilled water. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, frozen in an expression I didn't understand.

"What's wrong?" I asked, following her gaze.

And then I saw it.

Blood. Bright and red, pooling around my knee where a jagged rock had torn through the skin. It was everywhere, staining the ground, running down my leg in warm rivulets. My heart raced as fear took hold, the pain suddenly feeling worse now that I could see it.

"I-I'm hurt," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. My mother said nothing, her hands trembling as she covered her mouth, horror etched into her features.

Panic bubbled inside me, but there was something else, too—something strange. A feeling deep within me, like a gentle pulse, steady and strong. It whispered to me, a silent suggestion that I couldn't ignore.

I let the feeling guide me, closing my eyes as warmth spread from my chest to my injured leg. My breathing slowed, the fear replaced by a calm I couldn't explain. When I opened my eyes, I saw it.

The blood wasn't spilling anymore. It was moving—pulling itself back into the wound like a retreating tide. The gash in my knee sealed itself, the torn skin knitting together until only a faint line remained. The pain was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

I stared at my leg, then at my mother. Her expression hadn't changed—her horror had only deepened.

"How..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn't have an answer. I could only stare at her, the strange warmth still lingering in my body, as if waiting for me to acknowledge it.

The journey back home was shrouded in an uneasy silence. My mother didn't say a word, her face stiff and unreadable, but the tension between us was impossible to ignore. I followed her lead, clutching the empty buckets tightly, too afraid to ask what she was thinking.