The moon's silver light bathed the royal chambers as Amaya sat on the edge of her bed, the written scroll crumpled lightly in her hand. Her fingers traced the inked words as if they could somehow offer answers, but she knew this wasn't something she could figure out alone. The mysterious creature's words from the woods haunted her. You are the hawthorn, the firethorn, and the rose.
Amaya stood, her silk nightgown brushing softly against the stone floor. She exhaled and moved to the door. Gripping the cold brass handle, she opened it. Outside stood Ser Darkota, firm as ever, his armored figure a silent guardian. He straightened immediately.
"Are you alright, my lady?" he asked, concern in his voice.
Amaya offered a small, reassuring smile.
"Of course," she said, her voice steady though her heart fluttered with anxiety. Without another word, she stepped into the corridor. The soft tap of her bare feet echoed gently through the stone halls. Darkota, ever vigilant, fell in behind her. She stopped and turned, her hair cascading over one shoulder.
"Do not follow me," she said, her tone commanding but not rude.
Darkota paused, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword.
"Your Highness, my orders are to—"
She interrupted sharply, her patience running out.
"You'll take your orders from me, Ser Darkota. Do not follow me."
For a moment, he hesitated, battling duty against loyalty. But when she turned and continued walking, he still followed, his armored boots silent against the stone. Amaya's shoulders tensed, her frustration growing. She whirled around again, the folds of her gown spinning lightly.
"Forgive me, my lady," Darkota said softly, bowing his head.
Seeing he would not stop, she sighed and moved on, allowing him to shadow her at a distance. She had one destination in mind—her mother's chambers. Her bare feet padded swiftly through the palace corridors, cool air brushing her skin. She rounded a hallway, her thoughts heavy, when she collided with a familiar form. She gasped, stumbling back. Strong, comforting hands caught her.
"It's alright, child. It's me," said Luna Jamayah, her voice a soothing balm.
Amaya steadied herself, her heart beating fast.
"I was just making my way to your chambers, Mother," she said breathlessly. Jamayah's eyes softened, and she nodded.
"The spirits woke me as well. They left me a message… You."
Amaya's hands tightened around the scroll. Wordlessly, she offered it to her mother. Jamayah took it delicately, unfolding the parchment under the torch-lit hall. Her brow furrowed as she read the cryptic message: You are the future, you are the hawthorn, the firethorn, and the rose. Without a word, Luna Jamayah nodded to herself, her mind working quickly.
"We must go somewhere private," she said firmly.
Amaya nodded, understanding the gravity of her mother's tone. They moved swiftly, with Darkota trailing protectively behind them. Luna Jamayah led them down a different wing of the palace, into the Hall of Ancestors. The walls were lined with portraits of past rulers, each one framed in gold.
Jamayah paused before her own portrait, a lifelike painting of her in her coronation robes. She placed a hand upon it, and with a low rumble, a hidden doorway slid open. A cool breeze from the darkened tunnel beyond kissed their faces.
Jamayah entered first, Amaya close behind. Darkota hesitated briefly, taken aback, but Jamayah turned to him with a nod.
"It's alright," she said.
Still wary but obedient, he followed them into the secret passage. They descended spiraling stone steps, their way lit only by the faint glow of moonlight slipping through tiny openings in the walls.
At the bottom was a vast cave hidden beneath the palace, the sacred cave of the Moon. Pools of clear, shimmering water dotted this cave, and ancient runes etched into the stones glowed faintly.
Jamayah led them to the central altar, where she unrolled the scroll again, her voice steady as she read it aloud.
"You are the future, you are the hawthorn, the firethorn, and the rose." She turned to Amaya, her expression grave.
"I do not yet know what this means," she admitted.
"But I will seek the spirits. We must understand before sharing this with the other sisters. These are burdens we bear as leaders—and you, as future Lunas. Do you understand?"
Amaya swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
"Yes, Mother."
Darkota stood by the entrance, his eyes sweeping the shadows protectively. Still, he could not help but glance at the two women as they prepared themselves. It was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Jamayah and Amaya joined hands, their eyes closing. Their breathing slowed, becoming rhythmic. They began to hum—a low, melodic vibration that echoed through the cavern, resonating against the stones and rippling across the pools of water.
Slowly, their humming rose into a chant, ancient and powerful, words from a time long past. The air thickened, charged with unseen energy. Darkota could feel it—an invisible force wrapping around them, drawing the mortal and spirit worlds closer together.
He stood still, humbled by the sacredness of the moment, as the two women traveled deep into the Otherworld. Their bodies remained in the cavern, but their spirits soared elsewhere, to a place beyond mortal sight.
Hours passed in that sacred space until, at last, Jamayah and Amaya opened their eyes simultaneously, gasping softly for breath as if emerging from deep waters. Jamayah placed a steadying hand on Amaya's shoulder.
"We will meet with the sisters tonight," she said, her voice tinged with urgency.
"I must go now, the sun will soon rise."
She rose to her feet gracefully. Darkota bowed deeply as she approached him. She smiled faintly and patted his shoulder, a rare sign of affection from the Luna.
With that, Luna Jamayah disappeared into the tunnel, her form soon swallowed by the darkness. Only Amaya and Darkota remained in the sacred hall. Amaya took a deep breath, letting the cavern's magic settle into her. Her fingers deftly worked the ties of her nightgown, and she slipped the garment from her shoulders. She turned towards the moon pool, the silver water calling to her.
Out of respect, Darkota immediately turned away, facing the far wall.
"My lady," he said stiffly.
Amaya chuckled quietly at his discomfort but said nothing more. She waded slowly into the moon pool, the coolness of the water enveloping her. She let herself sink slightly, the water licking at her shoulders.
She closed her eyes and allowed the pool's sacred energy to seep into her soul. The Moon Pool was said to heal, to cleanse, and to strengthen those destined for great things. Tonight, Amaya needed all three.
As she soaked, her mind wandered.
The hawthorn. The firethorn. The rose.