Capítulo 8: Paths Set in Motion
Celyna woke with a start, the musty air of her cell filling her lungs. The moonlight streaming through the tiny barred window was her only comfort, its pale glow illuminating the rough stone walls around her. She clutched her knees to her chest, the vision of the blood-drenched man from her dream lingering in her mind. For the first time since her enslavement, a spark of hope ignited within her.
Her breathing steadied, and she felt something shift deep inside her—a latent power she had discovered days prior, an ability to soothe with her voice. At first, it had been an accident; her soft humming had lulled her fellow captives into a restless, dreamless sleep. Now, she realized its potential.
"Tonight," she whispered, her voice trembling with resolve. "Tonight, we leave this place."
The faint torchlight outside her cell flickered as the guards changed shifts. Two of them remained stationed in the hallway, their heavy boots scraping against the floor as they settled in for a long, uneventful watch. Celyna crept to the bars, her heart hammering in her chest. Her two closest friends, Lysanne and Rael, were in adjacent cells, their faces pale and tired. She motioned for silence and nodded firmly, signaling her plan.
Taking a deep breath, she began to hum—a soft, lilting melody that drifted through the corridor like a breeze carrying the scent of spring. The guards tensed at first, turning toward her, but their expressions softened almost instantly.
Her voice grew stronger, weaving the melody with purpose. She sang now, her words flowing like water, calming and irresistible. The guards swayed, their eyes growing heavy. One leaned against the wall, his spear clattering to the ground, while the other slumped onto a bench. Within moments, they were both slumped over, their snores echoing through the hall.
Celyna stopped singing and motioned to her friends. She reached through the bars to retrieve the keys hanging from the belt of one of the guards. The cold metal of the keys felt like salvation in her hands. She unlocked her cell first, then Lysanne's and Rael's.
"Stay quiet," she whispered, her voice firm. "We're leaving."
Together, they moved swiftly through the dim corridors, avoiding the other guards with practiced stealth. Celyna's heart raced as they finally emerged into the cool night air. The scent of salt and the distant crash of waves reminded her of home, of Naath, and she vowed silently to find the man in her vision—the one who might be their salvation.
Far to the east, the red glow of dawn touched the spires of Asshai. Thyra stood at the edge of the temple steps, her crimson robes billowing in the faint morning breeze. Her heart was a storm of emotions—reverence, determination, and a touch of fear.
The flames had shown her the path, the vision of the blood-soaked warrior unmistakable. He was Azor Ahai, the prince who was promised. Her mission was clear: she would find him, guide him, and ensure he fulfilled his destiny.
Mounting her dark steed, Thyra whispered a prayer to R'hllor, the Lord of Light. The scent of incense clung to her robes, a reminder of her devotion. She spurred the horse forward, its hooves striking the cobbled streets with rhythmic certainty. The city of shadows receded behind her as she rode into the unknown, her faith unshakable.
In the desolate wasteland, Torak awoke with a jolt. The cool morning air stung his skin, and his body ached as if he had been trampled by a herd of sandbeasts. He rubbed his temples, the vivid dream of the black-haired woman and the fiery red priestess still etched in his mind. Who were they, and why did their faces feel so familiar?
"Torak." His mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Alaena knelt beside him, her face pale but composed.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"You fainted," she said, her tone heavy with concern. "After you collapsed, a shadowy beast attacked us. A Nyxclaw."
Torak's eyes widened. He had heard tales of the Nyxclaw—predators that thrived in the dark, their claws sharper than steel. "What happened to it?"
"We fled," Alaena said, her voice breaking. "We carried you, but... we lost two of our own."
Her words struck like a dagger to his chest. "Who?"
"Korrin and Selise," she said softly. "They fought bravely, but the beast was too strong. We barely escaped."
Torak sat in stunned silence, the weight of the news crushing him. Guilt and anger churned within him. His comrades had died while he lay unconscious, powerless to help.
"I should have been there," he muttered, his fists clenching.
"There was nothing you could have done," Alaena said, her hand resting on his shoulder. "But you can honor their memory by surviving. By leading."
Her words offered little solace, but Torak nodded. He wouldn't let their sacrifices be in vain. He would grow stronger, not just for himself but for those who had believed in him.
As the sun rose higher, casting harsh light over the barren land, Torak resolved to press on. Somewhere, he felt, the path of his destiny awaited him—one that now intertwined with two others.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
AlienTrail
AlienTrail Fate moves the pieces, but who holds the board? Celyna, Thyra, and Torak take their first steps toward destiny—one with songs of freedom, visions of fire, and battles born of loss. Their paths now begin to intertwine.
What do you think drives them—destiny, prophecy, or their own resolve? Share your thoughts in the comments!
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Until next time, keep questioning and exploring!
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