Not a Damsel in Distress!

The light enveloped her completely.

It wasn't just brightness. It was weight—warm and humming, like being pulled into the center of a heartbeat. Then silence. Stillness.

When Samantha opened her eyes, she wasn't herself anymore. She wasn't in her body, not entirely. She was... watching. Like a ghost in someone else's dream.

The scene unfolded in front of her like a memory stitched into time.

A wide marble platform. Lanterns glowing against twilight. Dozens of people stood in ceremonial robes, heads bowed, as a younger Saryel stepped forward. Her hair was loose, her face nervous but radiant.

She was being chosen.

The voice of the High Seer echoed through the space, though his face never appeared. Only his silhouette, tall and indistinct, raising a hand toward her.

"She who bears balance shall now carry the name Priestess. From this day forward, Saryel of the Flame is guardian of the spirit line."

Cheers followed. Hands raised. Chants began.

Samantha watched as Saryel blinked away tears and lowered her head. A single golden chain was draped around her shoulders. When she turned to face the crowd again, she smiled—not out of pride, but out of peace.

---

The memory shifted.

A lush garden. Vines curling along sun-warmed stone. Saryel was older now, though still youthful. She laughed freely as she walked with two boys beside her.

Alaric. And another.

Samantha tilted her head. The second boy had bright eyes and a mischievous grin that mirrored Ron's... if Ron had been raised on mythology and swordplay. He was carefree, confident, warm.

"Ramiel," she whispered to herself, recognition blooming.

They were a trio. Running through the grass barefoot. Chasing each other past temple halls. Collapsing in laughter beneath flowering trees.

There was no pain here. Just closeness. A bond deep as blood and light as breath.

More time passed. Saryel grew.

She donned ceremonial robes, hands steady as she lit sacred fires. She blessed newborns, knelt beside the dying, gave offerings to the sky during eclipses. Her eyes held purpose. Her steps held grace.

She was happy. She was home.

But the boys? Not as much.

Each new scene showed more distance between them. Alaric with furrowed brows, Ramiel turning away when Saryel entered a room.

One day, the three of them sat together beneath the tree they once played under. Saryel looked tired.

"I miss this," she said softly.

"We know," Alaric replied, smiling gently. "But duty calls, right?"

Ramiel didn't speak. He just stared at the ground.

She reached for his hand. He let her, but said nothing.

Samantha felt the ache like it was her own.

The next memory was darker.

A large room. Cold stone. Saryel stood alone as shadows loomed around her.

The Council.

Their voices never rose. They spoke like echoes, emotionless.

"The Balance wanes. The veil thins. A rite of anchoring is required."

Saryel bowed her head. "What would you have me do?"

"Prepare the ritual of Binding. The soul must be aligned."

Samantha didn't know what that meant. Neither, it seemed, did Saryel. But she nodded.

"Understood."

---

That same afternoon, Saryel found the boys again.

"We were going to have our usual," Ramiel said as she approached. "Remember?"

She paused. "I do. But... I was called. The ceremony is tonight."

Alaric looked disappointed, but understanding.

Ramiel didn't look at her at all.

"We can reschedule," Saryel offered weakly.

"It's tradition," Ramiel said, voice flat. "We never miss it."

"I don't have a choice, Ram. I wish I did."

He scoffed. "You do have a choice. You just keep making the same one."

That stung.

Saryel flinched. "It's not fair."

"No," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "It's not."

She turned and left, the ceremonial robe trailing behind her like a closing door.

---

Ramiel sat alone in the garden.

The moon had risen high, silver and cold.

His hands clenched in his lap. His jaw tightened.

He wasn't angry at her. Not really. He just... wanted her to choose them for once. To choose him.

But he would never tell her.

He closed his eyes.

"Pathetic," he muttered. "She's saving the world and you're sulking like a child."

The air shifted.

And then... a voice.

Smooth. Velvet. Whispering in his mind.

"I can help you."

Ramiel's head snapped up.

"Who—?"

But there was no one. Only the trees. The stars.

And the soft sound of the garden gate creaking open.