Flash of Our Fate

Chapter 1: Dust and Destiny

POV: First Person (Sarah Harper)

The Great Plains stretched endless before me, a sea of prairie dust baked under the relentless August sun. I stood at the edge of the Spring of Willow Creek, its crystal waters glinting like a promise of salvation in this unforgiving land.

As Sarah Harper, daughter of the plains and voice of the river spirits, my life was tethered to the sacred texts of the Willow Creek Sisterhood. I was their strong heroine, destined to become High Sister, my days woven with holy rites and whispered prayers to the spirits who guarded our commune.

But destiny, they say, is a storm; wild, unyielding, and cruel to those who dare defy it. I believed that. Until that night, when a mysterious stranger crashed into my world, setting my soul ablaze with secret fire.

The air was heavy, thick with the scent of sage and the hum of cicadas, as I led my sisters; Lila, barely sixteen, and stern-faced Hannah through the evening patrol.

The Spring of Willow Creek was our heart, a mystical oasis fed by underground streams, its waters said to carry the voices of ancestors.

My role was to protect it, to ensure no outsider tainted its purity. The High Assembly had drilled that into me since I was old enough to read the sacred texts, their warnings etched into my bones: Beware the stranger who brings fire, for he heralds change.

We were halfway through our circuit when Lila gasped, her flashlight beam slicing through the dusk. "Sarah, look!"

I followed her gaze. There, sprawled in the prairie dust, was a man; half-dead, his body a map of ruin. His skin was blistered by sunburn, lips cracked and bloodied, clothes torn to rags.

My sisters froze, their whispers sharp with fear. "He's an outsider," Hannah hissed. "Leave him. The spirits will judge."

But I couldn't. Something about him; the way the air seemed to shimmer around his broken form, as if the stars themselves knelt to his presence, pulled me forward.

I knelt beside him, my heart pounding. His chest rose faintly, each breath a battle. Up close, his scars told stories of survival: jagged lines across his forearms, a faded burn curling around his neck. He was no ordinary man.

"Sarah, don't!" Lila pleaded, clutching her prayer beads. "The sacred hymns forbid touching the unclean."

I ignored her, my fingers brushing his wrist to check his pulse. His skin was fever-hot, but his hazel eyes flickered open, locking with mine. A jolt ran through me, like lightning sparking a dry field.

Those eyes held hidden power, a depth that stirred my soul, whispering of mystical secrets I wasn't ready to face. For a moment, I felt it; a magical connection, as if the spirits themselves had woven our fates together.

"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the prairie wind.

He didn't answer, his gaze unwavering, heavy with silence.

My sisters tugged at my sleeve, but I shook them off.

"We can't leave him to die," I said, my voice firm. "The river spirits teach mercy."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. "You'll answer to the High Assembly for this."

"Let them judge me," I snapped, my defiance surprising even myself.

I was the strong heroine of Willow Creek, but this choice felt bigger than duty, bigger than the sacred texts. It felt like destiny.

We dragged him to the commune, his weight heavy against my shoulder. The other sisters stared as we passed the wooden prayer hall, its steeple glowing under the rising moon.

Mother was waiting at the infirmary, her gray hair pulled tight, her eyes sharp with suspicion. As High Sister, she carried the weight of our traditions, her faith in the river spirits unshakable.

"Who is this?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the murmurs.

"His name's Mason," I said, repeating the only word he'd rasped when I pressed him. No family, no roots, just Mason.

His calloused hands and bitter grace screamed fallen heir, a man who'd once held power but now carried only scars. I should've reported him to the High Assembly, let them decide his fate.

Outsiders were forbidden, especially men who looked like they'd fought wars and lost. But my heart refused to let him go.

Mother's gaze softened as she examined him, her fingers tracing the air above his wounds.

"He's no wanderer," she murmured. "The spirits cling to him. There's fire in his blood."

"Fire?" Lila whispered, clutching her beads tighter.

I swallowed hard, my hand brushing the prophecy scroll tucked in my pocket. It was a relic passed down through generations, its parchment worn but sacred, meant only for the High Sister-in-training.

I'd never dared unroll it outside the prayer hall, but now it felt alive, trembling against my hip.

We laid Mason on a cot, his breathing shallow. I fetched water from the Spring of Willow Creek, its coolness a balm in my hands.

As I pressed the cup to his bloodied lips, his fingers grazed mine, sending another jolt through me. His eyes fluttered, and for a moment, I saw it again; that hidden power, a spark that could torch cities or save them. Was he the Starborn the elders whispered of, the one foretold to bring salvation or ruin?

"Rest," I told him, my voice softer than I meant. He didn't reply, but his gaze held mine, a silent vow that rooted itself in my chest.

Mother sent my sisters away, her expression grim. "Sarah, this man is no accident. The river spirits don't stir without reason. You've brought a fugitive into our home."

"He was dying," I protested. "The spirits would've taken him if they didn't want him here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Or they sent him to test you."

I didn't answer, my fingers tightening around the prophecy scroll. Mother's words echoed the sacred texts: Beware the stranger who brings fire. Was Mason a blessing or a curse?

That night, alone in my room, I sat by a flickering candle, the commune silent except for the distant howl of coyotes. My hands shook as I unrolled the prophecy scroll, its parchment heavy with the weight of centuries.

The ink glowed crimson, as if kissed by fire, and the words burned into my mind:

"When starlight falls at the spring, the plains shall choose. From blood and bond, a world shall rise or crumble."

My breath caught. Starlight. Blood and bond. The words felt alive, pulsing with a mystical destiny I couldn't escape. Mason's arrival wasn't chance; it was fate.

But what kind of fate?

A love story that could save Willow Creek, or a forbidden prophecy that would destroy it?

I pressed the scroll to my chest, my heart racing. The air in my room grew heavy, the candle flame flickering as if stirred by an unseen wind. I thought of Mason's hazel eyes, the shimmer around him, the scars that told of a life I didn't yet understand.

Was he a traitor, as the world beyond the plains might call him?

Or was he something more; a chosen one, like me, bound to a clash of worlds we couldn't yet see?

A knock at my door startled me. Lila stood there, her face pale. "Sarah, the High Assembly knows about the stranger. They're calling an emergency meeting at dawn."

My stomach twisted. The High Assembly was unforgiving, their rules carved in stone. Bringing an outsider into Willow Creek was a betrayal of our traditions.

If they deemed Mason a threat, they'd cast him out or worse. And I'd be punished for my defiance.

"What did you tell them?" I asked, my voice sharp.

"Nothing!" Lila's eyes widened. "But Hannah... she said he's dangerous. That he's not what he seems."

Hannah. Of course. Her loyalty to the High Assembly outweighed her loyalty to me. I clenched my fists, the prophecy scroll crinkling in my grip. Mason's bitter grace, his calloused hands, his silence; they all pointed to a secret past. Was Hannah right?

Had I brought a fugitive into our sacred home, a man whose fire could burn everything I loved?

I pushed past Lila, heading for the infirmary. I needed answers. I needed to know who Mason was, why the river spirits had spared him, why my heart refused to let him go.

The commune was dark, the stars above bright and unyielding, like eyes watching my every step.

As I reached the infirmary, I stopped short. The cot where Mason lay was empty, the blanket tossed aside. My heart lurched.

Had he fled?

Or had someone taken him?

A faint glow caught my eye; a crimson light seeping from the Spring of Willow Creek in the distance, pulsing like a heartbeat. The prophecy scroll in my pocket burned hot, as if calling me to the water.

I ran toward the spring, my breath ragged, fear and hope warring in my chest. Was Mason there, drawn by the same mystical connection that bound us?

Or was this the first spark of the forbidden prophecy, a sign that the Starborn had come to destroy us all?

Cliffhanger: The Spring of Willow Creek glows crimson, the prophecy scroll searing Sarah's skin. Is Mason the Starborn destined to save or doom her world, and where has he gone?