The Twin Moons hovered above the sea, patient and still, as if watching. Sereth’Kael shimmered silver. Noz’Ruun swelled red.

  I knew they weren't just light. During the lunar solstice, Noz’Ruun's red glare burned brightest over the Heartponds, a guide for souls inside their Soulmirrors crossing through the Drift when it was weakest. Sereth’Kael’s silver glow weaves fate to each Soulmirror before finding its host. Together, they announce the return of Soulmirrors to Aionis, a rite held across Va’Sil’Tharin. We would call this event the festival of the wings

  A shadow passed across the twin moons, thin and sharp, like a claw tracing the curve of Sereth’Kael.

  Below, vaulted coral rose like cathedral spires — pale, gnarled, and webbed with algae and bioluminescent light. The Heartpond shimmered between them, its surface pulsing. My home Siltra-Velryn.

  Far below, a muffled voice echoed up from the lower tiers. "So first you let Dyuun take the book, huh?! The one Master.....?!"

  A beat passed. Then the same voice: "...— just straight into excuses."

  Kaelin flinched. Great start, he thought, sinking to the floor, robe edges folding beneath him. Just drop like a dead weight. That always inspires confidence. His knees hit the mat with a faint crunch of dried moss. Of course it makes a sound. Because why wouldn’t it, with her standing right there?

  Esthel didn’t even have to speak. She was just standing there; I could feel her behind me with her hand hovering half-open, waiting. She’s giving me space, not a lifeline. Come on. Move.

  In front of him, the Driftstone rested on the floor. Only a breath away. Kaelin stared at it. You want it to leap onto your head now? Come on. It’s a rock, not a verdict.

  “If you still haven't pushed your Shadowroot by the seventh night of the festival,” Esthel said, her voice firm and steady. A week. A week. Dread tightened his chest. “You'll be training directly under Master Vasalilth personally.” Then, softer, “When you spiral, you have to keep reminding yourself who you are.”

  Kaelin grunted, low and tired. "I know who I am," he said. The words felt like a lie, even to me. I only said it for her. Not because I believed it — but because I wanted her to... He leaned forward to pick up the Driftstone, fingers tightening. "You know how it is when I spiral... I can hurt you. Or worse—when I’m in that state."

  Esthel leaned down and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Even if you don’t push past your Shadowroot tonight, it’s okay," she said, her voice steady but kind. "But if you’re going to take your part in the Heartsong in a few hours, you’ll still need your Essentia full enough to hold the ritual."

  Kaelin rolled the Driftstone between his fingers, stalling. The spiral rune shimmered. What if it shatters this time? What if I spiral and she sees the worst of me? The stone caught the twin-moonlight just right, twisting patterns across his palm. Looks more like a snare than a guide... "So how am I supposed to do this again?" he muttered, voice flat. "The right way, I mean."

  Esthel nodded slightly. "As long as you’re willing to thread, I’ll tell you."

  Esthel reached out, and Kaelin watched her fingers begin weaving a calming charm — a steady, fluid motion, a pattern so practiced it looked like breathing. "You have to place the Driftstone at the crown of your head and balance it." Her voice stayed calm. "Then tap into your Driftroot. Thread your Essentia slowly — from the bottom of your Pulse Thread to your Crown Thread. Let it flow into the stone. That’s what helps you center. That’s what keeps the Field still."

  Kaelin squinted at the Driftstone, turning it in his palm. "So this will give me a day's worth of Essentia in an hour, then?"

  Esthel's hand flashed out, a quick smack to the back of Kaelin's head. He winced. "Quit fucking stalling, Kaelin."

  "Ow—owowow! Okay, okay," Kaelin muttered, rubbing the side of his head. He shuffled into place, placed the Driftstone flat behind his pale horn, and settled into lotus position with an exaggerated sigh.

  Easy. Just breathe and thread. Like Master Vasalith taught. Slow, even breaths. He closed his eyes, threading his Essentia, trying to listen. Come on, just once — let it feel right. Let it feel like I belong. Not because I forced it. Not because I’m being tolerated. He tried to match his breath to the rhythm of the Drift, hoping the silence would finally welcome him instead of weighing his worth.

  Behind him, Esthel finished the calming charm she’d been weaving, her last motion a gentle press of fingers through the air. A soft pulse followed, like a distant breath settling — the faint rustle of Essentia brushing against the back of Kaelin’s neck at the gem of his necklace, as if the silence itself had exhaled. The air shimmered gently, and the charm’s subtle pulse settled against the back of Kaelin’s neck like a slow breath exhaling. The warmth of his necklace flared in response, the two effects resonating just enough to hold him steady without pushing him forward.

  Kaelin exhaled slowly and began to trace the motion Esthel had described. He sank his focus deep, toward his Driftroot — the spiritual center tucked behind his ribs, dense and unwilling. From there, he started the slow threading upward: guiding his Essentia from the root of breath, through the channels in his chest, along the spine, rising toward the crown.

  Somewhere in that rising flow, he felt it — absurd, electric — like something impossibly vast, as if the Drift finally had noticed him. His chest tightened with a flicker of awe, a child’s fear of being caught doing something sacred.

  One breath at a time.

  He could feel the Driftstone now, hovering just above — like a coin balanced on the tip of a pen, holding the weight of stillness and collapse in equal measure.

  His Field clicked into place.

  For one breath — one real breath, a steady breath — the stillness came. The Driftstone glowed faintly, no more than a shimmer against his crown, but Kaelin felt it: Essentia flowing up, circling back down, without force, and no flickering. A perfect loop.

  He had done it.

  With another breath, he let the stillness settle in.

  Below, He felt the Heartpond pulsing — not just distant and quiet, but in rhythm with his breath. Slow. Steady.

  Esthel had once told him in passing, half-whispered during a practice rite, that some believed the oldest roots — ones buried beneath the Heartponds — could feel when a spiral threaded too deep. That if you weren’t careful, your Driftroot might tug loose a thread not meant for you, and once pulled, some threads don't stop unraveling.

  He felt the essentia from the twin moons touch his skin.

  And now, under their light, his Field held true.

  And then —

  Kaelin could hear Heartpond pulsing softly beneath the vaulted shrine. Coral shifted in rhythm, and the algae was breathing for the temple.

  He sat there a long while, letting the flow continue, threading slowly. Minutes blurred. Then longer. An hour passed, or maybe more — it was hard to tell.

  And for a moment, it felt like peace.

  Kaelin let his breath deepen, eyes still closed. Is this what it’s like for her? To just… breathe without the weight? He could almost believe this was how Esthel felt all the time — not as someone fighting to belong.

  That was all it took for his focus to slip.

  I heard the Driftstone clatter beside me—a faint, dry crack as it bounced once against the floor, then settled with a rattle.

  He opened his eyes. The Coral lights blurred his vision— Is it morning? How long was I spiraling? It took him a moment to realize something had changed.

  He jerked back with a startled noise. "Aion'—Esthel! What are you—?"

  Why was Esthel kneeling directly in front, staring at me? I remember now, she really doesn't like me bringing up an embarrassing past.

  Esthel smirked, one brow raised, and with a quick flick of her braid, she added, "I told you I’d pay you back for teasing me earlier."

  She tilted her head slightly. "How did it feel?"

  A little warm. I think pissed myself. I am lucky that we are in the ocean, everything is always damp, and has a fish smell.

  Kaelin remembered spiraling once shortly after an incident. My Field had snapped, the charm had cracked, and I had blacked out. And when I woke, it was beneath coral shielding, and no one spoke to me for three days. Dyuun had burnt my belongings earlier that day as a prank that went wrong, for what he claims. Also, two others above me on the Thread were badly hurt.

  Master Vasalith had come to see me on the first night. She didn’t speak at first — just watched me with that sea-deep calm, disappointment steady in her silence. Then she finally said, "You broke your spiral, Kaelin — but you didn’t run from it. That matters more than control. Learn from the fracture. Let it guide your next breath."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Kaelin blinked, still settling. That was before I met Esthel. She really helped me these past two years.

  Esthel gave a thoughtful nod. "I think you’re ready to try it while doing cradle stance?"

  Kaelin nodded back, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Do you always feel like that?"

  He hesitated, then added, "I heard nature… everything was just living. And I felt the Essentia — was like water. I was the sponge."

  Esthel's smile softened, and there was a flicker of warmth and something more fragile. "It must’ve been a long time since you threaded properly, Kaelin."

  She reached out a hand and helped him to his feet, her touch steady and calloused from years of weaving. "Just don’t get cocky. Cradle stance will be harder — holding motion and breath together’s always trickier than stillness."

  Kaelin flashed a grin."No worries. I got it."

  They began with feet rooted, arms bent at the elbow, and hands cupped.

  I remembered what Esthel had taught me — the Cradle Stance was a Twin Weave variant, a partnered meditation meant to help the soul find rhythm through shared breath with someone steadier. Someone like her.

  Esthel breathed in, steady and even, while Kaelin mirrored the movement with tighter shoulders and shallower breath. They whispered the shaping phrase..

  Mist rose between their palms, slow and deliberate. Essentia spiraled upward, being called by the weight of alignment. The spheres that formed between their hands were faintly luminescent.

  Esthel’s orb pulsed gently, held in rhythm with her breath. Kaelin’s shimmered uncertainly, his Field twitching beneath the surface. Kaelin’s motion stuttered — a half-step too early. And his Orb had reverberated like it was a spiked mace. But Esthel didn’t correct him. She led with her eyes and breath, and he followed back into rhythm. That was enough.

  The water orb no longer circled them separately. As Esthel stepped forward, Kaelin shifted back, their movements synchronized not by training, but by breath. When his hand lowered, hers lifted. When her fingers curved inward, his opened.

  The orb it adapted, stretching between them in a thin spiral of transluminescent water.

  It curved from Esthel’s palm across to Kaelin’s wrist, sliding over the back of his hand, then coiling behind his elbow. When he twisted his forearm outward, the ribbon slipped back to her, folding over her fingers like rain retracing its fall like muscle memory.

  Their feet moved in slow arcs around each other, deliberate and silent. The floor beneath them held faint grooves — ritual tracks carved by generations before them — and their pacing aligned to that unseen map. The water passed between their legs, behind a knee, across a hip, rising in one line before cascading to the other.

  It was not a dance. And yet, it had choreography. It was not a spell. And yet, it had the shape of the ocean's tide. Mist had appeared like fog, curling low between them.

  Between them, the water never stopped moving, only because they trusted the other to be there when it arrived.

  Their steps slowed in agreement, as if their breath knew it was time. The water’s motion followed, coiling back toward the center, tighter with each pass. With every cycle, the mist around them would pulse in rhythm, shooting outward, then regathering — a heartbeat given form.

  When Esthel exhaled, Kaelin inhaled. When she turned, he mirrored. Their final steps brought them back together, facing one another in perfect rhythm.

  Without a word, they knelt — twin arcs folding into Lotus.

  The water ribbons spiraled inward as they descended, curling together until a single sphere hovered between them. It shimmered once, then pulsed — soft and slow.

  For a moment, it felt like the whole Temple was breathing with them. Kaelin closed his eyes, letting the pulse of the Heartpond carry him. He remembered the earlier peace that had stilled the noise behind his ribs — and sank into it again. He felt the breath of nature ripple through him, letting it flow inward. His Field hummed with stability, and the Essentia around him moved as something that recognized him. It soaked through his limbs like warmth into his driftroot like tea to a cup. It feels like days since I started spiraling.

  Then, something pulled deeper. Not down into the coral floors or ocean, but beyond the pond—beneath the temple, all the way down to the abyssal roots of Aion'dosil. I can feel my body staying, but my inner sight stretched, spiraling past my limits or intention. My mind was sinking into something vast and fast if it was being pulled by gravity.

  Kaelin stood before what could only be described as a giant tree root. There was a presence in this realm, and I could feel its Essentia. The air buzzed faintly, a dull hum pressing in his ears.

  Above him, faint starlight shimmered — not scattered, but arranged, spiraling in the shape of a dragon devouring its tail. The same as his father's compass. Its glow cast just enough light for Kaelin to make out the area around him. A single, abyssal root, impossibly wide. But Kaelin could feel its presence — slow, immense, and aware. It pulsed, like the Heartpond

  I opened my mouth—or maybe just my will—and called out. Not in words, but in resonance. In feeling like pressing your lips to a flute before the song — no sound yet, but the tension of it, the breath asking permission to begin.

  "

  ...Hello? Are you there or perhaps even listening?" The question wasn’t said aloud, but it echoed inward — a vibration sent into the dark.

  The root didn’t reply.

  Kaelin frowned slightly.

  His thoughts circled like breath without direction. Was this why Master Vasalith had told him to spiral here? To find something older than rituals or sea shanties?

  "Is this what you wanted me to find?" he asked aloud.

  Still nothing.

  The root remained. If it saw him, it gave no sign.

  Kaelin’s breath hitched. What am I supposed to do here? Where exactly is here?

  He glanced down at his feet. At least I still have legs. Then Kaelin began to explore, with every step, there was a sound of a shallow puddle. I will not be able to sneak around like this. The root seemed to stay in one place. But stars given enough light to guide me onto a path.

  He walked for what felt like hours until he noticed something different. An Essentia thread of pale light. Faintly breathing. It flickered between what looked like tangled roots — dozens, perhaps hundreds, all spiraled toward a central knot of brightness.

  Kaelin moved toward the light, careful not to disturb whatever silence ruled this place. Each step pulled him deeper.

  I saw it. I could feel my heart skipping from the kind of dread that comes when you realize you're intruding on something sacred. That awe tangled with nausea.

  It was happening at the core of the root cluster, where the tendrils coiled into brightness. A soul—or what remained of one—flickered between the knots. Its Soul Mirror, koi-shaped and dimmed, was suspended in the air like it had been hooked and strung between cords.

  Essentia twisted unnaturally around the pair, ripped from the soul in jagged pulses, spiraling against its echo like the Drift itself had turned on it. And in the current of that silent storm, Kaelin heard it. Haelion. softly but undeniably heard it.

  Then came the screams — not a single cry, but a rising chorus, layered and jagged. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Each one tearing through the space like splinters of glass in water, sharp and echoing.

  Kaelin staggered back, breath choking in his chest. He looked around, but there was nowhere to look away to.

  A lesson flickered through his panic — something Vasalith had once whispered when a spirit had gone too deep. Fractured souls don’t return, and their soul mirrors are eaten.

  I thought it was just a warning for children. A fable.

  I want out! Now! His focus flinched, Field unraveling at the edges. But his Essentia recoiled; it hit the nearest root accidentally.

  Everything stopped, and silence took.

  The root pulsed and was curious now.

  Immediately. Kaelin turned and ran, or tried to — but the dark cracked open in front of him.

  The roots were already there.

  Before Kaelin could react, they struck with certainty. One coiled around his leg, then another at his wrist, similar to a snake wrapping then fusing to his Essentia Field. He gasped, trying to break free with willpower alone.

  The roots gripped tighter. Not crushing — just anchoring. Holding.

  Then came the voice.

  Not from the root. From somewhere else entirely.

  “Who are you?”

  The voice expanded. Kaelin felt it ripple through the coral veins far above him, hum in the suspended light, reverberate in the drifting water around his real body.

  I can’t breathe. There is too much gravity in his words.

  Kaelin’s breath caught.

  “How did you reach this root?”

  It was not angry. It was not kind. It is Aion’drosil, not the nice tree from the myths.

  Kaelin tried to answer — he truly did — but the roots yanked again, twisting his limbs.

  "YY..YYe..Yes, Elderwood," his words emerging more from will than voice. "I am one of the druids of the Cradle and the Thorn. I stumbled upon this place while I was spiraling... I let go. Let my soul and mind drift with the Heartpond. I was only trying to be with nature."

  I swallowed hard, and my heart was pounding inside my body with a beat of war drums. "I didn't mean to trespass. I didn't even know this place existed," Kaelin said.

  A moment passed, and the voice returned, impossibly vast.

  "Which temple of Va’Sil’Tharin houses your Heartpond?"

  Kaelin hesitated, eyes flicking toward the roots still coiled around his wrist and ankle. One tendril brushed the edge of his horn slowly. He swallowed hard.

  "The Temple of Siltra-Velryn," he said at last, the name escaping half-formed and breathless. "It watches your western reefline, it's under the Skyember Isles...The Heartpond there... It’s older than most."

  There was a pause, then a shift.

  "Oh... yes," the voice rumbled again, no longer distant, but surrounding. "I see. I found your body. You're with an elven girl, aren’t you? The Cradle and The Thorn — she has cool and warm Essentia flowing side by side, rare."

  "An elf and a Drkyn... no—twisted into Oni. That raw power. Her talent. You are both using Drift tools. And a Heartpond too close to my roots. Yes. I see now."

  "Kaelin Jorvain. You open doors without knowing.

  "You hold a sigil meant for one who wants to break cycles. But you are not branded. This one here was branded by Velmora. Do you wish to break cycles as well?"

  Kaelin turned his head, breath unsteady. The fading soul and its dim Soul Mirror—once koi-shaped—were thinning, unraveling like mist. Light collapsed inward, like breath being stolen.

  He stared, frozen. "They're... disappearing," he whispered, his voice raw with horror.

  Why? Why would Aion’drosil let this happen? Unless... this was the cost? The price of going too deep?

  The voice pulsed with amusement and ancient curiosity.

  "Not every day something like this slips through. Bound to happen eventually."

  What will you do to me? Are you going to take my soul? The question lodged in his throat. I thought I’d taste bad anyway

  I despised how weak my voice seemed. We weren't in the temple, yet even those in the heart thread and under, I was still the one they watched from the corner of their eye. Yet compared to Aion'dosil, I don't think I could even qualify as an ant to it.

  Can you just please send me back? I have nothing to do with Mistress Velmora, nor do I want to break cycles in her name.

  Was Master Vasalith testing me? I’d failed offerings. Failed spirals. Maybe this was always where I was meant to end up — before the Abyssal Root,

  "I don't know of Vasalith's plans, and you wish to return," Aion’drosil answered, voice now like root-pressure behind the eyes. "But first, we must address what you saw. That—"

  Kaelin’s breath hitched, but his fear was shifting — hardening into logic. “Wait. What are you about to do to me the same as that Soul and its Soulmirror, you were destroying it. You’re one of the oldest balances, aren’t you?”

  The roots coiled tighter around his horn.

  I started gritting my teeth, trying to pull free.

  I remember it was winter years ago in a frozen field — There was a blizzard sharp as knives. My father's voice was yelling across blood-soaked snow. I had spiraled then to. It tastes of panic and offering for more strength, more power. then. And now. Then it was all red.

  And now here he was again, unseen at the edge of something vast. struggling.

  The roots coiled tighter around his horn.

  It hurt. It was that same helplessness.

  He was already fractured. And now something wanted to crush what little shape he had left.

  The pressure didn’t answer in words. It twisted. The pain wasn't just metaphysical; it held teeth on his driftroot.

  Kaelin snapped backward in real space — stiff and wild-eyed, his body seizing with the aftershock. The pain at his horn lanced through him, breaking his focus. He toppled backward, spine hitting the floor with a bruising thud.

  Esthel caught only the end of it — just the moment his Field ruptured and the orb between them burst with a wet snap, cracking the coral walls and echoing through the chamber in a splash of Essentia and cold water. She felt its echo in the water, on her face and chest, in the crack of silence. And seated in lotus, but now tense and wide-eyed.

  She never knew Kaelin to turn so quickly.

  Kaelin writhed on the ground, hands clenched, breath jagged.

  Her hand twitched toward a communication device, but she hesitated. Esthel worried others would hurt Kaelin and rupture what was left of his control.

  His horns pulsed, and his Essentia field cracked.

  And then it began.

  Kaelin's Field flared into shape—violent, raw, crimson at the edges. A wave of heat washed over the room, the scent of scorched salt and iron rising like something primal had surfaced. Oni resonance spilled out like smoke under pressure. His back arched, his voice caught between a breath and a growl.

  Esthel’s mouth opened, a warning or a call—but she couldn’t reach him.

  Kaelin wasn’t gone. Not yet.

  But he wasn’t just Kaelin anymore, either.

  The floor under her feet throbbed once — a pressure echo, like the temple was bracing. Esthel didn’t speak. She just watched his breath. She didn’t move. Not yet. She’d been trained for storms like this. Waiting for him to make the first move.