Hello,
Beloveds,
And welcome to today's reading.
Part two of a story I wrote,
The Twins of Neptuna.
Before we begin,
Just taking a few moments here to settle into the space,
To arrive fully into this moment.
Maybe taking some longer,
Deeper inhales and exhales.
Making yourself comfortable,
Maybe stretching out your body.
And when you are ready,
We shall begin.
Autumn arrived,
Painting the forests in shades of crimson and gold.
The twins were nearly fourteen when a wandering mage came to the village.
He was a tall man,
Robed in deep indigo,
With eyes like polished stone.
His staff glimmered with a faint inner light.
He introduced himself as Master Giles,
Claiming he traveled the kingdom seeking students of promise.
The villagers welcomed him warily,
But it was Edward who drew his attention.
One evening,
Giles watched as Edward lit a bonfire with a single breath of flame.
The mage's lips curved into a smile.
Remarkable,
He murmured.
So much raw strength and so young.
Edward's chest swelled.
I could do more if I had a real teacher.
I could summon firestorms.
I could command armies.
Giles chuckled.
Ambitious and wise.
Power should never be hidden under bushels like a farmer hoarding grain.
It should be wielded,
Claimed.
Olivia,
Standing nearby,
Frowned.
Power is not meant for ruling.
It is meant for helping.
The mage's gaze flicked to her.
For a moment,
His expression softened,
Almost pitying.
A kind heart is admirable,
Girl.
But the world does not bow to kindness.
It bows to strength.
Edward's eyes gleamed at those words.
That night,
He lay awake whispering to Olivia of crowns and kingdoms.
Of how they could rise above it all.
But Olivia turned away,
Whispering prayers that he would not believe the mage's words too deeply.
Yet,
Deep inside,
She knew the fire had found new fuel.
Not long after Master Giles' visit,
Edward grew restless.
He spent less time in the fields.
Less time laughing with Olivia by the river.
Instead,
He disappeared for long stretches into the forest,
Returning with a strange intensity in his eyes and whispers of things he would not share.
One morning,
Olivia awoke to find his bed empty.
Hours passed.
Days.
She searched the woods,
The hills,
The riverbank.
But he was nowhere to be found.
Her chest ached with a fear she could not name.
When Edward finally returned weeks later,
He was not alone.
Three men trailed behind him.
Ruth faced wanderers with weapons at their sides.
They looked at Edward not as a boy,
But as a commander.
Edward himself walked taller,
Shoulders squared,
Flames curling at his fingertips as though they were an extension of his very breath.
Where have you been?
Olivia demanded,
Relief and anger tangled in her voice.
Becoming who I was meant to be,
Edward answered.
His tone was calm,
But etched like a blade freshly honed.
These men follow me now.
They see what I am capable of.
Olivia's heart sank.
They follow you because they fear you.
Edward smiled faintly.
Fear?
Love?
What difference does it make?
They obey me.
For days afterward,
The village lived in uneasy silence.
Edward strutted through the square with his new followers,
Conjuring flames at will,
Accepting gifts of food and coin from those too afraid to deny him.
Olivia tended the frightened children who clung to their mothers.
She healed a shepherd boy burned by one of Edward's careless sparks,
And whispered to her neighbors that kindness would endure.
Yet she could feel the shift.
The boy who had once raced her through fields of flowers now seemed like a stranger cloaked in fire.
That night,
She sat alone beneath the stars.
Please,
She prayed,
Let him remember who he is.
But no answer came.
Only the distant glow of her brother's fire rising against the dark horizon.
Edward's absence became more frequent.
He wandered from village to village with his followers,
His reputation spreading like wildfire.
He demanded tribute in exchange for protection,
Scorching the skies with fire when doubted.
Some called him a hero,
Others a tyrant.
Meanwhile,
Olivia's path was gentler,
But her name also began to travel.
When sickness struck a village two valleys over,
She walked for three days to reach it.
She spent nights at the bedsides of the ill,
Her light easing fevers and strengthening weary hearts.
When wolves prowled near the farms,
She did not summon fire,
But instead soothed the animals until they slunk back into the woods.
People began to speak of her in hushed reverence.
The Twin of Light,
They called her.
A blessing sent by the stars.
Olivia shook her head each time she heard it.
She was no blessing,
Only a sister trying to mend what her brother had broken.
One evening after healing a child's fever,
A woman pressed Olivia's hands to her lips.
You ask for nothing in return,
She whispered,
Tears in her eyes.
Why?
Olivia smiled softly.
Because life is precious,
And if we are given the power to ease suffering,
What greater reward could we ask for than to see joy return?
The woman wept and kissed her brow.
Olivia walked on,
But her heart was heavy.
Each time she heard herself praised,
She thought of Edward.
Of how much brighter he might shine,
If only he would turn his fire toward love instead of fear.
She still believed,
She had to believe,
That one day he would.
Edward's fame grew darker with each passing season.
In one town,
He set a river alight,
To prove his strength.
In another,
He split stone with a strike of fire so fierce,
The earth itself seemed to groan.
His followers multiplied,
Men who craved power or cowered before his might.
At first,
He called himself a protector,
But soon,
Whispers spread of villagers paying dearly for his safeguard,
Of those who refused being left in ashes.
Around tavern fires,
Stories clashed.
Some swore Edward was a hero,
Driving off raiders,
Saving towns with fire that no army could match.
Others muttered that he was little more than a conqueror in the making.
And always,
The tale came paired with another,
His sister,
The healer who trailed his shadow,
Mending what he had scorched.
The twin of light and the twin of flame,
People whispered,
Two sides of a coin,
Two fates twinned together.
Edward heard these words and scowled.
Light cannot exist without fire,
He told his men.
She is nothing without me.
But alone in his tent at night,
When the fire dimmed low,
A memory returned to him.
Olivia's laughter,
When he first made sparks dance above his palms,
Her hand warm in his as they ran through fields of gold.
The memory burned almost as hot as the fire within him,
But it did not soothe.
It only made the emptiness worse.
Winter crept across Neptunia,
Coating the hills in frost and silence.
But in the east where Edward marched,
The snows melted at his arrival.
Villages burned,
Not from hearth fires,
But from his storms of flame.
He no longer hid his ambition.
His men whispered of thrones,
Of crowns,
Of the day Edward would bend the capital itself to his will.
Olivia heard the rumors as she tended the sick in a mountain hamlet.
Each tale cut her like a blade.
Edward had demanded hearth a town's grain in tribute.
Edward had reduced a manor house to cinders when its lord denied him shelter.
Edward's fire had turned a night sky red.
That night she dreamt of the capital city in flames.
She saw the spires crumbling,
People screaming,
And Edward standing in the midst of it all,
Crowned in fire.
She awoke trembling,
Knowing it was not just a dream,
But a warning.
Her path was clear.
She must face him before the fire consumed them all.
