Her Immortal Destiny

Truth

Misty POV

I did my best to keep busy, wandering Wyatt's collection of belongings. It was common for us immortals to be collectors, but Wyatt's collection of valuable information surpassed even my coven's. Impressive, to say the least.

I took a few minutes to examine the mark on my thigh as well using a small mirror. The sight of it puzzled me, as I couldn't fathom why I would have such a mark there. My readings suggested it resembled the mark of the original witches, but how could that be? If I were a reincarnation, I should have known or felt it. Such occurrences were unheard of for my kind. But then again, the mark itself was rare, just like the possibility of me being one of the originals. It made no sense, especially considering I had memories of growing up. Perhaps those memories had been altered. A memory potion could provide some clarity. I was certain Wyatt had a few recipes in his books, which he would likely suggest when he returned.

My desire for the truth fueled my determination. I needed to uncover why the family I grew up with had turned against me. Was I merely a pawn for them to manipulate? I entered Wyatt's library, scanning his spell books, but found nothing of great importance. I then made my way to his office, where another bookshelf caught my eye. This one was filled with the good stuff. With just one book, I acquired a spell and a potion that I could easily make.

I wasted no time in gathering the necessary ingredients, the familiar scents of various herbs and potions filling the air. Mixing them together, I focused on the task at hand. The spell was relatively simple, but it had the potential to knock me out temporarily. To be safe, I decided to leave a note for Wyatt, explaining my actions. I didn't want him to worry if he returned while I was still asleep.

Once everything was prepared, I climbed into the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for what was to come. The potion, bitter and unpleasant, nearly caused me to retch, but I managed to keep it down. Chanting the incantation, I added the specific details of what I was seeking in my journey into the past. The drowsiness crept over me, enveloping me in its embrace as sleep claimed me, transporting me to the depths of my own history.

My mind was overwhelmed with a vibrant kaleidoscope of colors, swirling and merging in a symphony of hues. The air around me reverberated with a medley of different sounds, forming a harmonious chorus that enveloped me. It felt as though I was hurtling through time, traversing the corridors of my own history at an exhilarating hyperspeed.

Amidst this sensory onslaught, I whispered in the recesses of my mind, a plea for truth and understanding. I yearned to unravel the enigma of the mark that adorned me. And finally, my plea was answered as images materialized before my eyes.

I found myself standing in an unfamiliar room, cloaked in an ancient mustiness. There were no windows, leaving the air stagnant and heavy. The walls were adorned with intricate drawings of symbols, many of which were foreign to my knowledge. I meticulously noted each one, hoping they held some clue to my origins.

But as my attention shifted, figures began to materialize, and the past unfolded before me like a hauntingly vivid play. My mother was present, accompanied by a man who I suspected could be my father. The knowledge of him was scarce, as immortals like myself were not usually products of love, but rather born out of duty. Nurturing was a rarity, with the mother often shouldering the burden alone. The identity of our fathers was deemed inconsequential, a mere triviality.

As I observed the scene, my heart sank. Even though I had harbored a flicker of hope that my mother held some semblance of love for me, this vision shattered it. The way she cradled and gazed upon me was devoid of any warmth or affection. I was nothing more than an object in her eyes, a mere pawn in her obligations.

Several more individuals, their faces unfamiliar to me, silently entered the dimly lit room, their footsteps barely audible on the cold stone floor. The heavy scent of ancient books mixed with a hint of incense lingered in the air. Two immortals, their presence commanding, strode in, their long cloaks trailing behind them. As they approached, the small version of myself let out a soft coo in my mother's arms.

"Silence," she said in a harsh tone, her voice cutting through the stillness. The immortals placed something carefully on a table, their movements deliberate and precise. "We are ready," they declared, their voices echoing in the room.

My mother carried me over to the table, gently placing me on its surface. "She is useless with the gift of premonition," my mother spoke, her voice tinged with resignation. "But may she be of use now."

I watched with wide eyes as they unwrapped the cloth, revealing a collection of bones. "So it is true," the man standing beside my mother spoke, his voice filled with awe. "You have finally found them—the remains of an originals."

"All originals have been recovered," one of the other immortals chimed in. "But only this one retains the mark and power."

"With each new immortal child, we are finding them to be less powerful," another voice added, tinged with concern. "our power is dying out, and soon we will not be seen as those with great power. But if we are able to transfer the mark of the originals, and with it, its power, we can find a way to harness that power and strengthen our own. But the risk is great. This child may not be able to survive with the mark. We would be creating something never meant to be, and going against the laws set by destiny."

"We cannot continue with our duty if our powers die out," my mother's voice held a sense of urgency. "We can no longer pull from the earth as we did in the past. Other creatures are tainting the land. The mark will remain hidden, and the powers will be sealed. And when enough research is conducted, we will use the mark to help create a potion or cure to reestablish the power in the bloodlines."

"The power held even in our strongest is slowly dying out. The risk is worth it for the opportunity to save our kind." My mother spoke.

A murmur of concern arose from one of the witches, her words laced with caution, "Our power is fading due to those now tainted. We have tapped into dark powers, made deals with those in the realm of demons for more power. We are being punished for tapping into sources we were never meant to touch. Won't doing this carry the same consequences? We would be gifting an ancient power, one not meant for this child. We don't know the circumstances behind the death of the originals yet, or what this power could mean if they were destined to pass at that time."

My mother's voice remained resolute, "It is a risk we must take. Although we may have immortality, that does not stop us from being killed, and our kind is constantly hunted. The number of pure immortal witches is decreasing fast, and due to our powers slowly diminishing, we are no longer birthing many immortal children. Soon, our kind will be no more."

A voice of dissent spoke up, suggesting that perhaps it was destiny's intention for our kind to fade away. But my mother countered, "Our kind is meant to stand above all others and keep balance. This act is only aiding in that. Do I have any other objections?" Silence filled the room, and my mother declared, "We will proceed then, and my child will bear the mark of an original so our kind can once again thrive."

As the candles were lit, their flickering flames casting an eerie glow, the witches began chanting an ancient spell. The words, spoken in a long-forgotten tongue, held a dark magic. I watched as a swirling mist filled the room, its dark tendrils snaking through the air. The spell, cast by everyone in the room, was undeniably powerful.

In the midst of it all, I saw a small version of myself, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, crying softly at first. But soon, the cries became uncontrollable, filling the room with a chorus of sorrow. Abruptly, the mist dissipated, leaving three witches lying lifeless on the ground. They had sacrificed themselves for the spell.

My mother held me up, her voice filled with pride, "It is done. My child now bears the mark of an original, and within her body holds the original power now. The power that will restore our bloodlines in time."

As the vision of my past faded, I slowly felt myself being pulled back to reality, leaving behind the echoes of the powerful ritual.

I gasped as I woke up, my heart pounding in my chest. Wyatt's house now lay in darkness, the fading daylight signaling that most of the day had slipped away. The vision that had consumed me felt fleeting, but in reality, it lasted longer than I had anticipated. I had always believed that most immortals, or at least those I followed, adhered to the laws set for our kind. However, I was gravely mistaken.

I wasn't a reincarnation, nor was I one of the originals. No, the mark on me had been stolen, a burden I carried that didn't belong to me. Its purpose was to restore power, power that our kind was losing. And it wasn't just due to external forces, but also because we had tarnished the very gift we were bestowed with.

My mother had used me as a power source, and her deal to hand me over to the wolf king was likely driven by his ability to extract what was needed or create a cure. But they wouldn't get what they wanted. This mark didn't belong to me, and I was determined to remove it and restore power to the earth. I would never touch them, and with Wyatt's assistance, we would create a spell to reverse this.

As I stood by the bedroom window, gazing out at the world, I could sense the traces of power in the air. Even though Wyatt's protective barrier ensured my safety within these walls, I could still discern the familiar energy of my coven. I left the room and stepped outside, taking in a deep breath. The air was charged with magic, and I allowed my body to absorb and interpret the surrounding power.

But then, my breath caught in my throat. In addition to sensing my family's power, I also detected Wyatt's. However, it felt weak compared to what I had sensed earlier. That could only mean one thing - he was in trouble. Without hesitation, I sprinted towards the border of his property, staying within the safety of his barrier, and honoring the promise I had made to him for now.

I could sense the attack magic swirling around me, a potent force that seemed to emanate from multiple casters. Wyatt's power was formidable, but I couldn't shake the worry that he was just one person. The air crackled with tension as I felt his magic dissipate, his energy waning. If I left his property, I knew I'd be putting myself at risk, but staying here meant risking Wyatt's survival. I had to approach this situation with caution, especially now that I had a better understanding of the mark and its potential consequences.

Closing my eyes, I quickly ran through a myriad of ideas. Time was of the essence, and I needed to act swiftly, yet not recklessly. A projection spell came to mind, but I had never successfully cast one before. It would drain me, but it might just be my ticket past the barrier. If I projected myself, I could locate the source of the power and use my projection as a temporary diversion. However, my physical body would fall unconscious behind the barrier. The distraction would be short-lived, and there was a risk of being trapped in a broken state if they sensed my plan and countered the spell. But I felt confident in my ability to dodge any counterattacks.

With the spell firmly memorized, I laid down on the cool grass at the border of Wyatt's property and chanted the incantation with urgency. Soon enough, I stood just outside the epicenter of the overwhelming power. It worked, perhaps fueled by my desperate desire to save Wyatt. My eyes locked onto him, bloodied and battered, as he valiantly held off my coven. My heart raced as I made myself visible to both my coven members and Wyatt. Their attention immediately shifted to me. Fear flashed in Wyatt's as he rose to his feet, realizing what I had done.

"She projected herself," one of my coven members spoke, and I saw Wyatt hesitate before sprinting towards his property. My coven may possess strength, but they were fools if they thought they could capture me. They unleashed their powers, attempting to counter mine, but I remained focused on returning to my physical body. The battle raged on, the air thick with the scent of magic and the sounds of clashing spells. I could almost taste the desperation in the air as I fought to regain control and reunite with my corporeal form.

I felt a sudden jolt of power surge through my body. It pulled me back just as one of my coven members attempted to ensnare me with their own formidable magic.

"Open your eyes, Misty, please, open your eyes," Wyatt's desperate voice echoed in my ears. I complied, slowly opening my eyes to meet his anxious gaze. In that instant, I was immediately drawn into his embrace, despite his own injuries. His heart pounded against mine, his eyes wide and dilated.

"What happened to you?" I whispered, concern lacing my words.

"You scared me. Projection spells are dangerous," Wyatt muttered.

"I knew the risks, but I had to do something to help you. I knew I had the ability to return," I responded.

"Thank you," he replied, gratitude evident in his voice. As I brushed my hand against his burnt and wounded body.

"Let's get you inside quickly. I'll make a healing balm for you," I suggested, guiding him towards his house.

"I need your help with a potion. They used a drug, one that makes my fears come alive. I'm fighting it, but it's tough," he admitted.

"I can do that," I reassured him as we entered his house. However, he surprised me by pushing me against the wall, his intense gaze locking with mine.

"I'm bad for you, Misty. I know it. But I want to be good for you. I want to change because I can't imagine a life without you," he confessed.

"I'm not leaving you, Wyatt," I promised. "Now let's focus on getting you better. I have much to tell you, and I want to know what the hell happened to you," I said, leading him to his room. I knew that whatever hell he had gone through was a result of protecting me. He wasn't the evil person he believed himself to be. I was going to take care of him, just as he had taken care of me. With him by my side, I knew we would find a way to make things right again.