Her Immortal Destiny

Dark One

Wyatt POV

As we stepped into my grandmother's cozy home, the tantalizing aroma of her soup enveloped the air, instantly awakening my senses. The rich scent wafted through the room, causing my stomach to grumble in anticipation. Misty, couldn't help but laugh at my reaction. "I can't resist the tempting smell in here," I admitted, to which she nodded in agreement. Determined to contribute, I headed towards the kitchen to assist with the meal.

My grandmother, greeted us with a knowing look, scanning our disheveled appearances. I couldn't ignore the fact that my hair must have been a complete mess. Settling down at the dining table, we savored each delicious bite. My stomach reveled in the satisfaction, but as we finished, a dull ache throbbed in my shoulder. Excusing myself, I retreated to the bathroom.

Peeling off my shirt, I examined the tattoo on my back. It had become slightly inflamed, a recurring discomfort. The pain gnawed at me, and I clenched my teeth, trying to endure. Just then, a knock echoed on the bathroom door. "I'll be out in a minute," I called out, expecting Misty. To my surprise, it was my grandmother, who entered and closed the door behind her.

"Misty is engrossed in a book, your spell book in the greenhouse," my grandmother explained. Her gaze shifted to my tattoo, concern etched on her face. "Is this why you've been absent from my home for so long, Wyatt?" she inquired. Examining me closely, she noticed more than just my back being marked. "You see past every spell," I confessed, waving my hand across my chest to reveal the extent of the intricate markings. "Unfortunately, some aspects of your future remain unknown to me," my grandmother continued, her voice filled with worry. "I fear for you, Wyatt. Darkness has a hold on you. I see the pain etched on your face, the suffering you endure. Misty needs you. You are her only hope for survival. Though she possesses strength and power, her combined forces with yours are crucial. But if you continue down this path, you will not only be your own downfall but also hers."

My grandmother's words served as a warning, a stark reminder of the consequences I faced if I allowed the darkness to consume me.

"I'm well aware and I have it under control," I said confidently. But my grandmother could see through my facade.

"By the looks of it, you don't. Does Misty know?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

I sighed, admitting my hesitation. "Yes, but she does not know about the ones on my chest. I know I need to tell her, but I don't want to scare her," I confessed.

She placed a hand on my shoulder, her voice filled with wisdom. "She allowed a witch's mark, Wyatt. That means she wants to stand by you. Be honest with her before you destroy the best thing in your life," she warned.

I nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "I will, just give me some time," I assured her.

But my grandmother wasn't convinced. "In the shape you are right now, I doubt you can even help cast the spell needed to reverse her mark. And it's a spell that requires a soul that is connected to cast. I am making you a potion, and you are to take it," she insisted firmly.

I sighed in resignation. "I will," I agreed as she left me alone.

As I sat there, the truth sank in. My grandmother was right, even though I hated admitting it. After a few more minutes, my body calmed, and I heard my grandmother's voice calling for me again.

"Misty is having a vision. You should be with her. She is still adjusting," she called out.

I immediately rushed out of the bathroom and into the greenhouse. Misty was on the ground, and my grandmother quickly placed a pillow under her head. Concern filled my voice as I asked, "Should she be passing out like this all the time when having them?"

"Her power of premonition is strong, even more so than mine. It will take her time, but she will learn to control it. When she does, she can even function and walk around while having one without anyone knowing." My grandmother explained.

Misty's breathing was short and rushed as I gently took her hand. My grandmother instructed me to simply sit with her, warning against any foolish attempts to observe her visions. It was as if she could read my thoughts. She then bent down and brushed her hand against Misty's head, providing comfort.

"I also suggest you tell her about what you're hiding when she wakes. It's only a matter of time before she discovers the truth herself. Just as Misty needs you, you may find that you need her help just as much. This girl may be the key to helping you reverse the curse you have marked your own body with," my grandmother spoke, her words lingering in the air as she walked away.

I gently rubbed Misty's hand in mine, feeling the softness of her delicate fingers against my own. In comparison to mine, her hand was so small, so fragile. I had to remind myself at times of just how powerful she was. She was more so than me, since even with all she has endured, she has stood strong through it all.

Versus me, who has often taken the easy way out, resorting to dark magic. For that, I am ashamed. Now, after speaking with my grandmother, I question if I will be Misty's downfall. Will my past and current demons darken her pure soul?

I fight them daily, struggling to keep them at bay. Yet, I've never truly opened up to anyone about where my mind goes the moment I close my eyes. Some humans have this theory that witches come from hell or make deals with demons for power, but that's not completely true.

Immortal witches were born through Mother Earth and the goddesses. Our powers are gifted from the very land we reside on. We draw from the soil, the plants, and even the stars that illuminate the night sky.

But we can only ever take what is gifted to us, and every spell we cast, a price must always be paid. Some as simple as maintaining a garden, planting a new tree, or even talking to one. The cost is meant to give back to nature and help replenish what has been taken.

For a long time, we followed strictly by those rules. But just like all other creatures, some wanted more. And that is how the first "dark ones" came to be.

The witches, their once pure hearts tainted by dark alliances with demons, sought greater power. Some merely stained their souls with this forbidden magic, while others sold their very essence, becoming akin to demons themselves.

The use of dark magic exacted a price, not just in drawing from the earth, but in infecting it. As a consequence, a cursed tattoo formed on their bodies, consuming the light within them until only darkness remained. Once consumed, they became pawns of the underworld, devoid of humanity.

The tattoo spread, covering their bodies until it reached their chests, where agonizing pain resided. Struggling to control themselves, their hearts succumbed to the darkness.

I can feel the infection in my heart, slowly turning it darker with each passing moment, pushing me perilously close to the edge.

But then, amidst this despair, Misty appeared, shattering some of the darkness within me. She became the antidote, allowing me to feel emotions again.

Though focused on my duty and finding my mother, I had grown numb to everything else. However, now, I despise my past actions. Hatred courses through me once more, and I am starting to differentiate right from wrong. Most importantly, I have someone who I never want darkness to touch, even though I embody it.

Did I selfishly mark her? Have I condemned her by doing so, unable to imagine a life without her? I cannot be her downfall; I must stand by her and ensure her success. Misty is my angel, radiating the light and protection this world desperately needs.

My grandmother, mother, and fellow coven members may be good immortals, but none possess the purity of Misty. She lacks any trace of greed, willingly sacrificing herself to protect and maintain balance. I must become better for her, finding a way to purge the darkness within me. Together, we will fulfill her destiny. I refuse to fail her.

I may have fallen from who and what I should be, but I have to stand back up. I have to rise again for her because if I don't, I will only take her down with me. We are too connected, even without the mark she would follow. Although I am grateful I am the one tied to her by the string of fate, I question why we were chosen for each other. Is it that darkness and light must be the ones to unite to save this world?

I got lost in my thoughts, thinking about how I could better myself and, most of all, prepare myself to return the mark of the originals to the earth for Misty. Maybe in casting that spell, it will also help redeem myself. As casting it will take an incredible toll on me, I plan to add my own touch to the spell. Since Misty may still suffer punishment for something she did not do, now that we have marked each other, I can add myself into the equation.

I can endure the majority of the punishment for her, although I may not be able to take it all. I can share it with her because from now and forever more, we are a team.

I felt the delicate touch of her small hand in mine, her fingers intertwining with mine as she slowly emerged from her sleep. Her beautiful eyes gazed up at me, seeking solace and reassurance. I extended my helping hand, assisting her in sitting up, and she immediately sought comfort in my embrace, wrapping her arms around me tightly. The weight of her pain was evident, a burden she carried due to her extraordinary gift. If only I could alleviate her suffering.

"The wolf king's downfall is imminent," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Intrigued, I inquired about the details of her vision, hoping to gain clarity. "Did you witness his demise?" I asked with anticipation.

She hesitated, her words a mixture of fragmented visions that intertwined and blurred, making it challenging to discern the chronological order. "I saw fragments of it," she confessed, her voice filled with uncertainty. "The visions overlapped, making it all very confusing."

Realizing that her visions needed further interpretation, I suggested we retreat indoors, where she could find comfort and clarity with the presence of my grandmother. She nodded in agreement, her trust in me evident as I gently lifted her into my arms. Although she was capable of walking, I yearned to keep her close, and she didn't resist. She nestled against my body as I carried her, the warmth and security of my embrace providing comfort amidst her turmoil.

Arriving at the couch, I carefully placed her down, grateful that my grandmother had been patiently waiting for us.

"I want you to take some deep breaths, Misty," my grandmother said soothingly, her voice filled with concern. "Slowly explain what you saw, even if it's just bits and pieces. Wyatt and I will help you piece everything together and find the meaning behind your vision."

Misty took a shaky breath before starting to recount her vision. "I saw the Wolf king, trapped in a coffin," she began, her voice trembling. "His estate was in ruins, blood staining every surface, but his labs remained untouched."

Another deep breath, as if gathering strength. "Then, I saw him alive, but I believe it was a glimpse into the past. He was consumed by rage, and the cursed child... she was dead." Misty's voice wavered, the weight of the vision evident. "And Kash, the Wolf king's son, he was drenched in blood."

"It felt like this was going to happen soon," she continued, her words rushed. "I don't know why, but every fiber of my being screamed that this was the near future. There were flashes of battles, my coven members fighting to protect something, though I couldn't discern what. Human territories were being destroyed."

Misty took another deep breath, her voice steadying. "Then, time shifted. I saw Kash again, older now, a young adult. He seemed wild, untamed, his face etched with rage and pain. But I don't think he was the king. It felt like the hunters had him. It was as if Wyatt and I were meant to save him. I don't know why, but I sense that we are meant to watch over him too. He may have an important role to play."

Her voice trembled once more as she described the final vision. "And then, there was one more recurring vision. The cursed child, she was fully grown, a young adult. She was beautiful, radiating purity. She was screaming, filled with anguish as someone she deeply cared for was hurt. A man, possibly the Wolf king, his face obscured, was present. And then, a horrifying flash of her lifeless body on a table, as if we had failed."

Misty choked on the last part, the weight of the visions taking its toll on her.

"The visions may have been jumbled, but it would seem you have already worked most of it out," my grandmother explained.

"When our visions focus on someone, that typically means they are important," she continued, her words echoing softly. "Now, whether they are important due to them being evil or good is hard to tell."

"If you focused on Kash, that does mean he is someone you and Wyatt should keep an eye on," my grandmother advised, her voice tinged with concern. "And if you saw him as an adult, that means he is no longer being kept imprisoned in a child's body."

"I would expect one like him to be broken," she continued, her voice now filled with sorrow. "The blood his father forces upon him to keep him trapped as a child only traps his body. His wolf is with him now, and he has the mind of an adult, yet can't do much in such a small, weak body."

"Keep an eye on Kash, and if you sense the Wolf King's demise is soon, keeping an eye on where the next cursed child is born is very important," my grandmother emphasized, her voice growing softer yet more urgent. "We must intercept them and protect them, for that child is the last." The weight of her words hung in the air, suffusing the room with a palpable sense of impending doom.

"The last," Misty whispered, her voice barely audible amidst the charged atmosphere. "I fear the fate of this world is approaching soon. Once that child is matured, balance will either be destroyed or completely restored." The sound of my own rapid heartbeat seemed to fill the room, matching the intensity of the moment.

"Now you two need to rest and talk," my grandmother said, her footsteps echoing as she got up and left the room. I took Misty's hand, feeling its warmth and the reassuring squeeze she gave me. I knew I had to tell her the truth, even after what she witnessed today. I needed to be completely open with her so I could heal and be the best I could for her. As I led her to the room, I took a deep breath, preparing myself. Never had I been so nervous, but the woman standing next to me meant everything to me, and I feared her looking down on me in a different way.