Torn Between Destinies

The dawn after the mountain’s answer felt still, almost shy. A soft silver light floated over the valley floor. No wind moved the leaves. No birds called. It was like the world had paused, waiting for my next breath.

Orrin met me at the stone circle. He carried no bowl, no herbs, no carved tokens today—only a small staff of pale wood. Its surface was smooth, but old lines of power pulsed beneath the grain.

"Today," he said, "we step beyond flesh."

I rubbed sleep from my eyes. My throat still ached from last night’s howl, but strength hummed in my chest. "You mean leaving my body?"

He nodded. "The Second Way is Spirit-Walking. Your heart has found the moon’s song. Now your spirit must walk the song’s path."

He pointed to a patch of moss at the circle’s center. "Sit. Feet crossed. Spine straight. Breathe slow."

I obeyed. The ground felt cool even through my cloak. Orrin settled across from me, staff resting on his knees.

"Spirit-Walking is not a dream," he said, voice low. "It is not sleep. Your soul steps out while your body waits. If fear pulls you back too soon, you snap awake in pain. If pride pulls you too far, you may forget the way home."

A chill crept over my skin. "How do I know the right distance?"

"Trust your breath. Trust the moon’s hum." He tapped my chest lightly. "Your heart is the tether. Silver thread—unseen, but strong if you keep faith."

I closed my eyes. Orrin’s voice wrapped around me like warm smoke.