The God's Instrument

WHEN THE GOLDEN BLOOM AWAKENS AND THE HUNTER’S BLADE TREMBLES,

LIGHT AND SHADOW WILL COLLIDE ONCE MORE—

AND THE WAR OF AGES WILL EITHER END… OR BEGIN AGAIN.

Thunder split across the sky again, loud enough to shake the mountain walls. Rain poured endlessly, rushing through the narrow paths between the rocks and drowning almost every sound beneath it.

Almost.

Because the baby kept crying.

Small. Angry. Alive.

Deep inside the mountain, hidden far beneath the storm, a flower bloomed.

Golden petals slowly opened in the dark, casting soft light across the stone walls. For a second, even the storm seemed quieter.

Then the child cried again.

Inside the chamber, the woman held her daughter tightly against her chest, barely breathing.

The baby’s face was red from crying, tiny hands curling weakly against the blanket wrapped around her. The woman pulled her closer instinctively, like she could still protect her if she held on hard enough.

But she knew she couldn’t.

They’ll find her.

The thought sat cold and heavy inside her.

Her eyes lowered to the back of the child’s neck where the mark glowed faintly beneath damp skin — a small golden flower.

Her throat tightened.

For months, she had prayed the stories were wrong. Prayed her child would be ordinary. Safe. Untouched by any prophecy or war.

But prayers did not change what had already been chosen.

And now there was no time left.

“Please,” she whispered.

The other woman beside her looked up immediately.

“Take her and go. Before they feel it.”

“Feel what?”

The mother shook her head.

How could she explain something she barely understood herself? Only that the mark had appeared the moment the child was born… and somewhere out there, people had been waiting for it.

She pressed a trembling kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“You’re going to become something this world isn’t ready for,” she whispered softly. “I’m sorry I won’t be there when it happens.”

The baby’s cries quieted for a moment.

The woman closed her eyes briefly before forcing herself to loosen her grip.

Her fingers stayed curled around the blanket a second too long before she finally let go.

“Go,” she said firmly. “Don’t stop running. And don’t tell her what she is until she’s strong enough to survive it.”

“And if they find her first?”

Thunder cracked overhead.

The mother looked toward the cave entrance, jaw tight.

“They won’t.”

Not because she believed it.

Because she needed to.

The woman took the child and disappeared into the storm.

And the mother stayed behind, alone in the cold chamber, listening as her daughter’s cries slowly faded beneath the rain.

Outside, the golden flower began to close.

One petal at a time, the light faded until darkness swallowed it completely.

Then it was gone.

The mountains fell silent.

Not peaceful.

Waiting.

Nineteen years later.

“Why is it always raining when I actually want to sleep?” Ariya muttered, sliding her window shut.

Her phone started ringing almost immediately.

She glanced at the screen and groaned.

“Hey, witch,” Lina said the second she answered.

“The exam is tomorrow. Tell me you studied.”

Ariya snorted. “You already know the answer to that.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Ariya laughed quietly, dropping onto her bed.

“You better pass,” Lina continued. “We are partying after exams whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, fine. Now let me pretend to study in peace.”

“Pretend?”

“Exactly.”

Lina’s loud laugh rang through the phone before the call ended.

Ariya tossed the phone aside and stood in front of her mirror for a second longer than she meant to.

Dark curls framed her face in complete defiance of every comb she owned. Her skin carried a warm brown glow under the bedroom light, and her eyes still looked annoyingly awake despite how tired she felt.

She tilted her head slightly.

At the base of her neck, hidden beneath her curls, sat the small flower-shaped mark.

Most people never noticed it.

Her father made sure of that.

Keep your hair down.

Don’t draw attention to yourself.

Don’t let people ask questions.

She never fully understood why he cared so much about something that looked like an ordinary tattoo.

Eventually, she stopped asking.

Ariya stared at it another second before pulling her hair back over it and turning away.

Her books waited untouched on the desk.

She sat down anyway, opened one, and immediately regretted it.

The same sentence blurred in front of her eyes three different times.

“Yeah… this isn’t happening tonight.”

She shut the book and pushed it away.

The bed looked far more convincing.

A minute later, she was already under the blankets staring at the ceiling while rain tapped steadily against the windows.

Maybe tomorrow would make more sense.

Probably not.

Ariya was asleep before the rain even slowed.

Outside her window, Los Angeles kept moving the way it always did. Headlights cutting through wet streets. The city too loud and too alive to ever fully sleep.

But farther than that.

Past the city lights. Past the dark stretch of ocean that swallowed the horizon whole.

There was a mountain.

Old and quiet, wrapped in mist so thick it swallowed the tree line entirely. The kind of place the world had simply agreed to leave alone.

The soil there was dark and damp.

And from it — slowly

A single golden stalk pushed through the ground.

It kept growing at a fast rate.