The bewildered guards who answered the door took only a moment of confusion before ushering Meira into the dim interior hall. The shorter of the pair brought her through the shadows, and held back a purple curtain wordlessly, staring ahead at the opposite wall instead of the woman passing.

Meira’s thanks dropped off of her lips as she entered the large circular parlor dripping in candle light. Shelves of books lined one of the large curved walls, while another had jars of herbs, crystals, and instruments Meira had never seen decorating the space. A sharp spicy incense was burning on the low table between the cushions in the seating area, the soft smoke curling around a large ball of glass on a golden stand.

“Of course he brought you the back way.” The open warmth of her smile belied the annoyance held in the Verena’s voice. She crossed the room towards Meira, the long, fluttering sleeves of her black caftan like wings as she opened her arms to greet her guest.

“Welcome, Meira,” she said, bringing her hands to clasp the other woman’s shoulders kindly. It shocked Meira to see that the woman was shorter than she; on the dais a week ago, the Verena had seemed towering and inscrutable. With one hand, the woman gestured to the table sitting nearby.

“I’m sure you have many questions, but please, let us first eat.”

The golden constellations embroidered on the Verena’s outfit winked at Meira from across the table as she dove into the creations before them. Her hostess was consummate, engaging with Meira pleasantly, if superficially, and focusing on her guest’s enjoyment. The spicy poultry demanded a third helping that Meira had just given into when the Verena let the polished refinement fall.

“Do you know why you are here, Meira?”

The brunette swallowed her large bite quickly, trying to ignore the burn.

“Not exactly,” Meira confessed," but I know that you all think that I am supposedly some sort of savior."

“What do you know of the Juri’a?” the Verena asked, taking a sip from her goblet of cool wine as she watched Meira gather her thoughts.

“Well, you can do the whole wielding thing, obviously,” Meira stated, moving her hands a bit for emphasis. “Kirsi said that color is important, but I don’t totally understand that part.”

Meira searched her mind for other things she knew or had heard about the people, reciting them to the woman in front of her, who only nodded with each addition.

“Oh and there’s the tattoo thing,” she finished, spying the marks on the Verena’s hand as she placed the wine back on the table.

“I see the Khaantul Empire has been… creative, in their descriptions of our abilities,” the Verena said after a long moment, wry smirk tugging on her lips.

The burn of embarrassment warmed Meira’s cheeks. Perhaps she shouldn’t have shared the common belief about their ritual sacrifices.

“Though they would like you to think that we are different, the Khaantul and the Juri’a have a long history together,” the Verena began, her rich voice drawing Meira into the story she wove, “Even our gods are the same. Though they go by something else in your language.”

Meira realized that Lucine, the Khaantul Goddess of the moon, was not far from Lunira, the Juri’a Goddess she had heard much about in the last week.

“The gods bless us with the ability to wield, so long as we keep balance and harmony.”

“How is that possible?” Meira asked.

“There have been many stories passed down, but it would take us all night to talk about that. And most of them probably aren’t true,” the Verena waved the thought aside with her hand, “Besides, you want to know about the prophesy, about why you are here, no?”

Meira nodded, waiting for the Verena to begin. She seemed to be thinking about where to start, swirling the goblet once again.

“You know Juri’a can wield the four core elements. However, there are certain of us who have additional skills, rare abilities that make us special, even within our own people. Then there is you.”

The Verena’s eyes flicked up to Meira’s, studying her carefully as she continued, “The Soul Wielder is something of legend. A wielder we’ve only heard about in stories, but most Juri’a had stopped believing in.”

Meira swallowed, the weight of expectation bearing down on her once more.

“What is it I am supposed to be able to do exactly?” she asked, grabbing for her own wine. “Because so far all I’ve done is make your General really wet.”

The Verena’s lips twitched as a laugh begged for release at the accidental innuendo. Ignoring it, she stood, crossing to a long, narrow table filled with books and various trinkets. Meira hesitated and then followed the woman, curiosity piqued as the Verena moved stacks of books. Peering around her shoulder, Meira saw the woman rifling through an enormous tome, pages cracked with age. Her turning slowed as she found the desired inscription.

The golden ink around the edge of the pages had faded, but it continued to glow in the flickering light of the lanterns above them. Hand drawn symbols decorated the corners, etched detailing within the triangles.

“The tattoos,” Meira realized aloud, recognizing the inverted triangle from Kirsi’s hand. The wave drawn within it added to the meaning, the golden ink glowing within the black lines of the symbol. A second inverted triangle, with a line horizontal near the point, held delicate leaves and flowers within. Earth. Meira’s eyes drew to the top of the page: a triangle pointed up with a flame, near lifelike in the room’s glow; fire. Another vertical triangle, bearing a line like the other. This one with a feather caught in an invisible breeze; air.

There were other symbols Meira didn’t recognize, and Juri’a words she couldn’t decipher, but there was something about it that called to her. The Verena turned the page gently, shuffling to a new page that held long lines of Juri’a and less of the delicate artwork from before. A lone figure in bold black ink had replaced the gold etching, their arms outstretched. On the page, the wielder commanded the four elements behind the text in a sort of swirling pattern Meira figured included a lot of artistic license.

“This is the Soul Wielder,” she said, feeling the certainty slip into place as she studied the sketch. “What does it say?”

The Verena began to read, finger following under the lines of Juri’a,

Between the four there will be one,

When darkness rise and evil come.

“It sounds better in Juri’a,” the Verena said with a knowing smile. She abandoned the poem and turned slightly, looking at Meira directly as she explained, “The prophesy talks of a wielder who can channel all the elements. They will bring the Juri’a together and save us from those that would see wielders destroyed.”

“So I’m supposed to bring everyone together to fight evil, is that right?” Meira felt an urge to laugh at the madness of being some sort of savior from cosmic disaster.

“It was written a long time ago,” the Verena said softly, tilting her head to catch Meira’s downcast eyes, “evil can mean a lot of things.”

“Like kidnapping someone in a forest?”

“Like not saving someone in danger, or not helping them discover who they truly are.” The Verena’s patience was eternal, even as the fear clutched at Meira’s sides. Her shaking hand rose to its usual place of comfort.

“What is important, Meira, is that you aren’t alone.”

Her lavender eyes held only truth, and Meira warred with the immediate relief she wanted to collapse into. Only her anger reminded her that she was in this prismatic prison because of their actions alone.

Seeming to sense the other woman’s conflict, the Verena held an open palm between them. The tattoo etched into her skin, a triangle with three lines near the point, began to glow faintly in the Verena’s dark palm. Meira thought it was a trick of the lanterns until the light itself grew into an orb above her open hand.

“I am a light wielder,” the Verena said, letting the glow in her palm dim again, “an exceedingly rare wielder; the only one in two centuries. It is why I am the Verena now.”

Meira continued to stare at the woman’s open hand until one of the long fingers tilted her chin up to look at the Verena’s face.

“I had no one to guide me, but I will do my best to help you.”

Tears made the Verena’s features blurry as Meira asked the question weighing on her since the day in the forest, “Why me?”

“The Gods chose you, Meira. I do not know their reason, but I know a blessing when I see it.”

The younger woman huffed a laugh of disbelief, reaching up to wipe her eyes.

“Imagine, no more wars, no more senseless killing. We can do that; you can do that,” the Verena continued in a whisper, passion rolling through each word. “Together, we can change the world.”