Chapter 140- Between Prophecy and Power

Lexy

The room was too quiet, and yet my thoughts thundered like a war drum. CJ had just stepped out to contact the elders. I needed answers—*real* ones—not the vague, poetic riddles we were often fed under the guise of tradition. I could no longer afford to lean on faith alone. Not when the stakes involved Tarria’s life, our future, and the delicate balance of the tribes.

I rubbed my stomach gently, grounding myself in the presence of the pup growing within me. I had lives depending on my clarity now, not just as queen, but as a mother. And if this so-called prophecy was real, it would change everything. If not—it could be the tool of our enemies, cleverly disguised in the language of hope.

The moment CJ returned, his face gave me more information than his words ever could. He was composed, but his jaw was tight with restraint. I waited.

“They confirmed that part of the prophecy *exists*,” he said, voice low and measured. “But it’s ancient—older than the founding of the Great Phoenix. Passed down through only the inner circle of shadow-bearers and light-walkers. It speaks of a 'beacon of light and shadow'—a child born of betrayal and power, who would either rebuild the balance or tear it apart.”

My heart dropped slightly, as if it had taken a step into a chasm.

“They think Tarria is that beacon?” I asked.

“They believe so. Her lineage. Her strength. What she survived. But some of the elders also warned—” He paused. “The prophecy can be misinterpreted. In the wrong hands, it can be twisted to justify control. Or worse... worship.”

That was what I feared. That some would raise her up on a pedestal too high to stand on, only to knock it down when she doesn’t serve *their* purpose. They’d already taken her once. I wouldn't let them do it again.

I stood, tightening the robe around me. “We’re not going into that conference blind. If they're positioning her as some messiah, we need to know *why*, and more importantly, *what they plan to do with her*. I need to protect her, even from herself if necessary.”

CJ tilted his head. “She’s loyal to you.”

“And I’m loyal to her,” I answered. “Which is why we need a strategy. Not just feelings. Not just protection—*preparation*.”

I called for Ezra, my head advisor, and Kiara, our diplomatic liaison, to meet in the war room. I needed sharp minds and sharper eyes before we walked into a nest of political snakes disguised as allies. While they gathered, I sat down and started outlining our needs and threats.

**1\. Confirm Tarria’s psychological state.** She had endured captivity, betrayal, and manipulation. I needed to know where her mind stood. If they planted this prophecy in her head while she was vulnerable, they could’ve shaped her into something even she didn’t realize. That meant I needed Dr. Bennet’s report and a full psychic scan if possible.

**2\. Identify who gains power from the prophecy.** If they crown her, who becomes her "keeper"? Who surrounds her throne? Who speaks on her behalf? Who gets to write her story?

**3\. Control the narrative.** If we wait too long to speak, they’ll define the terms and box us in. At the conference, I will speak first. I will acknowledge the prophecy—just enough to respect tradition—but then I will remind them that no power, no potential, supersedes free will. *Tarria chooses her path.* Not a scroll. Not a vision. Not a council of self-appointed interpreters.

When Ezra and Kiara arrived, I shared what CJ learned and laid out the points.

Kiara crossed her arms. “So, the plan is to let them know that the exchange program would be a voluntary program. The day of the celebration the volunteers would be presented.”

“Yes,” I said. “But how are we going to keep Adrian from finding out that we have brought Tarria back?” Kiara asked.

“The members of the conference will be invited to stay till then and will show them how our tribe functions. To an extend of course.” I responded.

Ezra nodded. “A fine line, but walkable.”

“Good,” I said. “Kiara, you’ll be in charge of monitoring the tone and temperature of the room. Watch who reacts when I lay out the plan. Who stiffens. Who whispers. Who avoids eye contact. There’s more to learn from the quiet than the noise.”

She gave me a sharp nod. “I’ll record every expression.”

Ezra flipped through his notes. “There’s one more thing we should consider—what if Tarria *is* the beacon?”

I met his eyes.

“I mean truly. What if she’s meant to rise higher than any of us imagined? What if the prophecy is true, and this is her destiny?”

I let the silence settle. I had considered that—more than anyone would ever know.

“If that’s the case,” I finally said, “then it’s even more important that we guide her wisely. Power without stability is chaos. Prophecies don’t crown you—they test you. If she’s truly meant to change the world, I will make sure she survives long enough to do it right.”

A knock on the door interrupted us. A scout leaned in.

“Your Majesty, the warriors who rescued Tarria said she’s asking to speak with you again. Alone.”

I nodded and dismissed the others. When I entered the private chamber, Tarria stood by the window, her posture stiff but healing. Her back straightened when she heard the door close.

“You look stronger,” I said gently.

She turned. “I feel… conflicted. There’s something I didn’t tell you during the debrief.”

I stepped closer. “Go on.”

“They said I was born to be something more. That the shadows and light in me are rare. That the war between both makes me dangerous but also… *necessary*.” Her eyes flickered with a deep, unsettled fire. “At first, I thought they were lying. But then, when I fought back—something *changed* in me. Like power woke up. It didn’t feel like just mine. It felt… dark.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder. “You may be many things, Tarria. But you are not a prophecy. You are not a weapon. You are a person. *My* warrior and *my* friend. And you get to choose what happens next.”

She nodded, but the storm in her eyes remained.

“I trust you,” she said. “But if it comes down to it… and I have to rise—I want your voice guiding me. Not theirs.”

My throat tightened.

“You’ll have it,” I whispered. “Always.”

As the moon climbed higher, I returned to my chambers with a renewed sense of clarity. I had spent the last few weeks reacting—running, chasing, searching. But now? Now I would *lead*.

Tomorrow at the conference, I wouldn’t just defend Tarria—I would define the future she was allowed to have.

Whether the prophecy was truth or myth, *I* would be the queen who held the line between hope and corruption.

And I would not let them use my warrior as their puppet.

Not now. Not ever.