Chapter 207- The Meadow’s Flame
Lexy
It had been a full moon cycle since the day I meditated with my children beneath the meadow’s great tree. That day, they’d surprised me with their focus, their raw strength, their ability to reach deeper into themselves than I thought possible at their age. They had given me hope—hope that they could carry their gifts without breaking under them, hope that they would never have to walk this world alone with their power.
But tonight, the air was different. Softer. Anticipation swirled through me like a gentle tide, carrying with it a new resolve. I wanted to see them grow even further, to explore the tether between us as mother and children, flame and shadow, teacher and learners. And for that, I wanted Tarria at our side.
I had thought long on it. Tarria had endured so much in silence, standing between light and darkness without ever letting herself falter. She carried the burden of what she had seen, what she had been tempted with, what had nearly broken her. I knew her loyalty was unshakable—but loyalty was not the same as strength. She needed to believe in herself the way I believed in her. And I knew the children were the key.
Tarria has been extraordinary this past month with her training.
The meadow stretched before us, its grass was tall and luminous under the setting sun. Threads of gold light shimmered across the horizon, spilling into the field like liquid fire. I spread a blanket over the earth and motioned for the triplets to gather. They ran toward me in unison, laughter spilling from their mouths as if they carried no care in the world.
Tarria lingered at the edge, hesitant.
“Come,” I urged gently. “Tonight, you sit with us.”
Her gaze flickered to the children, then back to me. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
I cut her off with a shake of my head. “You belong here, Tarria. More than you know.”
The children didn’t question it. They only smiled, as if her presence was the most natural thing in the world. My daughter reached out her tiny hand and pulled Tarria down beside her, anchoring her to the circle before she could escape.
We sat cross-legged, the cool earth beneath us, the sound of the meadow alive with crickets and whispering leaves. I closed my eyes, breathing deep. “Remember,” I told the triplets, “meditation is not about controlling your power. It’s about listening to it. Power is a voice—sometimes loud, sometimes soft. Hear it. Don’t force it.”
I let my hands rest on my knees, palms open. The triplets mirrored me without hesitation, and Tarria, though awkward at first, followed our lead.
The world slowed.
I felt the fire within me stir, a low hum behind my ribs, a familiar warmth that spread through my veins. The meadow responded—its grasses swayed though no wind stirred, its flowers brightened as though catching light from an unseen sun. The triplets’ energies flared like sparks dancing across dry wood, each distinct yet entwined.
But then, I felt Tarria.
Hers was different—not fire, not wind, not the clean pull of earth. It was shadow, smoke curling through the air, uncertain yet potent. It brushed against my flame carefully, timid, as though afraid it might smother or be consumed.
I leaned into it. Show me who you are, Tarria, I thought. Don’t hide from me.
For a moment, the meadow darkened. My children shifted, their energy tightening. But I kept steady, my flame unwavering. And slowly, Tarria let go of her fear.
The smoke coiled outward, then blossomed into something vast and beautiful. It did not smother. It shielded. It gave shape to the fire, guiding its edges, holding it steady so it would not burn wild.
I gasped softly, my eyes fluttering open. Tarria sat across from me, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration, yet her entire body trembled. The children didn’t retreat. They leaned toward her, their small flames dancing within her smoke, trusting it, trusting her.
“Tarria,” I whispered, my voice carried by more than sound. “You are not shadow against us. You are the frame that keeps us strong. Don’t ever doubt it.”
Her eyes flew open, wet with unshed tears. And in that moment, something shifted in her—like a lock broken, a chain falling loose.
The meadow brightened again, the smoke no longer choking but weaving through the children’s flames like an embrace. Their laughter bubbled up unbidden, echoing through the field, filling the night with joy.
And then—something else stirred.
It began as a faint hum, deeper than the earth, higher than the stars. My flame answered instinctively, rising taller, brighter. The children’s power flared in unison, sparks leaping like a thousand fireflies. Tarria’s smoke surged around us, protective, reverent.
The hum became a roar.
Above the meadow, light broke the sky.
I tilted my head back, my breath stolen from me. Wings unfurled in the heavens, vast and radiant, spanning the entire horizon. Feathers of flame shimmered like molten glass, each beat sending ripples of heat across the meadow. The air was alive, electric, and yet it filled me with a peace I hadn’t felt in years.
Mother had come.
Abellona The Great Phoenix.
Her form blazed brighter than the sun, yet she did not blind us. Her eyes—ancient, knowing, infinite—fell upon our small circle in the grass. For the first time since my children were born, for the first time since the wars and betrayals had scarred this land, I felt like nothing and everything all at once.
Abellona’s voice was not a sound but a resonance in my chest, a chord that struck through marrow and flame alike.
At last, she whispered inside us all. You have begun.
The children gasped in awe. Tarria froze, every inch of her body trembling, her smoke coiling upward toward the apparition like a prayer. I only sat there, stunned, overwhelmed, yet humbled.
We had called, though not with words. We had gathered in unity, flames and shadows, innocence and resilience, and the meadow had answered. Abellona herself had answered.
The Great Phoenix hovered above us, her wings stretching across the stars, and I knew this was only the beginning of something far greater than any of us could yet understand.
And though my heart raced, though my body shook with the weight of it all, I lifted my chin, refusing to bow my head. Because this moment was not about fear.
It was about destiny.
Seeing mother again is a blessing.
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