Sam's Odyssey III

As Mulan addressed the man as her father, his words resonated with a familiarity that confirmed my suspicions—this was Chiron, the old friend Aunty Gloria had spoken of.

Despite his strong voice, elements of sagely composure still reverberated in his words.

"It is a timeless adage among indigenous human races and mystical practitioners," Uncle Chiron began, "that the world rewards kindness, albeit not in every circumstance.

This ancient wisdom whispers to us that our actions have consequences, that the universe balances its scales in mysterious ways.

Consider this: the world's reciprocity may not always be immediate or overt, but it is nonetheless real.

Visionaries have proposed that extraordinary sacrifices can elevate one to celestial realms, granting communion with Renza or unveiling nomological secrets of past or future events.

Although these hypotheses are widely disputed, some still adhere to this notion, convinced that the cosmos holds hidden patterns and unseen forces that govern our destinies."

"Dad, please, just get to the point!" Mulan's growl interrupted him, cutting short his elaboration.

He looked away sheepishly, his expression reminiscent of a baby startled by a bursting balloon. However, Uncle Chiron quickly regained his composure.

"Upon arriving at Nivel's coast, I found only you by the river shore," he began. "To my utmost dismay, I feared the worst: capture or devourment by an aquatic beast.

I promptly launched an investigation, querying wandering birds if they'd seen anyone nearby.

Shockingly, they reported no awareness of anyone's arrival, nor had they seen you, Sam.

This led me to consider a possible mass memory wipe, a feat only psychic specialists could accomplish.

Yet, even for them, leaving no traces in such a short time frame seemed improbable."

Uncle Chiron paused, collecting his thoughts.

"With other conjectures narrowed, I employed Artem's Foresight, a special mystic art.

This allowed me to glimpse fragments of the world's truth, albeit at a certain cost.

The vision revealed they weren't captured or devoured, but its limits prevented me from seeing what truly transpired.

One feeling, however, emerged: they're alive, somewhere, and driven by a specific purpose."

Mulan's eyes sparkled with renewed optimism. "They're alive!" she exclaimed.

Uncle Chiron's expression remained cautious. "Artem's Foresight doesn't guarantee certainty, but…that feeling can't be wrong.

A purpose indicates they're not merely existing; they're working towards something."

I felt a surge of determination. "What can we do to find them?" I asked.

A soft sigh creased Uncle Chiron's face. "Nothing, Sam. We can't do anything but hope to see them again." Our faces fell, optimism extinguished like a bucket of cold water poured over us.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my knees buckling.

"Artem's Foresight reveals fragments of truth at a steep cost: two levels of bitter cultivation. But for their sakes, I'd willingly sacrifice more if needed," Chiron swore solemnly.

"However, this case is unique. During the casting, I sensed that even Renza's greatest divination arts couldn't uncover what happened at Nivel's shore."

He paused, reflecting.

"With the dust settled, I realised the world might be guiding me on a quest. This Karma is strong; its outcome will bring good fortune to them both."

I felt a pang of sadness, longing to confirm their safety.

Uncle Chiron's voice echoed again, "No one knows Renza's rhythms or tomorrow's fate. We're tiny specks of dust, together forming stars. As stars, our paths may align or cross again, but when?

Let's entrust their fate to destiny's sails and wheels. We can only cherish their sacrifices, revere their memories, and shared moments."

Uncle Chiron's words, laced with wisdom and resignation, hung in the air, a bitter challenge to our unwilling hearts.

As I absorbed Uncle Chiron's words, familiar guilt crept in, like a shadow reclaiming its territory.

My mind retraced the painful path: if not for my family's crises, would they have suffered such a dire fate? The hope of their survival flickered, but doubts fueled my anguish.

Hadn't I witnessed their desperation with my own eyes? How could I trust a stranger's reassurance, no matter how wise he seemed?

Self-reproach clawed at my conscience. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd sealed their doom. The burdens I thought I'd shed now weighed heavier, amplified by the loss of my moral compass and anchor.

The ones who illuminated my life's darkest corners were gone, leaving an abyss. The probability of our stars realigning seemed infinitesimal.

I slid back into the familiar darkness: self-loathing and debilitating depression.

Days blended together, an endless haze of despair shrouding my mind.

The Island of Artemas, a haven of love, unity, and peace, enveloped me in its warmth.

Yet, amidst the infectious enthusiasm and compassion from well-wishers, my mind remained a desolate canvas.

Mulan and Uncle Chiron's efforts to comfort me were relentless, but the wound ran too deep. Only I could heal myself, but I wasn't ready.

Frequently, I'd wander to the island's coast, sitting amidst scattered dunes, gazing at the setting sun.

Its feeble light, a bitter reminder of how weak it was under the Serpent's overwhelming power.

The beast's enormity eclipsed the sun's radiance, rendering it insignificant and useless.

In moments of frustration, I'd curse the sun, labelling it a hollow boast, outshone by the moon's gentle glow — the luminescent Daughter of the Moon.

As the moon began its ascent, my melancholy would lift, replaced by a sense of nostalgia.

Memories of Aunty Gloria's swift rescue and subsequent elegant movements flooded my mind. Her hurried steps, as she rushed to save me, remained etched in my memory, a poignant reminder of her selflessness.

I'd play the zither and flute, revelling in the connection between the Beads of Nandes and the moon. It felt like she watched over me.

The moon's gentle light bathed the shore, comforting me. The Beads of Nandes glowed softly, reminding me of her protection.

My fingers danced across the zither's strings, melodies echoing into the night.

The flute's sweet tones merged with the waves' soothing rhythm. In those moments, grief's weight lifted, replaced by serenity.

Mulan often joined me, our voices blending in harmony. Together, we sang to the moon, our hearts entwined with Aunty Gloria's memory.

Uncle Chiron would smile, listening from a distance. "The music of the heart heals the deepest wounds," he'd say.

But one evening, as the moon reached its zenith, a strange sensation washed over me.