Amma sat down beside me, her calm presence radiating like quiet moonlight, soft and steady. She folded her hands on her lap, her thin fingers resting against the smooth wood of her walking stick.
"Ask whatever you want, child," she said gently, her voice like wind brushing over still water.
I hesitated.
She was kind—undeniably so. The warmth in her voice, the patience in her eyes... it wasn't something you could fake. And yet, I couldn't fully trust her. Not yet. She came from a world I didn't understand. And I… I wasn't even sure who I was anymore.
As if sensing the tangle of hesitation in my chest, she leaned closer and spoke again, softer this time.
"Tara."
That name.
The way she said it stilled something deep inside me. No one had ever called me that before—not with such ease, not with such familiarity. It didn't sound foreign on her tongue. It sounded… ancient. Known. As though she had always known me.
Her hand reached up and brushed my hair away from my face, her touch feather-light. A strange warmth bloomed in my chest—one that filled the empty spaces I hadn't even realized were there. I couldn't name it. Calm, maybe. Loved, even. Safe, in a way I hadn't felt in a long time… or maybe ever.
"How are your wounds?" she asked, her hand still gently resting on my head.
I nodded, eyes cast down. "They feel okay now."
A smile curved her lips, soft as sunlight on morning leaves. "That's good."
There was no judgment in her gaze. No expectation. Only quiet understanding. And that scared me more than anything. Because in her presence, I almost forgot I didn't belong here. That happiness—real happiness—wasn't supposed to be mine.
For a moment, the truth pressed against my throat.
Should I tell her?
Tell her that I wasn't from this world? That I had no place in this garden, on this land, among who could move fire with their fingers?
No. She wouldn't believe me. Who would?
Instead, I turned my gaze toward the open door, where sunlight spilled onto the garden path like golden silk. Flowers danced lazily in the breeze—bright, unfamiliar blooms in colors more vivid than any I'd seen before.
"I want to know about these… powers," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Everything feels so new."
Amma's eyes softened even further. She didn't laugh. Didn't brush it off. Instead, she gave a slow, knowing nod.
"You want to know," she repeated, more to herself than to me. "I see."
She stood slowly, bracing herself with her stick, and walked out into the garden. I followed, the air around us rich with the scent of herbs and earth.
She paused by a flowering plant and plucked a single bloom. It was shaped like a teardrop, with petals that shimmered faintly in the light.
"Everything began with a tree," she said, holding the flower up between us. "A plant, just like this."
I watched her closely, caught between skepticism and wonder.
"This story is from millions of years ago," she began. "Back when the world was nothing but cracked land and endless oceans. There were no creatures. No people. Only silence—vast, eternal silence."
She closed her eyes briefly, as if seeing it for herself.
"Then one day, from the Supreme God who watches over the universe, a single seed fell onto this barren planet. It drifted down like a star, needing only the soil to awaken. It took centuries, but it grew. And it grew…"
She raised her hands, as if trying to measure the immensity of it.
"Until it became a colossal tree. Its trunk reached the skies—so tall that no one could see the top. Its branches spread wider than mountain ranges. Yet it had no leaves. Still, it was the most beautiful thing that ever existed. Some say it glowed silver in the full moon night."
I stared, enraptured.
"That tree," she whispered, reverently, "became the divine heart of our world. We call it the Divine Tree of Life and Power."
The words echoed inside me like a bell struck in the deep.
She continued, her voice falling into a gentle rhythm. "As time passed, the tree dropped more seeds. From its roots and branches came grasses, flowers, plants, forests. The world turned green. And its power grew stronger with each bloom."
She turned toward me. "Then came the animals. Strange beasts at first. Birds. Crawling things. And finally… beings. People."
My breath caught.
"We humans came from one of its branches. Just like all the other creatures. Different beings came from different limbs of the tree. That is why, even now, we honor each branch differently—though all are part of the same tree."
The idea was unthinkable. And yet… it felt real. Too real to be just a myth. In this strange world, I no longer knew what counted as impossible.
"The tree gave us everything," she said. "Air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat. It sheltered us. But the world was wild, unpredictable. Storms came. Beasts attacked. Darkness lingered. So, the tree gave us something more."
She looked at me.
"Boons," she said. "Gifts."
She lifted the flower again.
"Every human was born with a boon—something that could protect them, help them survive. Most were born with one of the five elemental boons—Land, Air, Water, Fire, or Space. Over generations, people learned to evolve them. Some shaped new powers from old ones. Others created powers from pure will."
My heart beat faster.
So that's how Adii could create fire from his fingertips. How people could fly. How the impossible became real.
Amma glanced at me again, almost as if hearing my thoughts.
"There were others, too," she said. "Not just humans. Other beings. All born of the tree. And for a time… all lived together. Peacefully."
Her eyes darkened.
"But peace is delicate. It doesn't survive disaster."
I waited, breathless.
"One day… something happened. Something none could explain. The Divine Tree vanished."
My chest tightened.
"Some believed it was punishment. Others blamed each other. Accusations turned to hatred. And hatred became war."
Her voice grew quieter.
"The war lasted two centuries. Humans. Demons. Each blamed the other for the tree's disappearance. Entire generations were born into violence. And even when the war ended… it wasn't because of peace. It ended because everyone was simply too tired to fight."
I stared at the ground. The dirt felt heavier beneath my feet.
"What happened to the tree?" I asked softly.
She gave a wistful smile.
"Some say it sank into the earth. Others say it lies hidden beneath the ice of the southern pole. But truth… truth is something you must find for yourself."
She turned fully to me.
"But remember this, Tara," she said, voice firm now. "Everyone has a boon. A gift from the Supreme. Use it wisely. Let it be your shield, not your shadow. Because when power consumes the heart—true evil is born."
I swallowed hard and nodded.
Suddenly, she blinked and turned toward the house. "Oh my! The water must've turned to vapor by now!"
She hurried back inside, and I rushed after her. Steam clouded the air above a boiling pot, and before I could stop her, she reached out—with her bare hands—to lift it.
I gasped. "Wait! You'll get burned!"
But she only smiled and lifted the pot as if it were nothing.
"Didn't I tell you?" she said cheerfully. "Everyone has a boon."
She carried it to the table effortlessly.
"Mine is immunity to fire," she added. "Not enough to make me a warrior, but enough to help others. That's all I want."
Then she looked at me again, with a softness that sent shivers through me.
"Maybe one day, my children will be fighters."
I opened my mouth to ask what she meant, but she simply said, "Get some rest, child."
I nodded slowly, unsure of everything I'd just heard—yet unable to let go of a single word.
That Night
I don't remember when sleep came. One moment I was staring at the ceiling, thoughts spinning in a whirlwind. The next…
Darkness.
Heavy, suffocating darkness.
I stood alone in a void that stretched forever in all directions. No wind. No ground. No sky. Just silence—and me.
Then something shifted.
The temperature dropped. A cold, crawling presence slithered across my skin.
And a voice.
It didn't echo. It didn't breathe.
It simply… existed.
Thick and slow, like oil sliding across stone. Neither male nor female. Each word dragged through the void like a corpse pulled across gravel.
And it whispered—deep into my mind, into my bones, into the soul I didn't know was listening.
"You came."