Chapter 3 The Pull Begins

The morning was gray, the sky heavy with clouds as if it shared the sorrow of those gathered at the cemetery. A fine drizzle fell, soft enough to blur the edges of the gravestones, but persistent enough to chill Elara to the bone. She clutched her coat tightly around her, hands trembling, and walked slowly behind the small procession.

Her mother's name was Sara, a woman of warmth, quiet strength, and a laughter that could fill a room. Now, she was gone, and the absence left a hollow ache in Elara's chest, one that no words could fill.

Family members whispered softly among themselves. Neighbors, friends, and colleagues of her mother's stepped forward, offering hugs and murmured condolences. Elara nodded politely, forcing a tight smile, but inside, she felt untethered. She didn't want their words. She didn't want their pity. All she wanted was to press her hand against her mother's chest one last time, to feel the life that had once flowed there.

The coffin was lowered slowly, each movement deliberate and final. Elara's eyes stung as she watched the dark wood disappear into the earth. The sound of soil hitting wood was like a drumbeat in her ears, steady, relentless, marking the finality of it all. She felt the world shrink, her grief making the air thick and hard to breathe.

Her stepfather's arm found her shoulder. "Elara..." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm right here."

She turned her face into his chest, letting the tears fall freely now. They had been holding back all morning, restrained by the need to appear composed, to meet the expectations of those around them. But here, in the open air of the cemetery, there was nothing left to hide behind.

"I can't... I can't believe she's gone," Elara whispered, her voice breaking. Her words were swallowed by the soft drizzle and the murmurs around her. The ache in her chest felt physical, as if a piece of her heart had been ripped away along with Sara's life.

Her mother had always been the anchor in her stormy, confusing world. The one person who had understood her oddities, her strange instincts, her dreams that seemed too vivid to be real. And now, she was gone, leaving only questions and memories.

The minister spoke softly, offering a few words of comfort, but they sounded distant to Elara, hollow echoes she could barely process. She watched as friends placed flowers atop the casket, roses, lilies, daisies, and the colors seemed muted beneath the gray sky.

When it was her turn, Elara stepped forward with a trembling hand and laid a single red rose on the coffin. Her fingers lingered on the polished wood, feeling the cool surface beneath her palm. "I love you, Mom," she whispered, her voice small, almost lost in the breeze. "I... I'll try to be everything you wanted me to be."

A sob caught in her throat, and she turned away, pressing her face into the sleeve of her coat. Her stepfather held her tightly, letting her cry, letting her release the torrent of emotions she had bottled up for days. Around them, the crowd began to disperse, murmuring words of sympathy and heading back to their lives, leaving Elara and her grief standing alone.

For a long moment, the world felt silent. The rain fell steadily, tapping against the gravestones like a slow heartbeat. And then, in the midst of her sorrow, Elara felt it-a strange pull, a subtle tug at her chest and her mind. It was familiar, yet unsettling, like a whisper just beyond the edge of hearing.

Her mother had always spoken of mysteries, of forces that moved beneath the surface of the world. Elara had dismissed those stories as fantasy, comforting bedtime tales meant to spark imagination. But now, as she stood there with the wet grass under her boots and the damp wind in her hair, she felt that pull more strongly than ever.

It was as if something far away was calling her. Something she had always sensed but never understood. The pull coiled in her chest, tightening with every heartbeat, making her aware of her own skin, her own senses, in a way that was almost painful.

Her stepfather's voice broke through the haze again. "Elara... you don't have to decide anything today."

"I know," she whispered, though part of her did know. She had always felt different, had always felt that the world she knew wasn't enough. And now, with her mother gone, that feeling had sharpened into something undeniable. Something urgent.

She knelt by the grave, her hands pressing into the damp earth, and let herself imagine what life could be-one where she understood herself, where the strange pull in her chest had meaning, where she was no longer out of place.

And then came the memories, flashes of her mother's warnings, her stories of the world beyond human understanding. Sara had left more than love; she had left secrets, a heritage that Elara was only beginning to glimpse.

The wind picked up, rustling the trees in the cemetery, and Elara shivered. It was more than cold; it was a prelude, a signal that her life was on the brink of change. Somewhere, across forests she had never walked, under skies she had never seen, her father waited. And with him, the truths she had been too afraid to face.

She rose slowly, brushing soil from her coat. The red rose remained on the coffin, a symbol of love, loss, and the life she was stepping away from. Her stepfather held her hand gently, silent now, letting her make the first step toward a destiny she could no longer ignore.

As they walked away from the grave, the pull in her chest became stronger, sharper. Elara felt the first flicker of recognition and longing, the stirrings of instincts she hadn't understood until now. The world she had always known was closing behind her, and the path ahead-unknown, dangerous, and irresistible-was calling.

She wiped her tears away, breathing deeply, and whispered to herself:

"I'm coming, Mom. I'll find him. I'll find who I really am."

And with that, the first step toward her destiny had been taken.