Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

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Chapter 11: To the Sunken Temple of Nirva(Bonus Scene(Conclusion))

Once again the maiden entering into that land in which fills her fondest memories. Looking upon it, perhaps it is a bit foolish, to confine one’s self to the past. Though, sometimes, it may be worth holding on. After all, the future is of endless possibilities. Experiencing the gentle breeze which is feeling ever more real, the halfbreed running her hand through her hair that is reflecting the sun, taking in the wind. As she looks upon the grassy field, there is no doubt that such a time will never truly be the same, but certainly the feeling can similarly return.

Cyra looking ahead to her mother who is standing underneath the tree far ahead. The maiden faintly smiling, walking onward. The goddess awaiting the arrival of her daughter. Even if it is but a somber morrow, perhaps it is worth the effort to try. Maybe then there can be something worth grabbing hold of once again.

“You seem a bit different, Cyra,” she softly speaks.

Cyra stopping a few feet away from her mother, placing her hand upon her waist. The maiden looking up into the vast blue sky. The halfbreed closing her eyes for a moment, soon opening them. Looking towards her mother, the doubts within her settling a bit.

“Perhaps I have been wallowing too long in my own self pity, that I never did truly realize that fate is a fools word,” she softly speaks.

Her mother cracking a slight smile. Years upon years it may have taken, but her daughter is finally leading her own future. It may have been an ill hand that has been dealt onto her, but taking that hand, and bending it towards one’s own desire, that is what it means to live. Desires may be a sin, but what is the point exactly? Hard to say really. Perhaps it is okay to embrace such. This is what the maiden has come to realize. Cyra walking past her mother, extending Lævateinn. Her mother looking on, seeing Cyra staking the blade down into the ground.

The maiden looking at Lævateinn with gentle eyes. Despite it all, there has always been one she can truly rely on, even in the deepest of darkness. The malevolence exerting from her body, Cyra extending her hand towards the weapon. The negative energy flowing into the sword. The darkness devouring it, extending far towards the demon sword far in the background. The giant weapon that is appearing to hold together that dream. From behind the maiden, the shadowy figure from earlier taking form. The devil glancing back, both nodding towards the other.

The shadowy figure slowly dissipating, flowing into the body of the maiden. Cyra closing her eyes, firmly gripping the handle of her blade with her right hand. Yet another piece of the puzzle coming together. The path may truly be grim, but that is fine. There is always hope in the deepest of darkness.

“Are you truly going to go through with this?” her mother questions a bit distantly.

The maiden opening her eyes, taking a moment to think about the question at hand. Cyra soon faintly smiling. Accepting such, nothing is truly hopeless. One may have to stain their soul in corruption. However, this is simply the will to oppose.

“Indeed, but I will never forget who I am,” she looks back to her mother.

With those words, her mother is set to ease. The goddess smiling at her daughter. Cyra walking up to the tree, soon turning to face her mother. The air around her growing a bit thick, and the surrounding area brightening by the moment. The wind heavily blowing. Cyra taking a moment, witnessing the area around her slowly fading away. Much like a dream really. One in which she knows she will much welcome the next time as well.

“I must be going now mother, until next time,” Cyra softly speaks.

Cyra sitting down, bracing back against the tree. The maiden looking on, her surroundings slowly becoming harder to envision. The heavy wind all around, the dream slowly fading away by the moment.

“Do take care, and never forget yourself,” the mother pleasantly responds.

Cyra looking past her mother, the halfbreed seeing a small blurry figure walking in. The maiden cannot quite make out who they are. Slowly closing her eyes, Cyra falling into a peaceful slumber.

Even if it is but a somber morrow, then so be it. There is little point in wallowing in one’s own self pity. There is a world of endless possibilities out there. So what is to say that such a time cannot happen once again? These desires of mine...they will be known...

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