Disclaimer: Don't own the World of Two Moons.

This is the third of three prologue-like chapters, providing information for later in the story.

Three

Dueling Destinies

Seaflame gazed up at the great expanse of stars as she did every night she was able, and sighed. She was waiting.

Waiting for what? part of herself asked, the taciturn, brooding part. That part of her pushed her away from contact with others, and deep down she knew that it was because she didn't want to be left behind. Not again.

Waiting for some magic, her other half whispered back. That was the part that believed in the stories told by elders, that there was someone waiting for her, for everyone, if only she could find them. Someone who wouldn't leave her behind. Someone who wouldn't hurt her, even unintentionally.

There is no magic in life, her cold half replied, utterly unimpassioned. Life is pain, and loss, and sorrow, and regret. There is no real magic.

Father has magic, the optimistic half said.

And look where he is now, the bitter part snapped back. Gone- hurting mother, hurting me, hurting Crescent. Magic. Huh!

Seaflame closed her violet eyes and lay her head of glistening long blue hair on the rough rock, listening to the cries of night creatures –they could not harm her, here in the Wavedancer's magic-shaped home– and the roar of the ocean. Oh, the sea! The sea! She felt its pull even now, knew she could never escape it.

And still the stars called, oh, how they called to her! Two songs, two melodies, two forces always at war. And she was caught in the middle, between the ever-changing, sometimes terrifying, glorious ocean, and the eternal, wonderfully enigmatic, glorious stars. Both held a power over her, and she could neither escape nor surrender to either one of her yearnings.

Worse. No one could understand her, or the torn feeling, between the ocean and stars she both worshiped and despised. Everyone else had found their path. The Wavedancers, of course, belonged utterly to the sea, as the immortals who lived in the Palace of the High Ones belonged to the stars, if they wished it to be so. And Wolfriders belonged to the land forest.

Seaflame sighed, eyes still closed. She had never seen the home of her grandfather, in all of her ten years, because of a hidden fear that they, too, would call to her. She knew she would die, torn three ways, if that happened.

She knew that her refusal to fly in the Palace of the High Ones had hurt her parents –twice, as her twin sister Crescent would not leave without her– especially her father Sunstream, who, with his "uncle" Skyewise, still trained with and assisted the High One Timmain in flying the great palace.

Despite the pain she could see in her family's eyes, she could not bring herself to risk being tied in again, could not even enter the palace's magical aura without feeling as if the song of the stars would overwhelm her and pull her from the sea that she loved so much, the sea she never wanted to leave. Her family respected her wishes, but she knew it hurt them.

But they just didn't understand. No one did. No one else could. Only she.

Is this what it's like to be homesick? she asked herself at times. But she couldn't go home, because she didn't know what home was. The sea or the stars? The life-long question rang in her mind again, and as always she could not answer.

Sea? Or stars?

There was no answer, not for her.

At last Seaflame sat up with a sigh. Sitting here pondering a feeling no one else could comprehend wasn't doing anything for herself or anyone else. She really should go to bed, or at least do something besides sit here and feel sorry for herself.

Still, tonight the feeling was harder to ignore than it usually was. She couldn't bring herself to leave her rock, where the song of the stars and the song of the sea blended in perfect harmony for no apparent reason, almost drowning each other out. Seaflame couldn't say why this particular spot gave her comfort. It simply brought the songs together in a way that their music did not clash, and she could be at peace with both ocean and sky.

The young blue-haired elf couldn't understand any of it, and she had given up trying to speak to others about the power of the songs at a very early age. They didn't understand, no matter how hard she tried, so she withdrew into herself, where it was safe, and they didn't look at her strangely because she knew something, felt something, they could not. She withdrew from the people around her, spending time alone, trying to puzzle out the dueling songs and their meanings and their fluctuations and nuances. The struggle to hold herself together aged her beyond the mere decade she had been alive.

And through it all, she was never truly alone.

Crescent was always there for her. Crescent, her sister, her twin, whose soul was as one with her own. Silver-haired, pale, violet-eyed Crescent, who, though she did not share the pull of the stars versus the ocean that Seaflame did, understood the effects. Even as small children, they always stood together. Seaflame, bearing the weight of those two cursed songs, had been made fiery and, at times, melancholy, always alone except for her shy, gentle silvery shadow.

There was nothing the twin sisters would not do for each other. They were the only ones who understood each other completely, who always knew what would help, be it silent companionship, some cheering, an embrace, or even solitude. They were each other's only comfort, at times when not even their mother or often-absent father could give that solace.

The connection between Seaflame and Crescent surpassed any bond of kinship. They were always together, even when they didn't consciously connect, the other sister was always there for her twin.

Without the twins' bond, Seaflame felt she could not have survived even for the measly ten years she had. Certainly, she was not unscathed by the cruel power both sea and stars held over her. At this age she was far from a carefree youngster; the calling songs had taken their toll on her, making her aloof, just so that she could preserve her sanity. She had learned that if people did not get close to her, they would not try –and, therefore, fail– to understand. Only Crescent could be close. Only Crescent could understand.

Even Brill, their mother, was somewhat at a loss when it came to her distant, distracted daughter. She knew the pull of her lifemate and the pull of the sea she literally could not live without, but she had chosen, as had Sunstream. They had crafted their lives around each other, and were content.

Seaflame had never known real contentment, had never known true peace. Even at quiet moments, there were always two songs pulling her in opposite directions; they kept her on edge constantly, never able to relax as utterly as she desperately desired. And even shy Crescent could only do so much for her twin, when the calls sounded the fiercest.

There were some things you had to face alone.

Still, Seaflame had been able to coexist with the songs around her thus far, and she knew that one day she would choose between the two, and she would find the peace her soul yearned for. However much it hurt, however deeply the songs cut her soul, she was willing to face it all. Because she knew that one day she would find the magic in her own life that she had lost.

One day, she would hear two songs, and answer one of them.

One day, she would find a way to be free of the songs.