The only thing she knew for sure was that she was dreaming—and, in that dream, she wasn’t Tara. Not really.

A few images came to mind first: a family like the one she drew before, a little house, their reactions when they heard their country was going to war and how they decided to leave when their neighbors spread rumors of beasts.

Something along the lines of “oni and kijo are deadly; tengu will do nothing to stop them.” She was too young to understand it; her parents wouldn’t have told her all of the details.

They left hastily—her parents would rather be quick and leave something behind than stay to watch a second fall. She wished she had been a bit older—that she could know the full story, every detail and accident that led to the decision.

Instead, they found themselves on a ship to Sólstaður, surrounded by strangers. The captain came down just to feed their fears.

“Okay,” he said. She remembered being…confused. Curious on why he was speaking to them. “This’ll be a harsh few weeks. The gods might smite us for leaving. If anyone wants a chance to abandon ship, now would be a good time.”

There were murmurs—debate on why he would make such a statement. He went back on the deck after a few seconds; no one followed after him, merely resuming their chatter from before. Tara—except, again, she knew she wasn’t Tara here—continued playing with her parents. They didn’t give her a reason to think anything was wrong.

A few hours passed and there was thunder. One passenger noticed and went up to the deck to question the captain; the latter came back down just to clarify that he meant there would be a storm when he said the journey would be harsh. One or two people demanded to leave the ship—the captain let them, calling them little more than a lost cause.

Mother looked at her around then and smiled.

“You know, it’s very cold in Sólstaður,” Mother said. “And we won’t be able to use our native tongue, because we won’t be understood.” She switched languages, using the shared one between the first island and Sólstaður. “Can you respond this way, please?”

“Mhm,” she replied, obeying the request. “I’m really good!”

Mother laughed and Father tried to have the same reaction, but he didn’t seem convinced it would be enough. More time passed—a day, maybe more. Then came the final storm.

The captain came down just to warn that they ran into a heavy thunderstorm; they couldn’t sail around it, and he assumed other ships had been caught in it too. The warning might as well have been a confirmation of death, considering the passengers’ reactions. Tara-but-not-Tara was no exception, looking up at her mother as thunder rolled all around her.

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“Mother.” She came a bit closer so she could hide in her warmth. “I’m scared.”

“It’ll be all right, love. It’s just a little storm.”

Father gently put his hand on Mother’s shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t tell her that,” he whispered.

“She’s too young!” Mother retorted, briefly glancing at him before turning back to her daughter. “Don’t worry dear. It’ll be over soon.”

There was another rumbled of thunder and the girl whimpered. Father let out a little curse when the rain picked up as well.

“Gods. The rain is really coming down…”

“Mother…” the girl murmured.

Her mother looked at her with sympathy at first, then changed it into a smile. “Why don’t I tell you a story while we wait for the storm to pass?”

That calmed her fears somewhat, and she nodded. “O-okay.”

“All right.” Mother gestured for Father to sit with them, and he did. “There was once a brave girl who was in a storm just like this one…”

She was practically cut off by a loud clap of thunder, but here the world didn’t go black—instead, the people around her froze and faded away.

It led to her first meeting with Itzun. Honestly, he didn’t seem to have changed at all.

…

When she opened her eyes again, she hoped it would be at the music festival. Considering she saw Itzun, however, she frowned.

“Why—“ he began before sighing. “Ah, fine. I should anticipate that reaction by now.”

“What was that?” Tara asked, knowing he would understand her meaning. “Why are you pulling me asleep now when you could wait until night?”

“This wasn’t necessarily my plan,” Itzun replied as a kind of protest. “Someone reawakened your memories—receiving them while you’re sleeping is ultimately better than needing to deal with it all in the present.”

“…Memories?”

“Really, little one—feigning ignorance?” He took a few steps closer to her. “Or have you already forgotten about your purpose?”

She fell silent for a second, then gave her own sigh.

“I haven’t forgotten.” A moment’s silence provided her with a question she didn’t fully want the answer to. “But, again…memories? Did someone..?”

“They found a second omyn,” Itzun confirmed without her needing to ask. “You really shouldn’t have resigned yourself to a normal life, little one.”

It took a moment to sink in, and when it did she backed away from him a bit.

“I don’t want this; I don’t want to lead a nation.”

He seemed to consider taking a step forward, but decided against it.

“I’m aware,” Itzun said instead. “And as I said earlier, I’m here to help you—just name the path you want to take and I can lead you down it.”

He ultimately came closer to her, then bent down to be roughly at eye level.

“But there are a few things I should clarify before you make any firm choices. You were young when we first met; you would have been scared by the ins and outs of creating and maintaining a nation. Now that you’re here, however, it would be best to clear the air—then you can be sure that whatever choice you make is the right one.”