Chapter Fourteen: Other Rainys
Rainy's Journal - Day 55
"The Ache of What Could Have Been"
What lies beyond?
It always felt so close—so vivid, so real—because I longed for it. Because I believed. I could see it clearly in my mind’s eye: the dream, the path, the becoming. All I had to do was walk it. Untangle the complications. Face the obstacles. Persist. And the vision would rise into reality.
But the moment I stepped forward, everything changed.
Simplicity unraveled. The dream, once so clear, grew tangled and vast. What felt possible turned intricate, twisted, and sharp. The mountain grew steeper. The light dimmed. And doubt—ever patient—found its way in.
I used to think dreams were made of certainty. Now I know they are stitched from longing and stitched poorly at that—because they tear. They fray. And sometimes, they dissolve entirely.
There were nights I wondered if it had all been an illusion. If the flame that lit my soul was only a trick of the light, or worse, a cruel promise of something I was never meant to hold.
This is the story we carry, isn’t it? The oldest story of all. We dream, we rise, we fall. Even at the heights of joy, something aches inside—a quiet emptiness we cannot explain. We dance in the light while the shadows wait. We build towers out of hope, and we watch them crumble.
And yet…
And yet—something remains.
Not the dream. Not the tower. But each other.
Even as we walk alone into the unknown, we walk beside others who are just as lost, just as hopeful. We see ourselves in their broken places. We feel their grief as if it were our own. And in that, there is something that endures. A fragile warmth. A trembling grace.
We are fleeting. Fragile. Haunted by what could have been.
But still—so very precious.
Or so we hope.
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The next morning, she set off at first light. She walked quietly for a long time reflecting on all that had she had learned. She stepped softly around the gnarled trunk of an ancient pine, its bark dark with age, its branches whispering secrets in the wind. The forest was dense here, cloaked in shadow, where only splinters of light pierced the canopy and danced on the mossy earth. A hush had settled over the trees, a kind of breathless stillness. That’s when she saw her.
The first Rainy.
She froze, her breath catching in her chest. There, just beyond a curtain of silver mist, stood a girl who looked exactly like her—but worn, hollowed by sorrow, wrapped in a dull, gray stillness. This Rainy did not shine with curiosity or purpose. Her eyes, though the same shape and shade, were dulled by disillusionment. A heaviness clung to her like damp wool.
Rainy watched, heart pounding, as the vision moved with slow, weary steps toward the ghost of a dye pool, where indigo and rust-colored waters steamed faintly in the imagined chill. Her hands, stained with years of labor, stirred the vats with a mechanical rhythm. This was a Rainy who had never found her calling, who had never been joined to the Temple. She had turned away—or perhaps had never been invited. The bitterness of that loss seeped into her bones.
There was no joy in her work, only endurance. And beneath her quiet gaze, something cold simmered: anger. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, like the glint of a blade hidden beneath a shawl. She tolerated others with strained civility, but the unfairness of life had curdled her spirit. The death of Ewin—his memory—hovered in the corners of her mind like smoke that wouldn’t clear.
She had married young, too young, to a man whose touch meant little and whose voice she barely remembered now. It was a choice made not from love, but survival. Love, to her, had become a chain—something that bound and silenced rather than set one free.
And Rainy, the real Rainy, the one watching from the edge of the trees, felt something strange swell in her chest—not fear, not exactly, but a deep, aching empathy. This was the life she might have lived, had she stayed behind. Had she surrendered. It was a mirror held up by the forest, daring her to remember what she was walking away from… and what she was walking toward.
Above the forest, the mountains loomed like sleeping giants, cloaked in clouds. They waited—silent, vast, unmoved. Somewhere beyond them lay answers. But first, Rainy had to face the many versions of herself she might have been.
Rainy lingered only a moment longer, watching the first version of herself fade like mist beneath the trees. Then, with a deep breath, she turned and pressed on, her boots crunching softly over the pine needles and fallen leaves. The forest thickened and then slowly opened again, the great branches above parting like ancient arms making way for her path. Shafts of golden light spilled through, casting a glow that felt almost sacred. The air was warmer here, touched with the scent of wildflowers and something sweet—like honey and firewood.
And then, there she was.
The second Rainy.
She stood on a rise of moss-covered stone, her hair caught in the sun like a halo, her posture regal yet gentle, as though she carried the weight of the world but chose to bear it lightly. Her robes were soft and flowing, marked with the symbols of the Temple, etched in gold thread. She moved with ease, grace flowing from her like water from a spring. When she turned, her eyes sparkled—not with pride, but with peace.
Rainy stepped closer, hidden still among the trees, unable to look away. This version of herself was radiant. Not only beautiful in form, but alive with purpose and warmth. People gathered around her—elders, children, strangers from distant lands. They leaned in when she spoke, and laughter danced in the air like birdsong. Her words were not just wise—they healed.
She had become a Master Teller, a weaver of truth and wonder, sought after by kings and pilgrims alike. She had lifted her mother from the depths of sorrow, restoring the light in her eyes that Rainy feared would be lost forever. And her father—stoic and unreachable in life—had sat at her side, tears in his eyes, finally understanding the daughter he once could not name.
The villagers who had once thought her strange now walked beside her, heads bowed not in reverence, but in respect. She had brought them stories that mended old wounds and opened hearts. Her life was full of meaning, of light.
Rainy’s chest tightened.
How could she ever become that?
She stepped back slightly, ashamed. Compared to this vision of herself, she felt clumsy, unformed—a wandering girl with more questions than answers. Her heart was a tangle of doubts and insecurities, and seeing this bright, complete Rainy made her feel small. Unworthy. Like a shadow cast in the wake of something divine.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at her feet. But then, slowly, she looked back up. The second Rainy was smiling—not at the crowd, not at the sky, but at her. Their eyes met across the veil of the forest, and in that moment, something stirred inside her. Not shame, but a spark.
Because this Rainy wasn’t a judgment. She wasn’t there to remind her of what she was not. She was there to show her what could be.
With a soft breath, Rainy turned once more to the path and began to walk—deeper into the woods, toward the base of the mountains rising like stone memories ahead. The second Rainy faded behind her, but the warmth of her presence lingered in her chest.
There was still more to see. Still more of herself to meet.
And the journey was only just beginning.
A vision fell upon her like a cloak thrown from the heavens—sudden, consuming. The forest vanished, swallowed in an instant. No wind. No trees. No path.
Rainy stood upon a narrow ledge suspended in nothingness. The air was thick, vibrating with tension, as though the world itself held its breath. To her right, she grasped the hand of the radiant Rainy—the one filled with light and wisdom. Her touch was gentle, nearly weightless, as if she could slip away at any moment like a wisp of sunlight.
To her left, the darker Rainy clung desperately, fingers digging into her skin. “Please don’t let go,” she begged, voice raw and trembling. “I don’t want to die.”
The words struck her like a wound.
Rainy dared not move. They stood together—three selves—on a ledge above a great chasm. One side plunged into a roiling void, black and growling like the mouth of some ancient beast. The other side shone with blinding light, golden and immense, filled with music and voices—some laughing, others singing, like bells echoing through eternity.
From both directions, people reached for them—hands grasping, forming a living chain. Some clung with panic in their eyes, their pleas rising like smoke. Others, nearer to the light, held each other calmly, smiling, humming melodies Rainy had never heard but somehow knew by heart.
And then she saw it.
A line of light—pure, sharp, and impossibly straight—ran like a blade down the center of her chest, splitting her in two. It shimmered, dividing shadow from radiance, pain from peace.
She gasped.
Was she the last one saved… or the first one lost?
The question echoed in the chasm around her. She felt her arms tremble beneath the weight of those clinging to her—those behind her in the dark, afraid, hurting, crying out—and those ahead, who needed her strength to move forward into the light.
Her grip tightened on the hand of the luminous Rainy. She turned slightly, whispering with all the fear and truth she could muster:
“I don’t want to die.”
Her voice barely carried above the wind rising now from the deep. But the radiant Rainy turned to her, eyes filled with knowing, and did not let go.
The line of light pulsed down her chest. And somewhere in the vastness, a new voice joined the song. It was hers.
Rainy turned to her left, heart hammering against the divide of light that cleaved her chest. The darker Rainy’s hand was slick with fear, trembling violently as though she might slip at any second into the howling abyss below. Her eyes were wide, hollow with despair, her mouth moving in silent prayers that barely formed sound.
“I’m not letting go of you,” Rainy said firmly, her voice low but steady. “Not ever. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
The girl flinched at first, not believing, not daring to hope—but Rainy tightened her grip, wrapping her fingers around the girl’s wrist with all the strength of her soul.
“I see you,” she whispered, tears beginning to rise. “You are me. I know what you carry… the bitterness, the pain, the anger that no one saw. But I see you. And I won’t abandon you.”
The chasm rumbled beneath them, but she stood her ground, grounding herself in both hands now—one in the light, one in the dark. She was the bridge. She understood that now.
Behind the dark Rainy, more faces appeared—pale, flickering like shadows. People who had never been heard. Voices that had never been honored. Wounds never healed. All of them clutching each other, looking to her with silent longing. Not for rescue, but for recognition. For someone to see them, truly, and not turn away.
To her right, the radiant Rainy still stood poised, her gaze warm, full of a knowing joy that didn’t diminish the darkness—it encompassed it. She hadn’t turned away from the suffering. She had come through it.
And now Rainy stood between them.
The light along her chest grew brighter, humming now like a living thread of fire and song. It didn’t divide her anymore—it united her. She wasn’t two Rainys or even three. She was one soul, whole and alive, holding the spectrum of her being in both hands.
And then, something miraculous happened.
The darker Rainy’s eyes softened. Her breathing slowed. The desperate grip became a steady hold. Tears fell down her cheeks, but she no longer clung from terror—she held on with trust.
The light Rainy stepped closer, no longer distant, and placed her free hand on their joined ones. “You’ve done it,” she said quietly. “You’ve chosen to carry us all.”
A rush of warmth surged through Rainy’s chest like golden fire. The ledge beneath her feet widened, becoming a path—a narrow bridge stretching across the abyss. The people clinging to the human chain behind her were rising, drawn forward into the widening glow. The singing grew louder, not from the distance, but from within.
Rainy took a deep breath and began to walk. Slowly. Carefully. With both hands clasped tightly in hers.
And for the first time, she realized: this was the path. Not away from her past, or toward some imagined perfection—but through herself. Through all of it. She was not only a seeker.
She was a guide.