ã€ŠThe Door to Eternityã€‹


 Chapter 1

    The ancient tome sitting open on a lecture in the grand antechamber to the great hall of the Infinity Tower was a puzzle no one had solved in five millennia.

    Everyone in the tower knew the book. Its legend was whispered in every corner, from the sprawling libraries to the echoing training halls. It was said that the Infinity Tower itself had been built, in part, to house and study this singular enigma. The angular script¡ªso hauntingly beautiful and utterly impenetrable¡ªhad taunted generations of witches, archivists, and scholars.

    Or at least they had until today.

    For Amriel Vardon, the runes were no longer silent.

    Her cobalt-blue eyes widened as she stared at the page, her pulse quickening with each line her mind unraveled. Her hands trembled at her sides, unsure whether to reach out or keep their distance. Through the protective glass, the symbols seemed to shimmer faintly, as though aware of her scrutiny. They pulsed in her mind, glowing brighter with every word she read.

    It wasn¡¯t gibberish anymore. It was a warning¡ªa dark one.

    The first line she read sent a chill racing down her spine:

    "When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.¡±

    The words hit her like a physical blow, their weight settling heavily in her chest. Her breath hitched, and the familiar warmth of the room faded into a distant chill. The runes burned in her mind, their intricate patterns weaving themselves into her thoughts like an invasive thread.

    This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. She wasn¡¯t supposed to understand.

    No one understood. That was why the tome had become an obsession for so many who had walked these halls. Scholars had devoted entire lifetimes to decoding its secrets, their efforts recorded in the annals of the Tower¡¯s history. Her mentor, Master Deryn, had spent years studying it and was fond of calling it an enigma wrapped in shadow.

    And now, the enigma spoke to her.

    Amriel stumbled backward, her feet clumsy against the smooth floor. She bumped into a figure behind her, startling her further. A familiar voice broke through the haze clouding her thoughts.

    ¡°Careful there!¡± Niamh Leodris steadied her with a firm grip on her shoulders. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost¡ªor worse. Did you fall asleep in the library and drool on the books again?¡±

    Amriel opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck, her voice caught in the tumult of her thoughts. How could she explain what had just happened?

    Niamh tilted her head, her grin fading as she took in Amriel¡¯s pallor. ¡°Amriel, seriously, are you okay? You¡¯re pale as a wraith. Did something happen?¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Amriel shook her head, the denial automatic, though her racing heart betrayed her. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she croaked, her voice barely audible.

    Niamh¡¯s eyes flicked to the tome behind its protective glass, her curiosity piqued. ¡°Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯ve been staring at that thing too long.¡± She waved a hand dismissively at the ancient book. ¡°I told you, obsessing over mysteries like this will rot your brain. Come on, let¡¯s go or we¡¯re going to be late. Again!¡±

    Amriel¡¯s thoughts were still tangled in tome¡¯s word as she walked beside Niamh, her feet moving on instinct while her mind spun. The faint echo of the words she had read reverberated in her skull, impossible to ignore.

    Niamh, oblivious to her friend''s turmoil, carried on with a lively stream of chatter. ¡°Did you hear about the summoning mishap in the Infinity Tower? Apparently, someone tried to conjure a minor fire spirit, and it set half the lab on fire. The instructors are still trying to figure out if it was incompetence or sabotage. Personally, I¡¯m betting on incompetence. Those mageborn¡¯s get cocky with their spells way too early¡ªrookie mistake, really.¡±

    Amriel nodded absently, offering the occasional hum of agreement. Niamh didn¡¯t seem to notice her friend¡¯s silence or the fact that Amriel was gripping the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

    As they turned the corner and stepped into the tiered classroom, the murmur of other acolytes filled the air. The room was circular, with high, arched windows letting in slants of fading daylight. The desks were arranged in rising tiers around a central platform where Master Fenris stood, his imposing figure framed by a chalkboard covered in intricate diagrams and spellwork.

    ¡°Acolyte Vardon, Acolyte Leodris,¡± his voice boomed, cutting through the chatter like a knife. ¡°You¡¯re late. Again.¡±

    Amriel winced at the sharp reprimand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room turn toward them. She cast a quick glance at Niamh, who shot her a half-apologetic, half-defiant smirk before stepping forward.

    ¡°Sorry, Master Fenris,¡± they mumbled in unison, their voices drowned in the weight of the classroom¡¯s attention.

    Fenris, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a piercing gaze, arched an eyebrow. His sharp pale green eyes flicked between the two of them. ¡°Take your seats. And try not to make tardiness a habit¡ªagain.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Master Fenris,¡± they chorused, weaving their way through the rows of seated students. Amriel kept her head down, acutely aware of the hushed whispers that followed them.

    They slid into their usual seats near the middle of the room. Niamh immediately sprawled comfortably across her chair, pulling out her notebook and quill with practiced ease. Amriel, on the other hand, fumbled with her satchel, her hands still trembling slightly as she retrieved her materials.

    ¡°Relax,¡± Niamh whispered, leaning closer. ¡°Fenris loves the sound of his own voice too much to hold a grudge. Just nod along and pretend you¡¯re enthralled, and he¡¯ll forget all about it.¡±

    Amriel forced a smile, but her mind was far from the classroom. The words she had read, the story that had unfolded in her mind¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t leave her alone. What did it mean? And why her?

    Her attention snapped back to the room as Fenris began his lecture, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. ¡°Today, we¡¯ll be continuing our discussion on the foundational principles of elemental resonance and its practical applications. For those of you who think you already know everything, I assure you¡ªthis is far more complex than setting your lab partner on fire.¡±

    A ripple of laughter moved through the class, but Amriel barely heard it. Her gaze drifted to the open notebook before her, the blank page staring back at her as if mocking her silence. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the tangled web of secrets that seemed to have chosen her as their keeper.

 Chapter 2

    The mess hall buzzed with life, the hum of countless voices blending with the clatter of cutlery and the occasional burst of laughter. Long tables stretched from one end of the grand chamber to the other, their surfaces scarred and polished by decades of use. The high-vaulted ceiling was enchanted to mimic the night sky, a swirl of stars and constellations casting a gentle, ethereal glow over the room.

    Amriel and Niamh weaved through the throng of students. By the time they reached their usual spot among the fourth-years, Amriel was acutely aware of how heavy the day¡¯s events weighed on her, even as Niamh plopped down with her usual unflappable energy.

    Their small circle of friends had already staked their claim to a section of the table. Kaleth, a lanky, red-haired alchemist with perpetually ink-stained fingers, was gesturing wildly as he recounted some tale of his latest failed experiment. Across from him, Mara, a soft-spoken aspiring archivist, smirked as she sipped her tea. Beside her sat Simon, a towering metallurgist whose broad shoulders seemed to take up more than his fair share of space.

    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± Kaleth quipped as they approached, his freckled face splitting into a grin. ¡°Let me guess¡ªFenris again?¡±

    ¡°Obviously,¡± Niamh said, rolling her eyes as she dropped onto the bench next to Simon. ¡°The man has a personal vendetta against us, I swear. It¡¯s like he waits for us to walk in just so he can have his dramatic moment.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Mara said quietly over her tea and shook her head, ¡°He just hates tardiness. And I¡¯m pretty sure it was more you, than Amriel.¡±

    Niamh shrugged in response and turned her attention to whatever Simon had on his tray in front of him. The blacksmith¡¯s apprentice wrapped his arm around her waist as Niamh sat down and drew her in close. He always made sure to get more than his normal portion of food to ensure there was enough for Niamh when she inevitably arrived, late and hungry.

    For the first time today, she felt a small bit of normalcy watching them interact. Simon and Niamh were her oldest friends, and no one had been surprised when their friendship had grown into something more. Least of all Amriel, who had crawled before she could walk with Simon. Niamh had joined them not long after when her family moved down from the north.

    Amriel managed a faint smile as she slid into her seat beside Mara, who gave her a quiet nod of greeting. Across the table, she could feel Simon¡¯s sharp dark eyes on her, as though he could sense her unease.

    ¡°You okay?¡± he asked, his voice low enough it was barely interceptable.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she replied quickly, though the word felt hollow. ¡°Just tired.¡±

    He didn¡¯t push, but the look he gave her said he wasn¡¯t convinced. Thankfully, Kaleth¡¯s voice cut through the moment, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.

    ¡°So, Riel, tell me¡ªis there an herb or a potion that can make someone lose half their hair? Or all of it? Asking for a friend. Of course.¡±

    Thankfully it was Mara who responded with an arched eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°For a friend? Or for yourself? No one here is going to help you harm someone, Kaleth.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°What? Harm someone?¡± Kaleth feigned a gasp of insult and made an attempt to look innocent, ¡°How do you know it¡¯s not for me? Maybe I¡¯ve grown tired of these stunning red locks. Besides, I would never use it for real harm. It¡¯s not permanent is it?¡±

    This time Mara snorted, ¡°It¡¯s not Caleb¡¯s fault that Dierdra has taken a liking to him.¡±

    Dierdra Fontain was a third-year acolyte. She also happened to be tall, beautiful, and the love of Kaleth¡¯s life. Or at least she was for the moment. Kaleth¡¯s heart seemed to change every time the wind did. No doubt before long the beautiful Dierdra would be forgotten and another would take her place. No sense in hurting Caleb, an innocent bystander, along the way.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Simon cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair, ¡°Tomorrow, Niamh and I are planning a study session. You guys are welcome to join if you want.¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea with finals breathing down our necks,¡± Mara said with a nod, her dark braid slipping over one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Kaleth chimed in, slouching back with an easy grin. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt to brush up.¡± His red hair caught the flicker of the torches lining the mess hall, giving him an almost fiery aura.

    Amriel shook her head, offering a faint smile. ¡°Thanks for the invite, but I can¡¯t. My herb supplies are running low¡ªI need to restock before I¡¯m completely out.¡±

    Niamh, seated across from her, arched a delicate brow. ¡°Really? Herb collecting? Right before finals?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like you to skip out on prep sessions, Riel,¡± Simon added, his voice careful, not accusing.

    Amriel forced a shrug, keeping her tone light. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up. You all know Master Lorenna¡¯s mantra¡ª¡®A Healer without her herbs is a fish without water.¡¯¡± She mimicked their herbology instructor¡¯s stern tone, earning a chuckle from the group.

    ¡°Fair point,¡± Mara said with a shrug, already pulling a notebook from her satchel to jot down study plans.

    The bell rang, its deep chime echoing through the mess hall. As the students rose and began to disperse, Amriel adjusted her satchel, grateful for the shift in focus.

    Niamh easily caught up with her as they crossed the courtyard toward their final class of the day. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the stone paths, the warmth of the light contrasting with the cool breeze whispering through the high spires of the Infinity Tower.

    ¡°So,¡± Niamh began, her tone teasing, ¡°Herb collecting? Or is that code for one of your meditative walks into the wild?¡±

    ¡°A little of both,¡± Amriel admitted, glancing at her friend with a small smile.

    Most students in her herbology class could afford to buy theirs from local suppliers. Amriel was not one of them. Not that she minded, after all, she rather enjoyed her time in the forest.

    Niamh¡¯s teasing expression softened, her green eyes glinting with concern. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay, Riel? You¡¯ve been... distant today. Not in your usual ¡®I need to daydream to survive these people¡¯ kind of way. More like ¡®something is eating me alive¡¯ distant.¡±

    Amriel hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Niamh. I promise. Just... a lot on my mind.¡± She looked ahead, avoiding her friend¡¯s probing gaze. ¡°I think some quiet time in the Vhengal will help clear my head.¡±

    The Vhengal Forest¡ªAmriel¡¯s sanctuary and first schoolhouse¡ªwas known for its vibrant and well-established flora.

    Niamh frowned but nodded slowly. ¡°Alright. If you say so. But if you change your mind¡ªor if you just need some company¡ªyou know where to find me.¡±

    Amriel managed a grateful smile, touched by her friend¡¯s unwavering support. ¡°Thanks, Niamh. I really appreciate it.¡±

    Niamh gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder as they stepped into the arched doorway of their classroom. Amriel took a deep breath, bracing herself for another lesson, even as her thoughts remained tethered to the ancient tome and warning that now refused to leave her mind.

 Chapter 3

    The Vhengal Forest was not merely a backdrop to Amriel''s life; it was a living thread intricately woven into the tapestry of her very existence, a constant presence she could scarcely remember living without. Here, she was not just a wanderer; she was part of a vast, breathing entity, deeply entwined with the world around her.

    In her childhood, Amriel had roamed these winding paths with her mother, their footsteps echoing softly beneath the lush, dense canopy. Hours would slip away as they explored the forest¡¯s hidden wonders, a realm alive with possibilities. They would pack sleeping rolls and meager rations, for her mother believed in the forest¡¯s abundance, encouraging Amriel to embrace its gifts. They would venture deep into the heart of Vhengal, losing themselves in it for days at a time.

    Now, as she walked the familiar path, the towering trees loomed over her like wise old guardians. Their noble branches swayed gently in the breeze, whispering secrets as she passed, the rustle of leaves composing a soft symphony of age-old wisdom. These sentinels of history stood as silent witnesses to the invaluable lessons imparted by Amriel''s mother¡ªlessons woven into her very essence.

    Amriel¡¯s memories of the forest with her mother tugged at the edges of her thoughts as she paused to kneel by a stream cutting a silver ribbon through the landscape. The water¡¯s gentle murmur spoke of an endless journey, carrying with it secrets from the far reaches of the Valley.

    Her mother¡¯s voice echoed faintly in her mind as if carried on the breeze: "Listen to the forest, Amriel. It will always guide you if you let it."

    High above, the afternoon sun poured through the spring canopy, weaving a vibrant tapestry of light and shadow across the well-trodden dirt path beneath Amriel¡¯s feet. She let her gaze wander for a moment, taking in the landscape with a quiet reverence. The forest stretched endlessly before her, an intricate tapestry of greens and browns punctuated by the vibrant colors of blooming wildflowers.

    In the distance, the faint hum of life continued unabated: the rustle of small creatures darting through the underbrush, the low groan of ancient branches swaying with the wind, the distant trickle of a hidden stream. It was a symphony she had grown up with, each note a reminder of the forest¡¯s cyclical nature.

    As Amriel walked, ferns and shrubs playfully brushed against her shoulders and hips, their gentle caress welcoming her into the forest''s loving embrace.

    With a serene smile, Amriel closed her eyes and tilted her head back, inhaling deeply, savoring the cool, fresh air of spring. The rich medley of scents enveloped her¡ªdamp earth mingling with the pungent aroma of decay, a fragrance that spoke of life¡¯s relentless cycle. To some, it was a smell to endure; to her, it was a testament to renewal, a promise that the fallen leaves and plants, once cloaked beneath winter¡¯s shroud, would soon return to nourish the land, feeding the vibrant life that would follow.

    Some days, she would come to the forest just to lose herself in the awe-inspiring beauty around her, marveling at the dance of both new and ancient flora. She cherished the symphony of sounds¡ªthe rustle of leaves, the distant calls of creatures¡ªeach note a reminder of the vibrant life that thrived in this sacred place. However, today''s walk had a purpose behind it.

    Attached to her thick leather belt, a pouch dangled at her hip, secured snugly by a slender braided twine. It swung gently with her movement, but as she neared an hour into her walk, it remained frustratingly empty. With each step, the pouch bumped against her leg, an irritating reminder of her unfulfilled intentions and the herbs she sought to gather.

    With each step, Amriel ventured deeper into the forest. Her large cobalt eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, scanned the undergrowth, keenly searching for any signs of life hidden among the shadows.

    Each rustle of leaves and whisper of the wind heightened her senses, yet the mounting frustration was undeniable as her herb pouch remained uncomfortably light against her hip. She could almost hear her mother¡¯s voice echoing in her mind¡ªsharp and unforgiving, scolding her for allowing the stocks to dwindle so dangerously low. That inner admonition helped to fuel her determination, propelling her forward, each step a silent promise to herself to rectify her oversight. The weight of her mother¡¯s expectations hung in the air.

    Her frustrations were only made worse by the shadow lingering in her thoughts, stubborn and persistent. The events of the day¡ªthe tome, the words that had burned themselves into her memory¡ªloomed large in her mind, making her feel small and unsteady. The forest offered solace, but even its vastness could not wholly quiet the storm within her.

    The cryptic words of the tome surfaced once more, unbidden:

    "When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open."The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Amriel still didn¡¯t understand why she could now read the contents of the tome, when only just yesterday they appeared only as symbols. And what did it mean? Was it a warning? Or was it just a portion of a story being told? Like the ones in the books that lined the shelf above her bed.

    Unfortunately, the only one with access to the complete tome was the Head Archivist, Master Gilrand. And no doubt he would be more than a little curious as to how she, out of all the hundreds if not thousands, who had tried to decode it, was the one to be able to read its contents. If he believed her at all, that is.

    There was a pretty good chance he would think she was absolutely crazy and have her thrown in the Dreadfort with all the others gone mad.

    Maybe I should ask Mara about it? Amriel thought. The other girl was studying to become an archivist, after all. She might know more about the tome than the others, and Amriel trusted her friend more than the Head Master.

    Amriel shook her head, as though to dislodge the thought. For now, she was content to lose herself in the rhythm of the forest and the quiet, familiar work of her hands.

    As Amriel approached a fork in the path, she paused to weigh her options, her heart fluttering with uncertainty. To her right, the trail wound eastward, promising familiarity as it would eventually loop back to a route she had traversed just the days before¡ªone that had already yielded no signs of the herbs she desperately sought. On the left, however, the path veered north, teasing her with the tantalizing possibility of undiscovered flora.

    However, therein lay the dilemma: the northern path would lead her closer to the mountains, a region she preferred to avoid. This was precisely why it remained largely untraveled. Amriel found herself anxiously gnawing on her lower lip, torn between the allure of fresh herbs and the unsettling unease coiling in her stomach like a snake ready to strike.

    Her mother had never indulged in fanciful tales, but when it came to the mountains, her words were laced with cautionary wisdom. Stories of those who had ventured too far and too long echoed in Amriel¡¯s mind¡ªnone of them ended well for those who lingered among the peaks and shadows.

    Around her, she felt the breeze picked up slightly, gently rustling the newborn leaves of the awakening trees that towered above her. Tendrils of dark auburn hair, having escaped her thick braid, danced in the wind, brushing against her cheeks, flushed with the spring chill. Taking a deep breath, Amriel filled her lungs with the cool, crisp air, and immediately sensed the telltale scent of impending rain. Glancing upward through the breaks in the canopy, she noticed the dark clouds gathering in the sky above, a slate of gray creeping in from the horizon.

    ¡°Well, shit,¡± Amriel sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. Today, it seemed, time was not on her side. ¡°Alright, Amriel, you need to make a choice, and fast. You don¡¯t have all day,¡± she chided herself, casting a wary glance down the narrow northern path. ¡°You can either play it safe, take the path you know, and head home empty-handed, or you can brave the unknown and see what the north has to offer.¡±

    Talking to herself felt utterly strange. On most days, Meeko, her loyal forest cat companion, would be there to at least flick an ear in her direction, offering silent support. But today, he had opted to remain curled up on the edge of their bed, likely sensing the storm brewing on the horizon. She couldn¡¯t blame him; it was hard to argue with a cat¡¯s instincts.

    ¡°Tales be damned,¡± she finally decided, a flicker of defiance igniting within her. ¡°They were just stories, right? Scary tales to keep a young child in line, nothing more.¡±

    Yet, the weight of the possibility that those stories might hold a grain of truth lingered in her mind, though she refused to dwell on it any longer. Amriel hurried northward, her footsteps quickening as a sense of urgency pulsed through her. Rain was imminent, and the valley was notorious for its unpredictable weather this time of year. Bright blue skies could turn ominous in the blink of an eye as storms swept down from the mountains, and those spring storms could be ferocious. The last thing she needed was to get caught in one¡ªespecially this close to the mountains.

    But she had come too far to turn back now; the need for herbs propelled her onward. With each step, her determination surged, the looming threat of the storm only fueling her resolve.

    Amriel¡¯s pace quickened. She kept her eyes on the forest floor, scanning for the precious herbs that could turn this gamble into a worthwhile endeavor. The knowledge that time was running out pushed her forward, her boots crunching over leaves and twigs.

    When her gaze fell on the delicate blue-green heart-shaped leaves of the plant she sought, relief flooded her chest.

    ¡°Finally,¡± she whispered. ¡°Horissa Vharia.¡±

    The Horissa Vharia thrived in the dappled light of the forest floor. This one was tucked away among the underbrush near a fallen tree and she had almost missed the plant with its striking blue-green, heart-shaped leaves.

    Carefully, she navigated alongside the moss-covered trunk of the tree, which had cracked and toppled during a fierce storm years ago. Its decaying body now served as a feast for the creatures of the forest floor. Soon, once nature had worked its magic, it would return to the earth, nourishing the young sapling that was beginning to take root in its place.

    As she bent to pluck the Horissa Vharia, another plant emerged like a dark omen from the shadow beneath the tree. Its unmistakable pointed black leaves, veined with crimson, stood out starkly against the earthy backdrop.

    Amriel¡¯s heart raced, and her hand recoiled instinctively. Her long fingers curled into a tight fist, driven by an urge to distance themselves from the dangerous flora. She licked her lips nervously; even without two decades of herbal study, she would have recognized this plant instantly. Almost any child in the realm would know it.

    Khasta Vhar.

    The sight of it sent a shiver racing down her spine. The stories surrounding the Khasta Vhar weren¡¯t just cautionary tales¡ªthey were etched into the collective memory of the realm. Wherever this plant grew, it was said an angel had fallen.

 Chapter 4

    Amriel had been a child the last time their kingdom faced war with one of the Fallen, but the memories remained etched in her mind with unnerving clarity. How could she forget? It was the moment she nearly lost her father.

    He had been one of the fortunate few to return, yet her mother, Nythia, often remarked that he might as well have perished that day. The man who returned to them was no longer the vibrant, loving figure he''d once been; instead, he was a hollow echo of his former self, forever haunted by the horrors he had faced.

    Her father never spoke of the battlefield or the demons that tormented him. He would sit for hours, staring blankly at the fireplace, lost in thought as the flames danced in the hearth. With each passing day, he grew more frail and distant, until one morning he simply did not rise from bed.

    They buried him beneath the willow tree that stood like a guardian over the lake that bordered the Vhengal. ¡°It¡¯s where he would want to be,¡± Amriel told her mother, her voice trembling. It was where he went to read and find peace¡ªat least before he encountered the Fallen.

    Now, standing before the thriving Khasta Vhar, she understood that this plant could be years¡ªor even decades¡ªold. It flourished in the very spot where an angel had ~fallen, continuing to thrive long after the celestial being had departed. Just as she knew that the angel whose essence lingered here had likely long since moved on. Regardless, Amriel had no intention of lingering to find out.

    Fallen angels, after all, did not actively hunt humans; such a task was beneath them. As her mother often said, the Fallen viewed humanity as a fragile, fleeting race, hardly worthy of their time. Yet Amriel knew that if a fallen angel deemed it necessary to eliminate her for its own gain, it would do so without hesitation. Their indifference could easily turn deadly if it suited their purpose, just as it had for the one her father had fought.

    Her eyes darkened, narrowing slightly as her slender fingers tightened around the hilt of the blade at her belt. Nythia had not only bestowed upon her daughter the gifts of the forest but had also equipped her with the skills to defend herself within its depths. Amriel¡¯s gaze flickered back to the Horissa Vharia. She needed that plant; leaving it behind after coming this far would be nothing short of foolish. There was no doubt in her mind that she would need it soon enough.

    Unwilling to hesitate any longer, she drew her blade from its sheath and sliced the healing herb cleanly, almost at its base, leaving behind a few resilient leaves. The plant was hardy, with deep roots, and this early in the year, it stood a good chance of recovering.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Reluctant to part with her blade just yet, Amriel carefully palmed it while opening her herb pouch, swiftly stashing the small plant with its blue heart-shaped leaves inside. Usually, she would treat the plant with more reverence, but the approaching storm and the looming presence of the Khasta Vhar left little room for hesitation. Securing the blade at her side she cautiously stepped back onto the narrow path and quickened her pace as she moved homeward.

    Amriel had inherited her mother¡¯s height and looks, standing petite in both stature and frame. Though slender of hip and nearly flat-chested, she possessed a quick stride that could easily keep pace with those taller than her.

    The soft rustle of her braid¡ªher customary style¡ªswayed against her back as she ran, adding a rhythmic grace to her swift steps.

    However, her cobalt eyes¡ªnow darkened with focus as they darted back and forth, carefully scanning the forest around her ¡ªwere unmistakably her father¡¯s.

    A sharp, cool breeze rushed past, sending a shiver up Amriel¡¯s spine. She suspected the chill wasn¡¯t entirely due to the cool air sweeping in from the approaching storm.

    Hurrying along the narrow path, Amriel''s footsteps quickened with determination, each step resonating with urgency. The air around her thickened with tension, as if the very atmosphere sensed the impending storm.

    Above, the skies darkened ominously, heavy clouds swirling like an angry tide, threatening to unleash their fury at any moment. The scent of impending rain intensified, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil and decaying leaves, wrapping around her like a foreboding shroud. A gust of wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the towering trees and creating an eerie symphony of whispers, as if the forest itself urged her to move faster.

    In the distance, thunder rumbled through the valley, a deep, resonant growl that echoed her growing unease.

    ¡°Great,¡± Amriel muttered under her breath, casting a baleful glance at the dark sky that peeked through the canopy above. ¡°Just great.¡±

    Cursing softly beneath her breath, Amriel broke into a run, her footsteps carrying her quickly along the well-worn paths. Racing against the storm and away from the spot of the fallen angel, her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest, a steady drumbeat of adrenaline. Finally, as she broke free from the forest¡¯s undergrowth. Taking a quick pause to catch her breath, Amriel caught sight of her small cottage in the distance. Its sturdy stone walls offered a sense of safety and shelter, a comforting beacon amidst the brewing storm.

    ¡°Almost there,¡± she panted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, a flicker of hope igniting within her.

    Just then, thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and a fat raindrop struck her squarely between the eyes. Startled, she quickly wiped it away with the back of her sleeve, urgency clawing at her thoughts. Now was not the time to linger. The rain began to fall, lightly at first, but the darkening skies and heavily laden clouds warned her that a torrential downpour was imminent.

    Summoning a final burst of energy, she sprinted across the open fields toward her cottage.

 Chapter 5

    Slowly the laughter ebbed and reality set in.

    Her muscles ached from the run, and exhaustion pressed heavily on her chest. Everything felt overwhelming¡ªtoo much and too fast. Only days ago, her biggest concern had been finals and the looming prospect of graduation. The naive simplicity of that life felt distant now like a dream slipping through her fingers.

    A flicker of movement caught her eye. Across the room, two gleaming silver orbs blinked in the dim light. Meeko, ever-watchful, lifted his head from the bed where he had sprawled in luxurious ease, wholly indifferent to the storm raging outside. His tufted ears flicked toward her, alert but unbothered.

    Recognizing her scent, he yawned wide, revealing teeth sharp enough to remind anyone that this was no ordinary housecat.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got it all figured out, don¡¯t you?¡± Amriel muttered wryly, peeling her damp cloak from her shoulders.

    Meeko stretched with feline grace, every movement fluid and deliberate. His thick, velvety fur rippled as he leapt down from the bed without a sound. His massive paws made no noise against the worn wooden floor as he padded toward her, eyes steady and untroubled.

    He butted his head against her thigh, purring low and deep¡ªa steady vibration that rumbled through her bones like a balm. Soft chirps followed, halfway between scolding and affection, as though he were berating her for being foolish enough to get caught in the rain.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know,¡± Amriel murmured, crouching to bury her fingers in his thick fur. His warmth seeped into her cold skin, a welcome contrast to the damp chill clinging stubbornly to her clothes. ¡°I should¡¯ve stayed inside with you, huh?¡±

    Meeko¡¯s purrs deepened as she scratched beneath his chin and along the tufted ears that always made him melt.

    ¡°For the record,¡± she added with a faint smile, ¡°I totally get why you didn¡¯t join me today. Smart move.¡±

    The forest cat blinked slowly, a gesture filled with the kind of knowing arrogance only felines could manage.

    Obviously.

    Amriel huffed a laugh, the tension in her chest easing just a little. Whatever strange path lay ahead, at least she wouldn¡¯t be facing it alone. For now, that was enough.

    Her gaze drifted to the cozy interior of the cottage¡ªa simple space, worn but welcoming. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke lingered in the air, grounding her in familiarity. For as long as she could remember, this had been her refuge, standing steadfast on the outskirts of town where the forest met the open fields.

    Unlike many students at the Academy, Amriel hadn¡¯t grown up in one of the grand estates dotting Vhengal¡¯s wealthier districts. There had never been gold-threaded tapestries or sprawling marble courtyards in her life. Her world had always been rooted here, in this humble cottage with its weathered stone walls and thatched roof.

    It hadn¡¯t mattered to her. The forty-minute trek to the Academy each day was manageable, especially with Niamh and Simon beside her, their lively conversations making the walk feel shorter. And even if living on campus had been an option, Amriel doubted the Academy¡¯s strict regulations would have welcomed Meeko with open arms.

    The thought made her smile¡ªa rare but welcome relief from the weight of recent events.

    Meeko chirped again, nudging her insistently as though to remind her that life carried on, storm or no storm, ancient mysteries be damned.

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± she relented, pushing herself to her feet. ¡°Let¡¯s get these herbs away so I can settle in for the evening.¡±

    The storm outside roared on, but within the cottage, there was warmth, purpose, and an unwavering certainty that no matter what came next, they would face it together.

    A soft chuckle escaped Amriel¡¯s lips as she glanced toward Meeko, sprawled luxuriously in front of the cold hearth, his greeting evidently concluded.

    Forest cats rarely resembled their domestic counterparts in anything but vague shape. Meeko was no exception. Easily the size of a medium dog, his powerful frame radiated the effortless grace of a predator, muscles shifting like liquid beneath his thick, velvety coat. Ebony streaks merged with tawny dapples, reminiscent of sunlight piercing through dense forest canopies.

    What captivated Amriel most, however, were his eyes¡ªkeen, almond-shaped, and shimmering like polished silver under moonlight. Intelligence mingled with playful mischief there, always reminding her that Meeko was more than a companion. He was a sentinel, a judge silently observing her every decision.

    His long, tufted ears flicked lazily as if acknowledging her gaze, but he made no move to rise. His tail swept idly across the floor, a slow, deliberate rhythm that spoke of complete contentment.

    Amriel shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Sometimes she envied the cat his freedoms. To come and go as he pleases, but always have a safe roof over his head when he desired. Yep. He¡¯s got it all figured out, she thought wryly, kicking off her damp shoes near the door.

    Cool floorboards greeted her bare feet, grounding her after a day filled with unanswered questions and the weight of unresolved mysteries. The familiar ache in her shoulders from hours spent trudging through underbrush lingered, but it was dulled by the comfort of home.

    The scent of rain clung stubbornly to her clothes, mingling with the faint herbal fragrance that always permeated the cottage. As she hung her belt and knife on the iron hook by the door, she felt the relief of the familiar weight lifting from her hips. Her damp braid swayed gently as she moved, loose tendrils sticking stubbornly to her cheeks until she brushed them back with a weary sigh.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The cottage stood humble but sturdy, its stone walls weathered by countless seasons. Shelves lined the wall behind the door, filled with books whose spines had softened with age and use. Across from the books, in the corner that served as her kitchen and herb preparation area, was another set of shelves. These were cluttered with glass jars filled with dried leaves, roots, and powders in hues ranging from earthy browns to vivid greens. Bundles of herbs, in all states of drying, hung from the rafters, their mingled fragrances steeping the space in tranquility.

    It was humble, yes, but it was hers. And it was enough.

    Slipping the herb pouch from her belt, Amriel padded across the room, her movements instinctive as she approached the worn worktable near the window. Light filtered weakly through the narrow panes, catching motes of dust that drifted lazily in the still air.

    She untied the pouch, letting its modest contents spill onto the scarred wooden surface. Her foraging had been less fruitful than hoped, but not entirely disappointing.

    A small victory is still a victory, she reminded herself.

    First, her fingers brushed over a feathery clump of Chaliss Moss, its soft texture like the damp undergrowth hidden beneath towering trees. Her mother¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, quiet but firm: Always keep this close. In fresh wounds, it guards against rot and sickness.

    Setting the moss aside, Amriel reached for the twisted roots of the morrow plant. The earthy scent clung stubbornly to her fingertips. She remembered its strange duality¡ªhow its leaves brought joy when steeped in teas, while its roots, when dried and ground, could quiet restless minds and ease fraying nerves.

    Balance in all things, her mother had often said. The forest offers both joy and peace, but never without effort.

    The final find made Amriel¡¯s lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. The blue-green leaves of the Horissa Vharia curled delicately between her fingers, vibrant even under the dim light. Sacred and uncommon, this plant was a healer¡¯s boon, capable of soothing the fiercest pain when prepared correctly.

    Even magic had its limits when it came to easing suffering, but Horissa Vharia did not.

    The rhythmic sorting of leaves and roots became a quiet ritual, pulling her from the gnawing edges of doubt and fear. Each motion grounded her, the familiar clink of jars and the soft rustle of foliage creating a melody that steadied her heart.

    Her mind, usually restless, began to calm as she slipped into the rhythm of her craft. Thoughts of ancient tomes, strange discoveries, and looming uncertainties faded into the background, replaced by the simplicity of the moment.

    Here, there were no mysteries, no impossible questions. Only creation¡ªdelicate, deliberate, and wholly her own.

    Behind her, Meeko¡¯s purr vibrated low and steady, filling the room like a song of reassurance.

    Here, in the quiet sanctity of her home, surrounded by the living memory of the forest, Amriel found steadiness again.

    The storm clawed at the world outside, rain striking the stone walls with relentless fury. Gusts of wind howled through the trees beyond the cottage, their branches thrashing wildly in defiance. Water traced erratic patterns on the fogged windowpanes, glimmering faintly in the warm lantern glow that flickered against shadowed walls.

    Inside, however, the small room held onto its fragile sanctuary of calm. The dim light softened the worn edges of the furniture and illuminated the neat piles of herbs Amriel had painstakingly sorted. The rhythmic ritual of preparation had soothed her frayed nerves¡ªif only for a moment.

    But now the storm''s weight pressed against the cottage, creeping in through unseen cracks and seams. Cold air licked at her damp skin, and despite herself, Amriel shuddered.

    A familiar warmth brushed against her leg, grounding her amidst the chaos. Meeko had padded over silently, his sleek, muscular frame radiating steady reassurance. Without hesitation, he pressed his head firmly against her thigh¡ªa wordless reminder that he was there, watchful as ever.

    "Hey, you," Amriel murmured, her voice softer than she intended. She crouched to scratch behind his tufted ears, right at the spot that always made him melt. Sure enough, his purr deepened, filling the space between them like music meant only for her. ¡°I think you¡¯d appreciate a fire as much as I would.¡±

    A thunderclap cracked overhead, sudden and brutal. The sound reverberated through the cottage, rattling the wooden beams and causing jars to clink together on their shelves. A fierce draft swept through the room, carrying with it the wild energy of the storm.

    Amriel shivered harder, the damp chill seeping into her bones. Pulling her shawl from the back of a chair, she wrapped it tightly around herself and moved toward the hearth. The fire had long since died, leaving only cold ashes behind.

    Kneeling by the darkened fireplace, her fingers moved with practiced precision, arranging a careful bed of dry leaves and twigs from the basket beside the hearth. Pieces of kindling were layered carefully on top, forming a fragile cradle for the flames she hoped to coax into life.

    From a pouch near the hearth, Amriel retrieved a piece of flint and a slender steel striker. The tools fit comfortably in her palm, their weight grounding her. She bit her lower lip in concentration and struck the steel against the flint, each sharp click sending sparks dancing through the darkened hearth.

    She struck the flint sharply against the steel, each click igniting brief sparks that danced across the tinder before fading into darkness. Leaning closer, Amriel narrowed her focus, shutting out the storm¡¯s roar.

    Another strike. Sparks leapt, kissed the tinder, and curled into faint threads of smoke. Amriel exhaled slowly, guiding her breath toward the fragile ember. Steady and measured. Smoke thickened, twisting upward.

    Come on¡­

    The ember glowed brighter, clinging stubbornly to life before finally catching. A flicker of flame wavered uncertainly, then blossomed into steady fire.

    "There you are," she whispered as if coaxing a shy friend into confidence. The flames crackled in response, their golden light flickering against the stone walls. Heat blossomed outward, wrapping around her like a long-lost embrace.

    Meeko, ever practical, wasted no time. He circled once before settling near the hearth, his thick coat shimmering in the firelight¡ªa tapestry of tawny gold and deep black, like shadows beneath the forest canopy. His eyes glinted briefly, silver and unbothered by the storm''s fury.

    His purring filled the space between them, steady and sure, a sound that made the cottage feel less fragile against the night¡¯s chaos.

    The storm raged on, but its wildness felt distant now¡ªa force barred by the warmth and flicker of the cottage hearth.

    "I think it''s time for some tea," Amriel said softly, breaking the peaceful silence.

    Meeko chirped in response, lifting his head to nudge her hand with gentle insistence.

    "Yeah, I figured you''d agree," she said with a smile, rising from the floor.

    The fire crackled behind her, its warmth spreading through the small space as she moved toward the kettle hanging from its iron hook. She filled it with water, the familiar sound of metal meeting liquid soothing her frayed edges.

    Tonight, the world beyond the cottage could rage all it wanted. Inside, there were small rituals¡ªtea, warmth, and quiet moments that mattered. And for now, that was enough.

 Chapter 6

    Rising from her crouched position by the hearth, Amriel stretched, her muscles stiff from tending the fire. The warmth licked at her back as she made her way across the cottage to the modest corner that served as her kitchen. The scent of drying herbs mingled with the earthy tang of rain drifting through the partially open window above the sink.

    She reached for the dented, well-loved kettle resting on the worn countertop. Its surface gleamed faintly in the firelight, marked by years of faithful service. Filling it with cool water from the clay pitcher nearby, she returned to the hearth, carefully setting the kettle over the young flames. The fire hissed and popped, the heat beginning to draw the chill from the air.

    With the kettle warming, Amriel turned to her shelves, where neat rows of jars held her carefully crafted tea blends. The collection was as much a testament to her curiosity as it was to necessity. Each jar bore a handwritten label, though she hardly needed them¡ªshe knew the contents by sight and scent alone.

    Tonight called for something grounding yet uplifting. After a moment''s deliberation, she selected a blend that combined the earthy richness of roasted nettles, the delicate essence of marrow root, and the sweet tang of dried goldberries. The scent was bright and hopeful.

    As she measured the blend into her teapot, her gaze drifted toward the shelves where her books stood like familiar companions, their spines worn from years of handling. Each title whispered the promise of an adventure or a comforting return to stories she''d read countless times before.

    A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined the perfect tale for tonight. Perhaps one of the ancient myths filled with gods, betrayals, and hard-won victories¡ªor maybe a whimsical adventure set in far-off lands, where improbable heroes triumphed against impossible odds. The right story could make even the fiercest storm seem distant, its fury muted by the magic of imagination.

    Her fingers hovered over the spines, pausing on a thick, leather-bound tome with scuffed edges and a faded cover. It bore no title, but she didn¡¯t need one to recognize it. Her father¡¯s gift¡ªa collection of folktales and fables that had been her steadfast companion through countless stormy nights. Holding it now, she felt the familiar weight settle in her hands, a bittersweet comfort that carried echoes of his warm laughter and patient storytelling.

    Returning to her armchair by the hearth, she tucked herself into the worn cushions, pulling a scratchy woolen blanket tightly around her shoulders. The fire crackled and danced, casting flickering golden patterns across the cottage walls. Its warmth seeped into her, chasing away the last remnants of the storm¡¯s chill.

    Meeko, sprawled lazily on the rug at her feet, let out a contented sigh. His thick, velvety coat shimmered in the firelight as he stretched, his tufted ears flicking lazily. The rhythmic vibrations of his purring filled the room, a gentle melody that wrapped around Amriel like a second layer of warmth.

    She ran her fingers absently through his fur, savoring the simple peace of the moment. The tempest outside raged on, fierce and untamed, but here within these stone walls, life held its own quiet magic¡ªone born of stories, firelight, and the steady companionship of a loyal friend.

    Amriel exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders loosen as the weight of the day faded into the background. Flipping open the worn pages of her father''s tome, she let herself sink into the familiar comfort of a tale older than time itself.

    Outside, the storm howled¡ªbut inside, all was safe, warm, and wonderfully still.

    Just as Amriel¡¯s mind began to sink into the familiar cadence of the ancient tale, a sharp knock cut through the cottage like a blade, shattering her fragile sense of peace. Her breath hitched, fingers tightening instinctively around the worn leather cover of the book.

    Meeko¡¯s head snapped up from his relaxed sprawl. His silver eyes sharpened, the soft rumble of his purr replaced by a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. The forest cat rose with a fluid grace, muscles taut, fur bristling along his arched back.

    Amriel¡¯s pulse quickened. For a moment, she sat frozen, straining to distinguish the knock from the chaotic symphony of rain and wind. Maybe it had been nothing more than the wind slamming against the door?

    But then it came again¡ªthis time much louder, deliberate, impossible to ignore. The door rattled unnervingly on its hinges.

    Meeko was already on alert.

    The forest cat had moved from his spot near the hearth, his powerful form coiled with tension, standing protectively between her and the door. Thick black fur bristled along his arched back, and a guttural growl rumbled deep in his chest¡ªa sound that cut through the storm¡¯s chaos like a blade. His sharp silver eyes gleamed in the firelight, fixed intently on the trembling wood door. Claws gleamed wickedly as they flexed against the floorboards.

    Seeing his reaction, Amriel¡¯s spine tingled with fear. She closed the book carefully, setting it aside as if reluctant to abandon the world of fables entirely. Reality pressed in with a force that left her tense and wary. The next knock was harder, urgent, sending tremors through the wooden door and a chill down her back.

    Who in all the realms would be out in this weather?

    The words slipped from her lips, barely audible beneath the storm¡¯s fury. Simon or Niamh would have just walked in by now. They never knocked, not after years upon years of familiarity and shared trust.

    A bitter laugh threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down. After the strange events of the past few days, the idea of a Fallen Angel knocking politely on her door didn¡¯t seem quite so absurd anymore.

    The door rattled violently on its hinges, and her gaze snapped to the belt hanging beside the entryway where her blade waited in its worn leather sheath.

    Her mother¡¯s voice echoed in her mind¡ªsharp, commanding, unyielding.

    Never hesitate. Be ready for the unexpected, Amriel. The forest respects neither the weak nor the unprepared.

    She could almost feel Nythia''s hand guiding her through relentless drills, the sting of bruises earned during countless lessons in combat. Lessons she had hated at the time but clung to now with desperate gratitude.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Throwing aside the blanket, she darted across the room, heart pounding against her ribs. Her fingers closed around the familiar hilt of her blade as she pulled it from its sheath. The cold weight settled into her grip, grounding her in its undeniable purpose.

    This wasn¡¯t just a weapon¡ªit was a reminder of promises made, of survival fought for. The polished steel reflected the flicker of firelight like a living oath: Never powerless again.

    ¡°Who is it?¡± she called, forcing her voice to steady despite the tight knot of fear in her throat.

    Silence answered. Only the storm screamed in reply, wind shrieking through cracks in the wood, rain striking the glass like a thousand fists demanding entry.

    The door rattled again, a sharp jolt that reverberated through the small space, shaking the beams overhead.

    Amriel widened her stance in the center of the room, muscles taut, blade gleaming in the flickering light. Her free hand curled into a fist at her side, steady despite the thundering rhythm of her heart. Beside her, Meeko prowled closer, his growl a steady, primal threat.

    Her thoughts raced through grim possibilities.

    Another slam against the door. Wood groaned under the force, the hinges rattling with ominous protest. Whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªstood out there clearly had no intention of leaving quietly.

    Her grip tightened on the blade as she took a measured breath, forcing the chaos within her to still.

    The door shuddered under another series of blows, louder than the last, threatening to splinter.

    Jaw clenched, Amriel hesitated at the threshold, her fingers hovering over the latch.

    But hesitation was weakness. You fight on your terms, Amriel. Always. Her mother¡¯s voice echoed in her mind, resolute as ever.

    Taking a steadying breath, she slid the latch free and pulled the door open¡ªslowly, cautiously.

    The storm struck instantly, lashing rain and biting wind slamming into her. The cold stole her breath, droplets stinging her face as she squinted into the tempest beyond the threshold. Water streamed across the stone floor, carried by the gusts that tugged at her hair and clothing.

    Through the swirling chaos, a figure loomed¡ªhooded and hunched against the gale. Lightning split the sky, illuminating pale features for a fleeting heartbeat: sharp cheekbones, rain-plastered dark hair, and desperate emerald eyes glinting through the gloom.

    The man stumbled closer, sodden clothing clinging to his lean frame like a second skin. The storm swallowed most of his voice, but a single fractured plea escaped:

    ¡°Please¡­¡±

    The word cut through her defenses, raw and desperate. It clawed at something deep inside her, even as instinct screamed danger. Compassion warred with caution, and her grip on the blade at her side tightened.

    What kind of danger begs for shelter on a night like this?

    The wind shifted suddenly, lifting the stranger¡¯s sodden cloak¡ªand Amriel saw it.

    The dark bloom of blood seeping between his fingers clutched tightly against his side.

    Her breath hitched. The healer within her flared to life, instinctively cataloging the injury. Blood loss¡ªsignificant. His pallor confirmed it. At the rate he was bleeding, he wouldn¡¯t last much longer. And only the gods knew how far he¡¯d come to reach her doorstep.

    But survival instincts clashed hard against compassion, a familiar and unwelcome tension. She¡¯d seen too much betrayal, lived through too many hard lessons to trust appearances alone.

    The storm roared, driving him forward with a fierce gust. He stumbled, slamming his free hand against the doorframe to steady himself. The impact reverberated through the cottage, sharp and jarring, like the knell of an approaching threat.

    The door, caught by the force of his movement, swung wide on its hinges. Rain sliced through the opening, slamming against shelves laden with books and scattering loose herbs across the dirt floor.

    Amriel cringed but didn¡¯t retreat. She moved swiftly, instincts honed by countless drills snapping into place. In one fluid motion, she raised her blade. Firelight danced along its polished edge, casting flickering reflections across the chaotic room.

    Her stance squared, muscles taut, heart thundering in her chest. Nythia¡¯s voice hissed inside her ear¡ªSurvive. Just survive.

    The stranger staggered fully across the threshold, hunched and bleeding. Water streamed from his cloak, pooling around his muddied boots. Each breath he drew was raw and labored, rattling through his chest like a broken bellows.

    Time stretched unbearably thin as Amriel assessed him. Compassion tugged harder, demanding action. She knew that kind of pain, that raw, helpless fight for every breath. And yet¡ª

    Meeko¡¯s growl rumbled low and steady beside her. Large, glowing silver eyes locked in the intruder

    She swallowed hard. Her voice, steady despite the storm raging both outside and within, cut through the charged silence.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± she demanded, eyes locked on his blood-slicked hand.

    The man sagged against the wall, breath shuddering from his lips. His emerald gaze met hers again, filled with something raw and unspoken.

    ¡°Help me,¡± he rasped, voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°Please¡­¡±

    Amriel¡¯s grip on the blade faltered¡ªjust for a moment.

    She had seconds to decide: take the risk or turn him away.

    Emerald eyes burned through the chaos, locking onto Amriel with an unsettling mix of desperation and defiance. No plea lingered in his gaze, just fierce, stubborn determination, the look of someone who was trying to do exactly what she was¡ªsurvive.

    Instinct stiffened her spine. The weight of the blade in her hand was grounding, though it did little to quiet the frantic pounding of her heart.

    "Stay back," she warned, voice low but steady despite the tremor rippling beneath her skin.

    The man didn¡¯t stop. Either he hadn¡¯t heard or didn¡¯t care. He staggered forward, knees wobbling under his own weight. His fingers were slick with blood, crimson seeping between them in relentless rivulets that stained his side and splattered onto the dirt floor.

    Amriel took half a step back, every nerve on edge, tension winding through her body like a taut bowstring.

    ¡°Fha¡¯lear,¡± he rasped.

    The strange word cut through the charged air like a dagger, sharp and raw. The sound prickled against her senses, unfamiliar yet oddly not entirely foreign. As if it was supposed to mean something to her.

    Then the fight drained from him entirely. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud that reverberated through the cottage.

    Silence swallowed the space¡ªsave for the crackle of the fire and the relentless howl of the storm beyond. Even Meeko had gone quiet, his growls fading into wary observation as he cautiously crept closer to the fallen man.

    Her mind raced. He could be a threat. This could be a trap. He could be lulling me into a false sense of security. But, on the other hand, there¡¯s a good chance he''s actually dying on my floor.

    She had seen death before¡ªwatched the light fade from eyes that once burned with purpose. But there was something in those desperate emerald eyes that lingered in her memory, tangled up with echoes of choices she couldn¡¯t unmake.

    The blade wavered, then lowered. Her breath escaped in a ragged exhale.

    ¡°Not quite how I imagined my night going,¡± she muttered, voice rough.

    Meeko chirped softly, as though to second her grim observation.

 Chapter 7

    The man hit the floor with a sickening thud that echoed through the small cottage.

    Amriel stood rigid, muscles taut, blade gleaming faintly in her hand as shadows flickered across the walls. For a long breath, the world seemed caught between beats, waiting for what came next.

    ¡°You have got to be kidding me,¡± Amriel muttered, her voice laced with disbelief.

    The past few days had been one absurdity after another. She¡¯d thought she¡¯d seen the worst of it. Apparently not as she found herself staring down at the strangers prone form lying on her floor, covered from head to leather boots by a sodden dark cloak.

    Suddenly, a violent gust of wind shattered her thoughts, slamming the door wide against the wall. The sharp impact made her flinch, for the door struck the shelves lined with books, her most prized possessions, and rattled them precariously.

    ¡°Shit,¡± she hissed under her breath, the storm roaring through the opening, clawing at the warmth of the room. Cold tendrils spread throughout the cottage, making the flames in the hearth stutter and writhe. Shadows danced across the walls in erratic, frantic shapes, writhing as if alive.

    ¡°Alright, Riel, prioritize,¡± she muttered, voice tight, ¡°Door first. Then deal with¡­him.¡±

    Meeko raised his head, his large, silvery eyes catching the firelight as he met her gaze and chirped softly as if in agreement. The wild wind blew in to ruffle the forest cat¡¯s sleek black fur as he stood vigil over the stranger, nose twitching, while he sniffed at the man as though inspecting a puzzle yet to be solved. He didn¡¯t retreat, and no longer snarled or hissed.

    That was when she realised that he was...curious.

    Amriel¡¯s breath hitched and she blinked, disbelieving. Curious?

    That did not make sense.

    Meeko didn¡¯t do curious. At least, not with strangers. The forest cat was the embodiment of feline skepticism, wariness was his default setting. In that sense, he was very much like his much smaller, domesticated cousins.

    He¡¯d come to tolerate Simon and Niamh after all these years, because he knew that they would feed him and treat him kindly, but even that felt like a begrudging truce.

    So what was it about this man, bleeding on her floor, that had bypassed Meeko¡¯s usual defenses? What did he sense that she didn¡¯t?

    Before she could pursue that line of thought, the door slammed against the wall again with another gust of wind, demanding her attention.

    Focus, Amriel! Focus.

    Her eyes flicked between Meeko, who was crouching near the stranger with unsettling calm, and the door that banged relentlessly against the wall¡ªand her books¡ªwith infuriating rhythm.

    Palming her blade, Amriel kept the weapon close by her side as she cautiously stepped around the man sprawled out on her floor, keeping as much distance from him as her small home would allow.

    With a hard shove, she forced the door shut, sealing off the savage storm outside and blocking out the relentless gusts and heavy rain from invading her small sanctuary. The latch clicked into place with a finality that echoed through the room, sealing the chaos outside where it belonged. Or so she hoped.

    Chaos could very well be lying on her floor, bleeding out.

    As she turned to rest against the door, a sharp whistle suddenly pierced through the air, sending a shiver down her spine and causing her already racing heart to leap into her throat.

    For a moment, Amriel stood frozen, her senses sharpened as she strained to pinpoint the sudden, sharp sound cutting through the storm-muted quiet. It took a heartbeat longer than it should have for realization to dawn¡ªthe whistling came from the kettle she¡¯d left over the fire. The piercing noise grew louder and more insistent.

    By the gods, he was a tall man with long, well formed limbs. He would probably stand even with Simon, though the blacksmith was much more heavily muscled from his days at the forge.

    Amriel exhaled sharply, though her pulse still thrummed from the lingering tension. Once more, she edged cautiously back around the unconscious stranger on her floor, every nerve on edge. Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of her weapon as she braced for any sudden movement.

    If he lunged now, the tight confines of her cottage would make it nearly impossible to evade his grasp.

    Keeping her gaze flickering between him and the fire, Amriel moved swiftly, lifting the kettle from the iron hook with practiced ease. The whistle died in a sudden hiss of steam.

    Setting the kettle aside, she forced herself to take a steadying breath. Her pulse slowed but didn¡¯t quite return to normal. The weight of the situation pressed against her chest like a heavy blanket¡ªthick, suffocating, and impossible to ignore.

    ¡°Ok, now what to do with you?¡± she muttered under her breath, voice rough with unease.

    Her teeth found her lower lip, gnawing anxiously as her eyes drifted back to the stranger.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    In the flickering glow of the fire, she studied him more closely. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, every breath wheezing like it had to claw its way free from his cracked lips. Damp strands of dark hair clung to his pale face, shadowing high cheekbones made gaunt by pain and exhaustion.

    Nythia¡¯s voice rose unbidden in her mind, cool and commanding. ¡°Do not waste the training you have been so fortunate to recieve. Remember that.¡±

    Amriel flinched inwardly, bitterness flickering through her like an ember. She¡¯d never quite lived up to her mother¡¯s relentless standards.

    If I¡¯m going to help him, I need to see the wound properly, she thought grimly. That meant turning him over.

    She crossed the room in a few quick strides, dropping to one knee by her sleeping cot. Her fingers found the familiar edge of worn canvas beneath it, and she tugged out her bedroll. The fabric was rough but clean, and it would suit for now¡ªat least better than the cold wood floor.

    As she rose, Amriel¡¯s gaze flicked briefly to Meeko, who sat watchful near the stranger¡¯s head. The cat had settled enough to sit down, ears angled forward with curiosity rather than alarm. Meeko rarely misjudged people. That fact alone gave her the smallest sliver of hope.

    ¡°Guess you think I should trust him,¡± she muttered softly. ¡°I hope you¡¯re right.¡±

    Meeko¡¯s eyes shifted from the man to her, and she saw no fear in the large pools of silver that stared up at her. A slight tilt of his head, as if surprised she¡¯d ever doubt him.

    Amriel returned to the stranger¡¯s side, setting the bedroll down beside him infront of the hearth. Her hands hovered uncertainly for a fraction of a second before she forced herself into motion, biting back nerves.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she breathed, gripping his shoulder carefully. ¡°Let¡¯s see what kind of mess you¡¯ve made of yourself.¡±

    Carefully, Amriel untied the drenched cloak from the man¡¯s broad shoulders to reveal a sword inside its sheath strapped between his shoulder blades and running down his back. The sodden cloak hit the ground with a heavy slap, the sound almost drowned out by the relentless storm battering the cottage.

    Next she undid the straps on the man¡¯s shoulders that held the blade in its place and set the sheathed sword aside.

    Then, summoning every ounce of strength as she maneuvered his limp body onto his back as carefully as she could manage. Her muscles strained, the effort wringing a soft groan from her lips. The weight of him pressed against her arms like lead.

    ¡°Come on,¡± she muttered through gritted teeth, carefully rolling him onto the bedroll she¡¯d laid out. ¡°Don¡¯t make this harder than it already is.¡±

    Despite her care, the motion elicited a sharp cry from him, but he remained unconscious. His body sagged heavily as she finally managed to settle him. Breathless, Amriel knelt back on her heels and continued her assessment.

    You can do this, she told herself fiercely, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. Do not waste what you have learned.

    The words echoed hollowly in her ears, a mantra half-learned from her mother¡¯s relentless drills. Nythia¡¯s voice surfaced once more in her memory¡ªsharp, critical, demanding perfection. ¡°If you hesitate, they die. Simple as that.¡±

    Amriel swallowed hard, forcing the ghost of that voice back into the shadows where it belonged.

    Beside her, Meeko had settled down to lie near the hearth beside the mans head. The forest cat¡¯s thick fur gleaming in the flickering firelight.

    ¡°Great,¡± she muttered under her breath. ¡°Even the cat¡¯s calmer than me.¡±

    The stranger¡¯s shallow breaths rasped through the stillness, drawing her focus back to him. She leaned over, peeling back his eyelids with careful fingers. His pupils were sluggish but responsive, his emerald eyes flickering faintly beneath dark lashes.

    After determining that there did not seem to be any head wounds, she began cataloging his condition and injuries with practiced precision: the contusions, the pale lips, the sluggish rise and fall of his chest. His skin¡ªbronze but dulled with a greyish undertone¡ªfelt clammy beneath her fingertips.

    Leaning closer, Amriel carefully assessed the man¡¯s facial wounds. The cuts to his face were shallow. One streaked across his cheekbone and middle of his right brow, mercifully missing his eye, the other ones on his cheek and chin were even more superficial. Blood was aleady crusting around the angry red tissue. They were the kinds of wounds that would sting but heal on their own, leaving scars only if left untended.

    Relief flickered through her chest. These were manageable¡ªsimple work for a basic healing poultice made from lycra leaves, which she always had on hand. The Lycra plant was practically a weed that could grow even in the harshest of conditions. They valley around the capital was full of it. The plants soothing properties would ease the sting and stave off infection.

    Her relief, however, was exceptionally short lived.

    Continuing her inspection, her gaze shifted downward, taking in the ruin of his armor. Dark leather, sturdy and well-crafted, was slashed and gouged by brutal blows. She ran her fingertips across a pattern of gouges across his chest.

    ¡°Claw marks,¡± she murmured to herself.

    Evidently, the man had been fighting off multiple foes. The claw marks could not belong to anything human and, thankfully, the armor had done its part against that advisory, for without it, he would certainly have been gutted.

    Unfortunately, it had not been able to stop the two arrows that struck him. Those were very much human. Two rents marred the protective material: one embedded in his left side, the other just above his groin.

    Dark blood seeped sluggishly from the wounds, soaking the black leather a sinister red in the firelight. The arrows jutted obscenely just above the level of his armour, where they had been snapped off to leave jagged, broken shafts of wood protruded from the punctures.

    Amriel¡¯s stomach twisted.

    Arrow wounds. She had seen them before. And she knew exactly how treacherous they could be.

    Puncture wounds were notoriously difficult to treat; those in the abdomen were even more perilous. If either arrow had struck something vital¡ªliver, intestines, or other¡ªthere was little she could do save for manage his pain to ease his passing.

    There were mages and witches who could heal such wounds, but they would not do so without payment upfront. And their costs were steep. Very steep. Far beyond what Amriel could afford, and, thus far, not a single coin was to be found on his person.

    So unless he woke, and soon, to tell her to take him to a magic healer, she was just going to have to treat him the best she could. Thank the gods her mother had prepared her well for such moments.

    The storm howled beyond the walls, rattling the shutters like the claws of some wild beast desperate to get inside. The wind shrieked through every crack and crevice, but within the cottage, a fragile stillness had settled. The weight of life and death lingered heavily in the air, fragile yet unyielding.

    A shiver ran through the man¡¯s otherwise still form and his lips began to turn a terrible shade of blue.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to need to warm you up,¡± she murmured, her voice gentler now despite the urgency gnawing at her nerves. ¡°But first...¡± She reached for the straps securing his armor, fingers slipping slightly on the slick, bloodied leather. ¡°We have to see how bad of a mess you¡¯re hiding under this.¡±

    She shoved the fear aside, clinging to the resolve she¡¯d nurtured through years of relentless training.

    This was what she did. What she had to do.

    No more hesitation.

 Chapter 8

    Amriel knew enough to recognize excellent craftsmanship when she saw it; years befriending a blacksmith gave her some sense of it, at least.

    At first, she tried to undo the buckles carefully, working through the layers caked in blood, sweat, and grime. But they were slick, stubborn, and unyielding. Frustration prickled at the edges of her resolve as her fingers slipped for the third time.

    ¡°Damn it,¡± she muttered under her breath.

    Her gaze flicked to the blade lying beside her. ¡°You can be angry with me later,¡± she told the unconscious man, voice low and grim. ¡°If you survive.¡±

    The knife sliced through the thick leather bindings with grim efficiency. The smell of sweat and blood filled the room as she peeled back the damaged armor, revealing two wounds that wept dark, persistent trails of blood.

    She sucked in a sharp breath.

    Her healer¡¯s instincts flared to life, shoving back the creeping tendrils of doubt. This is bad, but there¡¯s still a chance, she thought, forcing herself to catalog the injuries with practiced detachment. A slim one, but it¡¯s there.

    Her fingers brushed lightly against his clammy skin, feeling the tension beneath as his body instinctively fought against pain and blood loss.

    Good, she thought grimly. You¡¯re not done fighting yet.

    Amriel squared her shoulders, resolve hardening like tempered steel in her chest. She knew what needed to be done. It would be brutal and messy, but there was no room for hesitation now.

    She was a healer. And healers didn¡¯t walk away from the wounded.

    ¡°All right,¡± she murmured, voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. ¡°Let¡¯s get these damn arrows out.¡±

    The removal of the arrowheads would undoubtedly be excruciating. She felt a twinge of gratitude that he was unconscious, but she needed him to remain that way. He was a big man and clearly a fighter. The last thing she needed was for him to awaken in the midst of the procedure, thrashing in agony or attacking her, driven by instinct and pain.

    Which left her with one option: Horissa Vharia. The Gentle Sleep.

    ¡°I should have enough,¡± she said aloud, reassuring herself as much as the unconscious man. Thank the gods she¡¯d gathered some earlier.

    Moving quickly, Amriel measured out a small portion of the plant, grinding it into a green paste with swift, practiced motions. The pungent scent filled the room, earthy and sharp.

    She fetched her healer¡¯s kit, a pile of clean cloths to stem the bleeding, and the flask of scotch Simon had left behind during his last visit. The memory of his wry grin flickered briefly in her mind ¡ª ¡°For emergencies,¡± he¡¯d said with a wink.

    ¡°This counts,¡± she muttered dryly.

    Settling once more by the stranger¡¯s side, Amriel took a steadying breath. Gently, she pried his mouth open and placed the paste beneath his tongue, her fingers lingering just long enough to ensure it wouldn¡¯t be spat out.

    ¡°Stay under,¡± she whispered, a plea wrapped in command. ¡°You¡¯ll thank me for it later.¡±

    While she waited for the herb to take effect, she opened her healer¡¯s bag, revealing an array of gleaming tools that caught the flicker of firelight. The sight steadied her nerves ¡ª each instrument carefully chosen, each a testament to countless battles fought and won against death.

    Get it together, Riel. You¡¯ve done this before, she reminded herself. You¡¯ll do it again.

    Death wasn¡¯t welcome here tonight.

    Picking out the tools she felt she might need, Amriel ran each of them through the flames dancing inside the hearth, sterilising them.

    The stopper on Simon¡¯s flask of scotch popped loose with a soft thup, releasing a sharp aroma that stung her nose. Pouring a measure into her empty teacup, she eyed it warily before steeling herself and knocking it back in one swift gulp.

    Fire seared down her throat, leaving a smoky burn in its wake. She coughed, her eyes watering.

    ¡°Gods, how the hell does Simon drink this swill?¡± she rasped, shaking her head. The warmth spread through her chest, dulling the edge of her nerves.

    Next, she poured some of the flask contents over her hands, and grimaced as the liquor slicked across her skin, stinging faint cuts she hadn¡¯t realized were there. She tilted the flask again, letting the amber liquid wash over the man¡¯s wounds.

    Simon¡¯s gonna kill me when he finds out.

    But that was a worry for another time.

    The stranger didn¡¯t stir. His breathing remained shallow but steady, the Horissa Vharia holding him under its gentle thrall. Amriel let out a slow breath of relief. If he stayed under, she could get through this without wrestling a thrashing giant.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Carefully, she probed the wounds, wincing as her fingers traced the jagged edges. The arrows hadn¡¯t gone deep¡ªthank the gods. There was a chance they missed anything vital, and she should be able to extract these on her own. Of course, that would be the least of their issues if she couldn¡¯t stop the bleeding or keep any infections at bay.

    Amriel picked up her pliers, the metal cool despite its time in the flames. Her hands were steady now, instinct overriding fear as she clamped onto the first arrowhead. One slow, deliberate tug, and it slid free with a slick, wet sound.

    And that was when she sensed it.

    Enchanted. These arrowheads were imbued with magic!

    Caught between the tips of her pliers, the metallic arrowhead gleamed darkly, slick with blood.

    Amriel¡¯s pulse quickened and her cobalt eyes narrowed as they flickered to his face once more.

    ¡°Who, or what, are you?¡± she murmured out loud to herself. Then she reminded herself there was still another one embedded in his flesh.

    Focus Amriel. Finish the task at hand.

    Setting the arrowhead aside for late inspection, she set about extracting the second arrowhead. Blood welled fresh from the wounds. Grabbing a clean cloth, she pressed down hard, whispering a silent plea to the gods that the bleeding would stop.

    To her surprise¡ªand unease¡ªit clotted faster than she¡¯d expected, dark crimson fading into dull patches on the fabric.

    Strange, she thought, her brows knitting together. But she wasn¡¯t in a position to question blessings right now.

    Following her training, she knew it was better not to stitch these kinds of puncture wounds closed. If there ended up being an infection, it would need to drain, so instead she cleaned the wounds thoroughly and bandaged him with more clean cloth.

    Finally, she leaned back, her muscles aching from the tension. The man remained deeply asleep, his breathing evening out into a steady rhythm. Color was already returning to his face¡ªa sign, perhaps, that they¡¯d bought a reprieve.

    Her gaze drifted back to the arrow heads she had just dug out from the man¡¯s body.

    Amriel hesitated, then picked one up between her thumb and forefinger. The metal was cold¡ªoddly so, given how it had come from his body then lay before the fireplace.

    Turning it over, she narrowed her eyes. Beneath the coating of blood, veins of shimmering blue twisted through the surface, like tiny rivers caught in perpetual motion, hinting at an otherworldly quality, and her heart raced as the realization struck her.

    Why did they feel the need to use magic-infused arrows on you? she asked as her brows furrowed and a knot tightened in her stomach. Such enchantments came at a hefty cost. The strength required of the mage or witch who had cast this magic would have been immense, and such power did not come cheap.

    This meant someone had deemed it worth the sacrifice to use not one, but two of these arrows on him. Or perhaps it had been necessary.

    A sudden chill crept up Amriel¡¯s spine, causing her to shiver involuntarily. Swallowing hard, she shook her head, trying to dispel the growing unease. Surely not. This is not what fallen angels were supposed to look like.

    Where was the tortured flesh, burnt black from their fall to earth? Where were the brands forced upon them by those who would banish them, marking him as one of the forsaken? She had explored every inch of his scalp; she was pretty certain she would have noticed a pair of horns.

    Her mind raced, drawing connections she didn¡¯t want to make. Perhaps she should talk to Kortana, the Leader of the Witches Coven at the Academy. And one of her mother¡¯s oldest friends.

    Setting the arrowhead down, she rose to wash the blood from her hands and tools before she reassessed the situation.

    Sleep wasn¡¯t an option tonight. Not for her.

    Gently, she stoked the fire and settled into her chair under her own blanket, drawing her knees up close to her chest.

    The storm outside howled like a wounded beast, wind tearing through the ancient Vhengal forest and slamming rain against the windows with relentless fury.

    Each gust rattled the shutters, threatening to tear the roof clean off, yet amidst the chaos, she strained to hear his breaths¡ªraspy but persistent, a fragile reminder that life still lingered within him.

    What next? she wondered, resting her chin on her knees. What else could the world throw at me now?

    The storm raged on through the night, a constant drumbeat against her senses. Sleep pulled at the edges of her awareness, but Amriel fought it off, keeping vigil as dawn crept in slow and tentative.

    Finally, in the early morning hours, the tempestuous rain subsided, leaving behind a lingering dampness that clung to the air. The dawn crept in gently, unfurling across the horizon like a delicate tapestry, streaked with bands of vibrant yellow and deep crimson that filled the once-dark sky.

    Amriel sat curled in her chair, knees drawn close, a threadbare blanket draped over her shoulders. The fire had burned low in the night, but its embers still pulsed, casting a dim, flickering glow across the room. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the damp earthiness of rain-soaked air creeping through the cracks in the cottage walls.

    Her eyes flickered to the man lying on the bedroll beside her. His breathing was steady now, no longer the ragged, uncertain struggle it had been hours before. The pale, waxen hue of his skin had given way to something warmer, something living.

    He had survived the night.

    Rising from her chair, she carefully reached over and place another small log on the fire. The iron poker rested beside the hearth, its handle warm in her grip as she prodded the smoldering logs beneath the new one. Flames curled to life, licking at the dry wood, casting wavering shadows against the walls. The warmth rolled outward.

    Satisfied, she turned back to him. The bandages she¡¯d wrapped with meticulous care the night before should have been stained through by now¡ªseeping red, soaking into the cloth. But they weren¡¯t.

    A prickle ran down her spine.

    She had spent the night braced for the worst, expecting fever to take hold, for his body to rebel against the trauma. But his wounds¡­

    They weren¡¯t behaving like wounds at all.

    Kneeling beside him, she hesitated, then carefully peeled away the cloth bandages.

    Her breath caught.

    The gashes where the arrows had pierced him were no longer raw and jagged. There was no sign of infection. In fact, the torn flesh was already knitting together, taking on the look as if they were weeks old.

    Amriel swallowed, her fingers hovering over his skin.

    ¡°What in all the hells¡­?¡± she murmured, barely aware she¡¯d spoken aloud.

    A soft chirp sounded beside her, and she glanced down to find Meeko crouched close, his thick black tail flicking lazily. His silver eyes were fixed on the man¡ªnot with fear or wariness, but something more like curiosity.

    Amriel exhaled sharply through her nose. ¡°I don¡¯t know either,¡± she muttered, running a hand through her tangled hair.

    Her gaze drifted upward, studying his face. The tension that had marred his features was gone. Now, his expression was¡­ serene.

    She pressed the back of her fingers lightly against his forehead. No fever. His body was warm, but not unnaturally so. No sign of distress, no hint of the delirium she¡¯d expected. She then checked his pupils again. They were responsive, no sign of trauma, no pressure behind the eyes.

    First the enchanted arrows. Now the impossible fast healing.

    A heavy weight settled in her gut.

    ¡°Who,¡± she whispered, fingers curling into her palms, ¡°or what are you?¡±

 Chapter 9

    Amriel rocked back on her heels, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. The events of the past few days tumbled through her mind.

    First, the tomb¡ªits secrets carved in a language dead for over five thousand years¡ª suddenly revealing it¡¯s ancient prophecy.

    Then, the Khasta Vhar. A plant she had only ever read about in timeworn texts. Black leaves veined in crimson, found only where angels fell. And now¡­

    This.

    A wounded stranger sleeping on her cottage floor.

    A man who gave her no sense of magical presence, but had been shot with not one but two enchanted arrows and was now healing at an unnatural rate.

    None of this made sense. Coincidence was a luxury she no longer believed in.

    A chill crept up her spine, raising the fine hairs on her arms.

    ¡°What in all the hells,¡± she whispered once more, her voice lost beneath the crackle of the fire.

    Her heartbeat quickened.

    Simon.

    She needed Simon.

    Amriel stood abruptly and shrugged on her light wool coat, cinching her belt tightly around her waist. Her fingers found the hilt of her blade, sliding it back into its sheath with a quiet rasp. One last glance at the stranger, then she turned and stepped into the dawn.

    Meeko slinked ahead, his dark form disappearing into the mist-draped grass.

    The path to Simon¡¯s house was well-worn, one she had taken more times than she could count. Even in the dim morning light, her feet knew every dip, every rise in the earth. The cold air bit at her skin as she moved, wind threading its fingers through her unbound hair, whipping strands against her cheeks.

    Simon¡¯s home came into view, modest and sturdy, nestled against the field¡¯s edge in a small cluster of similar sized buildings. The scent of hearthfire drifted through the air.

    Amriel rapped against the oaken door¡ªperhaps a little harder than necessary.

    ¡°Simon, the door!¡± the sound of Niamh¡¯s voice carried through the walls followed by heavy footsteps, then the familiar creak of wood as the door swung open.

    Simon blinked at her, his dark eyes sharp with curiosity, though the slight arch of his brows suggested she might look worse for wear.

    ¡°Ah, good morning,¡± he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. ¡°To what do I owe the honor of your early morning disturbance?¡±

    Simon¡¯s gaze flickered over her, taking in the disheveled hair, the tense set of her shoulders.

    ¡°How wild do I look?¡± she asked, running a self-conscious hand through her tangled locks. But even as the words left her lips, she realized she didn¡¯t actually care.

    Simon chuckled, shaking his head as if reading her thoughts. ¡°It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve seen you like this, Riel. And I doubt it will be the last. What trouble have you stumbled into this time?¡±

    Before she could answer, a familiar voice called from within.

    ¡°Simon, who is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just me, Niamh!¡± Amriel called back, craning her neck to peer around Simon¡¯s solid frame.

    At the hearth, Niamh turned, her face breaking into a warm, easy smile. The glow of the fire made her dark red hair shimmer, and even from the doorway, Amriel could smell whatever she was stirring in the pot and it smelled absolutely delicious. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of its existence.

    ¡°Amriel!¡± Niamh¡¯s delight was unmistakable. ¡°Good morning! Come in, you must be cold. Have you eaten? Stay for breakfast.¡±

    Simon sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance but stepped aside all the same and welcomed her inside their home.

    Inside, the house was alive with quiet morning bustle. Three year old twins, Ave and Chloe, sat at the ash-wood table, dressed and ready for the day, their small faces alight with curiosity.

    The scent of boiled oats and warm bread curled around Amriel, pulling at something deep and tired in her bones.

    She wanted to say yes.

    Instead, responsibility gnawed at her ribs.

    ¡°I¡¯d love to stay, Niamh, but I have a bit of a situation back at the cottage.¡± Amriel kept her voice light, but the words tasted uneasy in her mouth. ¡°I need Simon¡¯s help for a moment. Can I borrow him?¡±

    At the table, Ava and Chloe¡ªtiny echoes of their father¡ªburst into a fit of giggles. Their dark curls, neatly braided by their mother¡¯s patient hands, bounced around their cherubic faces with each delighted squeal. Big brown eyes, identical to Simon¡¯s, sparkled with mischief.

    Niamh often joked that if she hadn¡¯t carried them herself, she might have wondered if she belonged in her own family. With her pale skin and dark red hair, she was as northern as the mountain winds that had shaped her childhood.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Niamh said, already moving toward the hearth. ¡°I¡¯ll pack his breakfast to go.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m right here, you know,¡± Simon drawled, pausing mid-boot tie. His dark eyes glinted with humor, but a flicker of curiosity crossed his face when Niamh¡¯s expression shifted.

    ¡°Are you alright, Riel?¡± she asked, brow knitting together. ¡°You look a bit pale. Does this have to do with whatever was bothering you yesterday?¡±

    Amriel hesitated.

    Technically, yes. The tome, the prophecy, the Khasta Vhar¡ªit all tangled together in the mess she hadn¡¯t yet sorted in her own mind. And now the man in her cottage, the way none of it made sense¡­

    She wasn¡¯t ready to unravel that knot just yet.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she admitted, exhaling slowly. ¡°A little.¡±

    Simon straightened, his boots forgotten. ¡°What happened yesterday?¡±

    There it was¡ªthe quiet concern in his voice, the same steady presence that had stood beside her since childhood. He would listen if she told him. He always had.

    But the words felt too heavy to say out loud, not yet.

    Niamh seemed to understand, reading the tension in Amriel¡¯s face the way only someone who had known her for years could. She nodded once.

    ¡°In that case, let me pack some food for you, too,¡± she said simply.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± The gratitude was genuine, even if the forced smile wasn¡¯t. ¡°I¡¯d really appreciate it. I haven¡¯t eaten since yesterday.¡±

    Simon scoffed, slipping his boots on properly this time. ¡°And you wonder why you look pale.¡±

    Amriel ignored him. ¡°I won¡¯t keep him long. Just need some brute force.¡±

    Simon let out an exaggerated sigh. ¡°I¡¯m right here,¡± he reminded them, though his smirk softened the complaint.

    Niamh shot him a grin. ¡°Ah, well, brute force he has plenty of. Just don¡¯t ask him to roast a chicken. That¡¯s where things fall apart.¡±

    Simon pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, that damned chicken refused to cook properly. I was as much a victim as you.¡±

    Niamh laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the wooden bowls stacked neatly on the shelf. ¡°Just promise me you¡¯ll get him to work on time.¡± she said, ladling steaming oats into each dish. ¡°I know how it can get when you two get into one of your projects.¡±

    The rich scent of honey and clotted cream filled the kitchen, and Amriel¡¯s stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.

    She hadn¡¯t even realized how empty she felt until now.

    Her thoughts had been too full.

    ¡°I promise,¡± Amriel said, taking the food as Niamh passed it to her. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t take long.¡±

    ¡°Still here, ladies. Still here,¡± Simon chuckled and shrugged on his coat.

    He pressed a quick, loving kiss to the middle of Niamh¡¯s upturned brow before ruffling his daughters¡¯ hair. They squealed in protest, swatting at his hands, but their laughter followed him as he moved toward the door.

    Amriel, food in hand, followed him to the door. When he pulled it open, a gust of fresh morning air rushed in.

    Simon stepped aside, sweeping an arm toward the door with an exaggerated flourish. ¡°After you.¡±

    She hesitated for half a second.

    Then, with a deep breath, she stepped out into the cold.

    ¡°Alright, Riel,¡± he said, voice low, steady, finally breaking the silence that hung in the air between them. ¡°Who is he?¡±

    The stanger continued to sleep as the two friends stood nearby and ate their breakfasts while it was still lukewarm. The wind had stolen much of its heat on the walk over.

    Amriel swallowed a spoonful of oats and exhaled. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted finally, rolling her shoulders. ¡°I was hoping you might recognize him.¡±

    ¡°Nope, never seen him before,¡± Simon said, taking a bite of his boiled oats and casting a glance at the man. ¡°Looks like you really took in a stray this time.¡±

    The corner of her mouth lifted despite herself, though the tight knot of unease in her chest refused to loosen.

    ¡°He wasn¡¯t exactly part of the plan,¡± she murmured, poking at the last bits of honey in her bowl. ¡°But here we are.¡±

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s dangerous?¡± Simon asked, his expression turning serious. ¡°Is he a magic wielder?¡±

    She shook her head almost instantly. That much, at least, she was sure of. ¡°No. Not a magic wielder.¡± Her gaze drifted back to the stranger, to the steady rise and fall of his chest. ¡°But beyond that? I don¡¯t know. I just know he needs help.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. Just keep your wits about you.¡± Simon nodded, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes.

    She smirked. ¡°Do I ever do otherwise?¡±

    He shot her a look.

    With no siblings of her own, Amriel had always imagined this was what having an older brother might feel like¡ªsomeone to challenge her, to tease her, but also to stand beside her when things got complicated.

    Despite Amriel and Simon¡¯s presence in the cottage, the man continued to slumber undisturbed. Only twitching lightly in his dreams.

    The two of them stood there for a while, eating in quiet companionship, eyes flicking now and then toward the man stretched out on the floor.

    After several spoonfuls, Simon let out a sigh, setting his empty bowl on the nearby table with a soft thud. ¡°So,¡± he said, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°I take it this is the heavy thing you need moved?¡±

    Amriel swallowed her last bite and wiped her hands on the front of her rough wool pants. ¡°Yup,¡± she said, nodding toward the small cot tucked into the far corner. ¡°I just want to get him off the cold floor. I was thinking we could move that over here, in front of the fire, and lift him onto it.¡±

    Simon followed her gaze, frowning. ¡°And where exactly will you be sleeping, Riel?¡±

    She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. ¡°No, you know what? Don¡¯t even answer that, because the answer is at our house.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s lips pressed together. She understood Simon¡¯s perspective, but she couldn¡¯t leave her unconscious patient alone all night.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m sorry Simon, but I¡¯m not leaving him.¡± Amriel said with a firm shake of her head, and her expression left no room to argue with. Her mind was made up.

    He turned to face her fully now, crossing his arms over his broad chest. ¡°I¡¯ll help you move the cot and get him settled, but you are not spending another night here alone with him. I¡¯m staying.¡±

    Amriel opened her mouth to half heartedly object, but her jaw snapped shut in defeat, ¡°Fine.¡± She agreed, if a little begrudgingly.

    ¡°Good,¡± Simon said with a sharp nod. ¡°Nimah will understand. But we will have dinner over there.¡±

    Amriel shook her head, but a small smile found its way onto her face.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said quietly, meaning it.

    He nodded once, then clapped his hands together. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get to it then. He¡¯s not going to lift himself.¡±

    With that, they got to work.

 Chapter 10

    Several hours after Simon had left for the forge, a familiar yowl sounded from outside, muffled through the thick wooden door. Amriel barely had time to unlatch it before Meeko strode in, his tail high, a distinct air of triumph in his step. Between his sharp teeth, he carried the limp, headless body of a rabbit.

    ¡°Oh, lovely,¡± Amriel muttered, half amused, half exasperated.

    Meeko dropped his prize at her feet, then let out a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated against her legs. He twined around her calves, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of her trousers. She sighed, the simple act of touch grounding her more than she cared to admit.

    ¡°Yes, you did great. Thank you,¡± she said, scratching behind his tufted ears. His silver eyes narrowed in satisfaction before flicking past her, landing on the man in her cot.

    Meeko¡¯s tail lowered slightly, his head dipping as he prowled forward, large paws soundless on the hardwood floor. He circled the unconscious stranger, pausing every so often to sniff at the bandages.

    Amriel folded her arms and watched, intrigued. Meeko was generally a good judge of character. If he had sensed something was wrong with the man, she would have known by now. Instead, after a few more moments of silent scrutiny, Meeko stretched luxuriously and padded off toward the sunbeam filtering through the window, curling up without another glance.

    Simon had kept his promise. Together, they¡¯d managed to move the cot nearer to the fireplace and, with great care, positioned the patient onto the bed, his slumber undisturbed save for a few mumbled words that slipped from his lips as they lifted him.

    That had been hours ago. Now, he was still. Breathing steadily, but too still.

    Amriel let out a breath, rubbing her arms as if to dispel a chill that wasn¡¯t really there. She¡¯d thought about showing Simon the arrows, but something had stopped her. Honestly, she feared her friend might leap to the same conclusion she had, and who knew how Simon might react. Amriel¡¯s father, albeit broken, had come home from the war with the fallen angel all those years ago. Simon¡¯s father had not.

    Better to wait.

    Shaking the thought away, she bent down, scooping up Meeko¡¯s unfortunate gift. Stepping outside, she welcomed the crisp air as it wrapped around her, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and pine. The storm had passed, but the ground still bore signs of its fury¡ªmud clung to her boots as she walked toward the side of the cottage, where a sturdy bench waited beneath the overhanging roof.

    She set to work breaking down the rabbit, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. The task was familiar, almost meditative, but her mind refused to quiet.

    The tome. The prophecy. The words that had burned themselves into her thoughts ever since she first read them.

    ¡°When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.¡±

    She had spent years studying magic at the Academy, surrounded by witches, learning their histories and their ways. But never¡ªnot once¡ªhad she heard of a Starlight Witch.

    The question gnawed at her.

    She needed answers.

    Amriel wiped her knife clean and exhaled, her decision made.

    Tomorrow, after class, she would go to the Witches¡¯ Tower.

    After cutting off a portion for Meeko, she wrapped the rest in cloth and stored it in the cool storage beneath the cottage. Perhaps she would take it with her to the Halivards tonight, a gesture of goodwill.

    Making her way back around to the front of the cottage, she heard a cheerful knock at her door. Rounding the corner, she came face to face with Niamh.

    Dressed in a flowing green skirt and a light wool jacket, Niamh carried an empty basket in her hands, with a backpack slung casually across her back.

    Holding up her wicker basket, Niamh smiled brightly. ¡°Fancy a trip to the market?¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Well, I can see why you let him in,¡± Niamh said, staring down at the man sleeping in front of the hearth.

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    The warm, crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the small cottage as Niamh and Amriel stood side by side, mirroring the earlier scene when Simon had been there.

    ¡°I can¡¯t approve, mind you, but I can definitely understand.¡± Niamh continued. She balanced her basket on her hip while her dark red hair cascaded down her back in loose waves. Her gaze remained fixed on the sleeping figure, taking in his rugged features and tousled dark hair.

    Amriel shot her friend a sideways look, but Niamh¡¯s focus remained fixed on the sleeping figure.

    Meeko, having just awoken from his nap, stretched lazily before winding his way around the legs of both women, purring contentedly. Amriel chuckled softly, reaching down to scratch him behind his large, tufted ears. Niamh followed suit, her fingers gently combing through the soft fur. The cat settled himself comfortably between them, basking in their attention.

    Niamh tilted her head as she studied the slumbering man on the cot. ¡°I must say, he is quite handsome,¡± she remarked with a hint of admiration.

    Amriel couldn¡¯t help but playfully chide her friend, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Niamh! What would Simon say?¡±

    The man lay motionless, his features softened in slumber, the gentle rise and fall of his chest creating a steady, rhythmic melody that filled the otherwise quiet room.

    Niamh shrugged, her voice holding a mischievous lilt, ¡°You know he would probably agree with me,¡± she replied. ¡°Married or not, it doesn¡¯t change the fact that this ones got the dark and handsome look down pat. With a mysterious edge to boot. I probably would have let him in too.¡±

    To be completely honest, Amriel hadn¡¯t really paid much attention to the man¡¯s physical appearance. When he first arrived on her doorstep, he had been someone in need of her help. Nothing else mattered except for that. But now, as she stole glances at him, she couldn¡¯t deny the allure of his striking features

    ¡°Niamh!¡± Amriel feigned a gasp of indignation before chuckling softly, her gaze lingering on the man. ¡°I suppose there is something intriguing about him. But let¡¯s not get carried away. He¡¯s still a stranger.¡±

    ¡°True, but a dangerously handsome one,¡± Niamh insisted playfully. ¡°Just imagine the stories he must have. The kind of trouble that comes with a face like that.¡±

    ¡°Or the kind of trouble I might have invite by taking him in,¡± she countered, but couldn¡¯t help the small smile that crossed her lips.

    Niamh sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart in mock despair. ¡°You¡¯re no fun, Amriel. But I¡¯ll behave. For now.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll believe that when I see it,¡± Amriel smiled softly.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing Simon already gave you a lecture?¡± Niamh asked, her eyes flickering over Amriel at her side.

    Nodding, Amriel replied, ¡°Of course. As if he would miss a chance to lecture me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only because he loves you,¡± Niamh said softly. ¡°And I love that he does because it saves me from having to do it.¡±

    Amriel felt a pang of guilt, but understood her friend¡¯s perspective. However, Amriel couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling that there was something more to this man than meets the eye. She had seen the vulnerability when she looked into his eyes. There was a hidden pain that resonated with her own.

    ¡°I know it may seem reckless,¡± Amriel admitted, her voice steady but laced with determination. The faintest blush tinged her cheeks as she avoided Niamh¡¯s gaze. ¡°But there¡¯s something about him, Niamh.¡±

    The late morning sun streamed through the small, wooden-framed windows of the cabin, casting long, golden streaks on the dirt floor.

    Niamh¡¯s sharp eyes sparkled with mischief as she tilted her head, feigning deep contemplation. ¡°That he is devastatingly handsome? That much I can see, Riel,¡± she teased, her lips curling into a sly smirk. She leaned over and gave Amriel a playful nudge with her elbow.

    Amriel rolled her eyes, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. ¡°You¡¯re terrible,¡± she retorted, shaking her head as her friend¡¯s laughter filled the small cottage. Despite her exasperation, Amriel couldn¡¯t help but feel a warm sense of comfort in Niamh¡¯s playful banter.

    Niamh¡¯s expression softened, and she reached out to gently touch Amriel¡¯s arm. ¡°But in all seriousness, be careful, Riel,¡± she said, her tone more serious now. Her gaze held Amriel¡¯s firmly. ¡°I can¡¯t lose you. Nor can Simon. Never hesitate to ask us for help.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s chest tightened, her heart swelling with gratitude. She placed her hand over Niamh¡¯s and gave it a squeeze. ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured sincerely, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°So, did Simon tell you he was spending the night?¡±

    ¡°He mentioned it when he swung by the house. There is not a chance are you spending another night alone with this man,¡± Niamh declared with a knowing nod. "Even if he is incredibly handsome."

    Amriel¡¯s laughter bubbled out, her earlier tension easing. ¡°You¡¯re impossible,¡± she said, shaking her head fondly. ¡°Meeko caught a rabbit this morning,¡± Amriel said, glancing down at the cat with a fond smile. ¡°Shall I bring it for dinner?¡±

    At the mention of his name, the forest cat sitting between the two women began purring loudly. Clearly proud he was a provider.

    Niamh¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°That would be lovely, Riel. And, as the mighty provider, Meeko is welcome as the guest of honor, of course.¡±

    At this, Meeko rose gracefully and strode over to the door, his movements almost regal. He glanced back at the women, his large, expressive eyes speaking volumes. A soft chirp escaped his throat, and he tapped the door lightly with his paw.

    ¡°I think someone¡¯s telling us we need to get a move on,¡± Niamh said, chuckling. ¡°We¡¯d better listen, or the market will be emptied before we get there.¡±

    Amriel grabbed her shawl from its hook by the door, her eyes lingering for a moment on the man sleeping peacefully on the couch. His dark hair fell across his forehead, and a faint furrow in his brow softened as he shifted slightly in his sleep. With a quiet sigh, she turned back to Niamh.

    ¡°Ready?¡± Niamh asked, already holding the door open.

    Amriel nodded, stepping out into the warm embrace of the morning sun. The soft chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of leaves welcomed them as they followed Meeko down the path toward the village, their laughter carrying through the crisp air.

 Chapter 11

    Amriel gnawed at her lower lip, a habit she hadn¡¯t been able to break since childhood. The weight of what she¡¯d discovered sat heavy in her chest, an unspoken burden that refused to settle. From the moment the ancient runes in the Academy¡¯s forbidden tome had started making sense¡ªclear as day, as if she had known the language her whole life¡ªdread had coiled itself around her ribs and refused to let go.

    Worse, she didn¡¯t know what to do about it.

    Yes, there was a chance this could be some ancient fantasy story written to entertain, like the ones that filled her bookshelves at home. But¡­what if this prophecy was real?

    Either way, she had to tell someone, that much was clear. But who? and how? And just how much shit was this going to stirr up?

    Enough to endanger anyone beyond herself?

    Heck, would anyone even believe her anyways?

    Because, really, how did one go about saying, Oh, by the way, I can suddenly read a five-thousand-year-old dead language, and it just so happens to contain a prophecy that sounds a lot like impending doom?

    Silver fire? A Door To Eternity? And what in all the realms were Starlight Witches, anyway?

    Fortunately, Niamh was more than ready to help her along.

    ¡°Alright, Varden, spit it out,¡± Niamh said, her tone equal mix of command and concern.

    Amriel half smiled despite herself, ¡°I¡¯m alright, Nimah. Don¡¯t worry about you. I¡¯m just tired from keeping watch over my patient all night.¡±

    ¡°No, don¡¯t give me that,¡± Niamh shook her head, the sunlight glinted off her deep red hair, ¡°Even before this stranger arrived, something was eating at you.¡±

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t worry about me. Really.¡±

    Niamh shot her a knowing glance, the kind that said I¡¯m not letting this go, but instead of pressing immediately, she adjusted the strap of her satchel and kept walking. Her easy gait was a contrast to Amriel¡¯s tension, but then again, Niamh had always moved through the world like someone who trusted the ground would hold her.

    Finally, just when Amriel thought her friend might have let it go, Nimah spoke, ¡°Riel, as your friend, it is both my duty and my pleasure to worry about you. So, please, don¡¯t try that shit on me. You¡¯ve looked like you¡¯ve seen a ghost these past few days.¡±

    ¡°Does a dead language count?¡±

    ¡°I beg your, pardon?¡±

    Amriel nudged a loose stone with the toe of her boot, watching it tumble down the dirt path before settling in the grass. The movement gave her something to focus on, something small and harmless¡ªunlike the storm of thoughts rattling in her head.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she muttered, exhaling sharply. ¡°Alright, here goes¡­ You know that ancient tome in the Academy?¡±

    ¡°The dusty old relic you were gawking at the other day?¡± Niamh asked, one brow lifting.

    ¡°Yeah, that one.¡± Amriel inhaled deeply, bracing herself. Her pulse thudded in her ears, her stomach tightening. She forced the words out before she lost her nerve. ¡°I can read it now.¡±

    Niamh stopped mid-step.

    For a long second, she just blinked, her expression unreadable. Then, in a graceful pivot¡ªimpressive, considering the well-worn boots she wore¡ªNiamh turned to fully face Amriel.

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Her voice was slow, measured, like she needed to make sure she had heard correctly. ¡°You can read it? The tome written in a dead language no one has spoken in five thousand years? That one?¡±

    Amriel shifted under the weight of her stare. ¡°¡­Mmhm.¡±

    Niamh exhaled, dragging a hand down her face. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± she muttered. ¡°That¡¯s either incredible or absolutely horrifying. I¡¯m still deciding.¡±

    Amriel let out a hollow laugh. ¡°Yeah, get in line.¡±

    Niamh hesitated, glancing at her like she was debating whether or not to push further. Then, mischief flickered across her face. ¡°So, what does it say? Wait, let me guess. It¡¯s a book of love poems?¡±

    Amriel gave her a flat look. ¡°Not quite.¡±

    Niamh snapped her fingers. ¡°Oh! An instruction manual for the castle¡¯s lavatory system?¡± She grinned. ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s it. All these years, all these scholars, all those lives lost trying to decipher¡­ the ancient art of maintaining the royal poop chutes.¡±

    Despite herself, Amriel cracked a smile. Just a small one.

    Which, of course, only encouraged Niamh.

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± she continued, eyes glinting. ¡°Let me try one more. Is it some doomsday prophecy about dragons and demon lords?¡±

    Amriel hesitated. ¡°No dragons. No demon lords,¡± she admitted. ¡°But¡­ yeah. Pretty sure it¡¯s a prophecy.¡±

    Niamh¡¯s grin faded. ¡°Shit.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    For a moment, the only sound between them was the crunch of their boots against the dirt path. A slow breeze rustled the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth left behind by the storm.

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    Finally, Niamh shook her head. ¡°I gotta say, I was hoping for something a little more original,¡± she said, half-joking. ¡°A doomsday prophecy? Bit overdone, don¡¯t you think? Feels like half the books I¡¯ve ever read have one.¡±

    Amriel let out a short breath, rubbing the back of her neck. ¡°Yeah, well, this one might actually be real.¡±

    ¡°Which is significantly less fun,¡± Niamh pointed out. ¡°So, what does it say?¡±

    Amriel hesitated, glancing around as if some unseen spy might be lurking in the trees. Then, lowering her voice, she murmured, ¡°¡®When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.¡¯¡±

    Niamh frowned. ¡°Starlight Witches? Door to Eternity?¡± She tilted her head. ¡°No clue what any of that means, but I can already tell it¡¯s not good.¡±

    Amriel sighed. ¡°That makes two of us.¡±

    ¡°You thinking of telling someone?¡±

    ¡°I was considering Kortana tomorrow after class,¡± Amriel admitted, already half-expecting Niamh¡¯s reaction.

    And she wasn¡¯t disappointed.

    ¡°Oh, yeah, no. Hard pass.¡± Niamh shook her head, making a face. ¡°That witch should not be your go-to.¡±

    Amriel smirked. ¡°Not a fan?¡±

    ¡°Not in the slightest.¡±

    ¡°Figured as much.¡±

    Niamh crossed her arms. ¡°Look, I¡¯d start with Mara. She always has her head stuck in some book or another¡ªthere¡¯s a chance she might¡¯ve read something that could help.¡±

    Amriel nodded slowly. ¡°You might be right about that.¡±

    Niamh pursed her lips, considering. ¡°Only problem is, how do you ask without telling her why you need to know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll play it off like it¡¯s a riddle in a book I¡¯m reading,¡± Amriel said. ¡°She loves puzzles.¡±

    Niamh arched a brow. ¡°So¡­ lying, but not really lying.¡±

    ¡°More like a strategic omission.¡±

    Niamh smirked. ¡°I like the way you think.¡±

    The tension between them eased, just slightly, as they continued down the path. The market lay ahead, the sounds of laughter and distant chatter drifted toward them, a reminder that life carried on, even when the weight of forgotten prophecies pressed against her.

    As they walked, Niamh nudged her with an elbow. ¡°So, you sure it¡¯s not a poop chute manual?¡±

    Amriel rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered this time.

    Niamh snorted, but the humor faded as quickly as it had come. She inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself, and then glanced at Amriel, her sharp green eyes serious. ¡°Just¡­ promise me you¡¯ll be careful.¡±

    The words were soft, but they settled between them like a heavy stone.

    Amriel¡¯s lips quirked in what she hoped was a reassuring smile, though her stomach still felt tight with unease. ¡°Always am, Nia.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡± Niamh shook her head with a quiet chuckle. ¡°Dead languages and half-dead handsome men. You do know you could just take up knitting like a normal person, right? Though, I must say, as a wife and mother of two, thank you.¡±

    This time it was Amriel¡¯s turn to snort softly in response.

    The city gates loomed ahead, and the moment they stepped past them, the world around them transformed.

    The northern open-air market was already alive with movement and color. Merchants bustled about, arranging their wares¡ªbolts of richly dyed fabrics, bundles of dried herbs, polished trinkets that caught the firelight. Voices rose in an overlapping hum, the calls of vendors mingling with the laughter of children weaving between carts.

    And the smells¡ªgods, the smells.

    Warm bread, sharp spices, the sweet perfume of ripe fruit. Somewhere nearby, someone was roasting chestnuts, the nutty aroma curling through the crisp evening air. Amriel¡¯s stomach growled in response, low and insistent, and she shot Niamh a sheepish look.

    ¡°Lonny¡¯s tarts are calling to me,¡± she said, already steering toward the bakery stall before Niamh could object.

    ¡°Shocking,¡± Niamh deadpanned, though she followed without hesitation.

    The moment they reached the stall, the scent of cinnamon and sugar wrapped around them like a warm embrace. Rows of golden pastries lined the counter, their flaky crusts glistening in the lantern light. Amriel could already taste the sweet, sticky raisins melting on her tongue.

    ¡°Good evening, Lonny!¡± they greeted in unison.

    Lonny Miller, a stout woman with flour-dusted hands and a perpetually knowing smile, looked up from where she was kneading dough. ¡°Ah, I was wondering when you two would show up.¡± She wiped her hands on her apron. ¡°I¡¯ve got something I¡¯d like you to take a look at, Amriel.¡±

    That piqued her curiosity. ¡°Something wrong?¡±

    ¡°Not wrong, just¡­ odd,¡± Lonny said vaguely. ¡°I¡¯ll show you in a minute.¡±

    Niamh was already handing over a copper coin. ¡°Alright, you do that, and I¡¯ll go see Greg. Hoping he¡¯s got those yellow potatoes the girls won¡¯t stop asking for.¡± She grabbed a tart, winked at Amriel, and disappeared into the crowd.

    Amriel barely registered her departure¡ªshe was already sinking her teeth into the warm pastry. The first bite was heavenly¡ªflaky, buttery, the cinnamon-spiced raisins practically melting in her mouth. She made a soft, pleased sound and finished it in a few quick bites, licking the last traces of sugar from her fingers before following Lonny into the bakery.

    Whatever had the baker uneasy, she had a feeling it wasn¡¯t just about pastries.

    <hr>

    ¡°When did this first start?¡± Amriel crouched beside Lonny, studying the rash creeping along the older woman¡¯s calf. The blotchy red skin was irritated, inflamed, the edges slightly raised. In the filtered light streaming through the cottage window, it almost looked angrier than it likely felt.

    Lonny sighed, shifting in her seat. ¡°Yesterday morning, I think. It was just a little itch at first, but now¡ª¡± she huffed, giving her leg a halfhearted scratch, ¡°¡ªit¡¯s like fire ants are crawling under my skin.¡±

    Amriel frowned. ¡°Did you go anywhere unusual that day?¡±

    Lonny tilted her head in thought, her fingers drumming lightly on her knee. ¡°Not really. Just took the grandbabies for a walk through the forest.¡± Her expression softened. ¡°Their mum¡¯s expecting again¡ªfourth one¡ªso I figured she could use the rest.¡±

    Amriel nodded, waiting. A walk through the woods wasn¡¯t enough. ¡°Did you leave the paths at all?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t¡ª¡± Lonny stopped, her eyes widening slightly. ¡°Ah, damn.¡± She let out a small laugh, shaking her head at herself. ¡°Little Gabby saw a rabbit and took off. Nearly gave me a heart attack.¡±

    Amriel smothered a grin, picturing it¡ªthe stout, no-nonsense grandmother tearing through the underbrush after a gleeful child on the heels of a terrified rabbit.

    ¡°That explains it.¡± She shifted back on her heels, reassured. ¡°You brushed up against a Candara plant. They grow thick off the main paths, and they cause rashes just like this one.¡±

    Lonny exhaled, relief washing over her features. ¡°Well, that¡¯s good to hear. I was starting to worry I¡¯d caught something wicked.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll mix up a poultice when I get home,¡± Amriel promised, already cataloging the herbs in her stores. ¡°It should ease the itching. I¡¯ll make some for Gabby too¡ªif she ran through the same brush, she¡¯s probably scratching up a storm by now.¡±

    Before Amriel could rise, Lonny¡¯s arms were around her, pulling her into a firm embrace. The warmth of it caught her off guard.

    She stiffened, unsure how to react. Her own mother had never been one for idle affection, and Amriel had never learned how to accept it without feeling like an imposter in someone else¡¯s warmth.

    But Lonny didn¡¯t let go.

    After a beat, Amriel allowed herself to relax, just a little. Her arms hesitated before returning the embrace¡ªlight, careful, unsure.

    ¡°My pleasure, Lonny,¡± she said softly as they pulled apart, hoping the warmth in her voice made up for the awkwardness in her limbs.

    As she stepped back, a strange feeling settled in her chest. A flicker of something unfamiliar. Lighter, maybe. Less like she was standing outside of something and more like she had been pulled into it, even if only for a moment.

    She turned toward the door, heading back to Niamh, and tried not to think too hard about why that moment stayed with her longer than it should have.

 Chapter 12

    The hour was nearing late in the morning by the time Niamh and Amriel made their way home. The lively hum of barter and chatter had faded into the crisp evening air, replaced by the steady rhythm of their boots against the dirt path and the occasional distant chirp of a bird or cricket.

    Niamh¡¯s basket rested heavily on her hip, while Amriel¡¯s pack tugged at her shoulders, both filled with onions, turnips, and sweet yellow potatoes. The rabbit meat Meeko had procured was lean, as expected for this season, but Niamh had already decided how to make it stretch.

    ¡°Stew it is,¡± she had announced earlier, tone matter-of-fact, brooking no argument.

    Up in the north, stews weren¡¯t just meals¡ªthey were survival. The growing season was short, fresh game was unpredictable, and waste was a luxury no one could afford. But Niamh¡¯s stews were more than a necessity; they were an art. Somehow, she always knew how to coax out every last bit of flavor, turning even the simplest ingredients into something worth savoring.

    As they neared the farmhouse, the scent of woodsmoke met them first, curling in the cold air, a welcome contrast to the bite of the wind. The flicker of firelight danced through the windows, painting the night with a golden glow.

    Yuriel stood at the open doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her stout frame silhouetted by the hearth behind her.

    ¡°Back already, girls?¡± her voice rang out, full of warmth.

    ¡°We got plenty for supper,¡± Niamh said, adjusting the heavy pack on her back.

    ¡°That¡¯s my girl.¡± Yuriel chuckled, stepping forward to greet them, her hands strong and calloused as she pulled them both into a firm embrace.

    When they stepped inside the house, Amriel set her pack near the doorway, rolling her shoulders to shake off the stiffness. The house Simon and Nimah shared with their daughters was simple¡ªworn wooden beams, a long table scattered with mismatched chairs, shelves lined with earthenware, and well-used cooking tools. But there was something grounding about it, something steady. It felt lived in, built on laughter, stubbornness, and years of shared meals.

    She wasn¡¯t sure when exactly this place had started feeling more like home than her own, but it had.

    After helping Niamh scrub and chop the vegetables, Amriel wiped her hands on a cloth and straightened. ¡°I¡¯ll fetch the rabbit from the cold cellar,¡± she said, keeping her tone casual even as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. ¡°And check on my patient while I¡¯m out.¡±

    Niamh stilled, her knife pausing mid-slice.

    Her shoulders tensed before she turned, brows drawn together. ¡°Riel, he might be awake now,¡± she warned. ¡°And I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a great idea for you to be walking into that house alone.¡±

    There was no accusation in her voice, just the quiet weight of concern.

    Amriel forced a small smile, trying to brush it off. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful.¡±

    ¡°You say that every time, and yet¡­¡± Niamh exhaled, shaking her head. ¡°At least wait for Simon. He shouldn¡¯t be much longer.¡±

    Amriel hesitated, but before Nimah could argue, a sudden wail erupted from the back room¡ªone of the twins, loudly protesting some grave injustice.

    Niamh groaned. ¡°Not again,¡± she muttered, already wiping her hands on her apron as she strode toward the noise.

    Amriel seized the moment.

    Before Niamh could turn back, she slipped through the door, her steps light against the cold-packed dirt of the path between their homes.

    The entrance to the cold storage beneath her home was located outside the cottage. Niamh was right; she could simply retrieve the rabbit for dinner, and avoid the house altogether.

    She could wait for Simon. That was the sensible choice. The safe one.

    But that wasn¡¯t why she was here.

    Her feet carried her forward before her mind could stop them, past the storage entrance, to the worn wooden door of the cottage.

    She needed to know.

    Bracing herself, Amriel eased inside, one hand instinctively curling around the hilt of her knife. She kept it hidden in her palm, a quiet reassurance rather than a threat. The cottage was bright, the light of the noon sun streamed through her windows.

    It only took her an instant to see that he was gone.

    The wounded man who had crashed through her door in last night¡¯s storm, unconscious and bleeding, had vanished.

    A breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding slipped from her lips, relief washing over her in a sudden wave. He was alive. He had woken up. Good. That was good.

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    Earlier this morning, when Amriel saw how much his wounds had already healed, she couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of surprise that he was still in a deep sleep. Most others would be awake by now. That was when she had worried.

    As she ventured further into the empty cottage, Amriel¡¯s tense fingers relaxed their grip on the blade. With each step, she scanned the room, her eyes darting from one corner to another, searching for any visible indications of a struggle. But there were none.

    In fact, there was an unexpected serenity that permeated the space. Even the blanket she had used to cover the man was folded with care and placed neatly at the end of the cot. Every detail left her with the impression that he had departed of his own accord.

    A strange, unexpected weight settled in her chest. Disappointment? She wasn¡¯t sure.

    A rustling at the door made her whirl, hand tightening on her knife¡ª

    Only to see Meeko saunter inside.

    The large forest cat padded across the wooden floor, his cloud-patterned coat still warm from the sun, purring loud enough to fill the quiet space. He wove around her legs, his tail curling against her calf in a familiar greeting.

    Amriel let out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding and reached down, running her fingers through the thick fur between his ears. His purrs deepened in response, a steady, grounding sound.

    ¡°Hey, buddy,¡± she murmured, scratching the back of his head. ¡°Did you see him leave?¡±

    Meeko chirped¡ªa short, knowing sound, but of course, he wasn¡¯t about to offer any real answers.

    She sighed, absently rubbing his ears as she straightened.

    He folded the blanket.

    The thought nagged at her more than it should have.

    With a final stroke down Meeko¡¯s spine, she stepped back. ¡°Don¡¯t get too comfortable,¡± she told him as he stretched luxuriously by the hearth, the dying fire painting warm stripes across his fur. ¡°We¡¯re expected at Simon and Niamh¡¯s for dinner.¡±

    Meeko licked a paw in response, utterly unconcerned.

    Amriel hesitated for just a moment longer, casting one last glance at the empty cot. Then, shaking off the lingering thoughts, she turned for the door.

    <hr>

    As Amriel circled the cottage, she found no further trace of him.

    The cloak she had hung up to dry was gone, along with the armor she had carefully removed from his body. To her surprise, even the arrowheads she had extracted from his torso had vanished.

    A soft sigh slipped past her lips, curling into the cool evening air. So that¡¯s it, then.

    She told herself it was a good thing. Clearly, from the state of things, he had been well enough to leave on his own accord. She had other things to focus on¡ªlike the fact that she had somehow managed to decipher an ancient language that no one else alive could read. And that it had given her a warning.

    One crazy thing at a time.

    Bracing herself, Amriel pulled open the heavy oak door to the cold storage beneath the cottage, the old hinges groaned in protest, the sound echoing in the stillness, and a musty scent wafted out, mingling with the chill that seeped into the air.

    Descending the short flight of steps, she let her eyes adjust to the dim light, scanning the shelves stacked with neat rows of jars. Berries, roots, dried meats, pickled vegetables. Winter provisions.

    She grabbed the wrapped rabbit first, then hesitated before reaching for a jar of preserved berries. The twins would like something sweet tonight. And so would Niamh.

    A smirk tugged at her lips as she tucked the jar into her bag, securing the rabbit under her arm.

    Stepping back into the crisp air, she pulled the storage door shut and exhaled, feeling a fraction lighter. Maybe it was the certainty of the simple tasks, the normalcy of gathering food for supper.

    At her feet, Meeko let out a small chirp, then trotted ahead, his thick tail waving high as he led the way across the field.

    <hr>

    Even though the man may have left, Niamh and Simon were insistent that she still spent the night. Just in case.

    Simon arrived shortly before sundown. The small house filled with the sounds of delighted children as the girls rushed in to greet their father as he walked through the door. Despite his exhaustion, Simon made sure to welcome his girls with open arms.

    Soon after, they all gathered around the table to enjoy the stew that Niamh had prepared. As they sat there, Simon¡¯s eyes met Amriel¡¯s, conveying his concern for her safety. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for the best, Riel. You don¡¯t know who that man was or what he was capable of.¡±

    Amriel could only nod in response as she shoveled another spoonful of stew into her mouth. She savored each spoonful. The rich flavors of leeks, onions, and carrots tantalized her taste buds. The occasional nibble of rabbit added a touch of gamey delight to the meal.

    She knew that Simon and Niamh wouldn¡¯t understand her disappointment. Especially since she couldn¡¯t even explain why she felt that way. But that was a conversation for another time. So, for now, she simply ate.

    After dinner, came the slices of fresh bread smothered in sweet preserved berries. The girls¡¯ eyes widened with delight as they devoured the dessert, their faces, hands, and clothes quickly becoming covered in berry juices.

    Niamh sighed at the sight but couldn¡¯t help but smile as she remarked, ¡°Well, it looks like some of us will need a bath before bed.¡±

    Both women laughed as all the females around the table, twins included, immediately looked at Simon.

    Forge work was tough, honest work, but it also left Simon smelling of sweat and ash. Even from across the table, Amriel could detect the lingering scent.

    ¡°Why are you all staring at me?¡± Simon asked innocently, his eyes wide as he licked his fingers clean.

    <hr>

    Amriel woke before dawn, the soft glow of twilight barely illuminating the room. The rest of the family lay peacefully asleep upstairs, their rhythmic breathing filling the air like a gentle lullaby. All except for Simon; his snores reverberated through the loft, a thunderous backdrop to the morning stillness.

    Gingerly, she rose from her makeshift bed beside the crackling hearth. Her bare feet brushed against the cool wooden floor as she fumbled in the dark for her boots.

    How on earth do Niamh and the girls sleep through that? Amriel wondered with a smile, shaking her head at Simon¡¯s loud symphony.

    She settled on the table bench closest to the door and quietly slipped on her worn boots. As she tied the laces, Meeko, her loyal companion, uncurled himself from the end of her bedroll, stretching lazily before trotting over to her side.

    The mornings during this season remained cool, and before she left, Amriel stoked the fire back to life. Simon and Niamh always took such good care of her, and she wanted to repay their kindness by filling the house with warmth before they woke. It was the least she could do.

    With Meeko leading the way, Amriel stepped out of the house and into the crisp morning air. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the familiar scent of dew-kissed earth and blooming wildflowers. The cool breeze brushed against her face, invigorating her senses as she took a long, slow breath. Sunrise was less than an hour away, and this was the time of day she treasured most.

    In the stillness of the land, the only sounds were the gentle chirps of early birds, their melodic songs weaving a tapestry of tranquility that wrapped around her like a warm blanket. After a moment of soaking in the peace, Amriel set off for home.