ã€ŠThe Door to Eternityã€‹


 Chapter 1

    The ancient tome sat open on a marble pedestal in the antechamber to the Great Hall of the Illumination Tower, its weathered pages spread like wings across the white and blue veined stone. Dust motes danced lazily in the still air, oblivious to the tension humming through the room.

    No one had deciphered the tome in five millennia. Its cryptic runes¡ªsharp yet hauntingly beautiful, and utterly unknowable¡ªhad mocked every scholar, witch, and archivist who dared to try.

    Until now.

    Amriel Vardon stood frozen, disbelief knotting in her chest as her eyes followed the curling patterns of symbols etched into the brittle parchment. Her cobalt eyes traced the curling patterns of ancient runes beneath the protective enchanted casing.

    She shouldn¡¯t be able to read this. No one could.

    Yet the meaning was clear¡ªvivid and undeniable¡ªetched into her mind with searing clarity.

    What in the Damned? Her mind raced as her heart fluttered inside her chest, which felt as if it had grown uncomfortably tight. This isn¡¯t possible.

    The language of the tome was older than the foundation of the tower itself, a relic of a forgotten era lost to time. Entire lifetimes had been spent trying to translate a single line ¡ªall in vain.

    And yet, here she was, understanding it as easily as one might read a nursery rhyme.

    Her trembling hands hovered near the glass casing, fingers twitching with the urge to touch the ancient pages despite knowing better. The symbols seemed alive, pulsating faintly as if aware of her scrutiny. With every line her mind unraveled, her pulse quickened until the blood rushing inside her own head was all she could hear.

    She staggered back, nausea twisting through her gut. The room tilted as dizziness gripped her. Her world narrowed to the words that thrummed like a heartbeat inside her skull.

    The runes¡ªtheir meaning thrumming through her consciousness¡ªweren¡¯t just words. They were warnings.

    When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity shall open.

    Her lips moved silently, repeating the phrase over and over. The words were jagged shards lodging themselves in her chest.

    Starlight Witches? The door to Eternity?

    Her thoughts fractured under the strain, scattering like broken glass. She forced herself to focus, the symbols sharpening into clarity once more, their dark truths laid bare:

    ¡°When silver fire rains from the heavens, and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn.When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence.When the last of the Starlight Witches falls¡ªThe door to Eternity shall open.

    And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge¡ªthose who have kept endless vigil.Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave anew.

    Beware, for not all who enter shall return,And those who do may never be the same.¡±

    A shiver coursed through her, cold and relentless. Her thoughts churned like a tempest as her breath came faster, shallow and ragged. She pressed a hand to her ribs, trying to calm the storm inside her chest.

    The door to Eternity. The fall of the Starlight Witches. The unraveling of destinies.

    None of it made sense. And none of it sounded good.

    Amriel¡¯s pulse drummed in her ears, the weight of the tome¡¯s words pressing against her chest like a stone. Yesterday, when she had paused in passing to glance at the ancient book where it rested on its pedestal, the cryptic symbols had meant nothing to her¡ªjust the same beautiful, unknowable runes they had been to every scholar for generations.

    But now...

    How?

    Her entire understanding of the world felt torn apart, leaving behind only frayed edges and questions she couldn¡¯t begin to answer. Her feet stumbled backward across the polished floor as if trying to carry her away from the tome. The room tilted slightly; her heart raced.

    Then she hit something solid.

    ¡°Whoa there, Reil!¡±

    Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her as warmth radiated from the figure behind her.

    Amriel spun around and found herself looking up into the deep, storm-gray eyes of Nikola Vrasic. His lips curved into that easy smile that had earned him half the admirers in the Illumination Tower. The faint scent of pine and something warmer¡ªmaybe leather¡ªlingered around him.

    ¡°You okay?¡± he asked, his voice low and teasing. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost¡ªor worse.¡± His grin widened mischievously. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you fell asleep in the library and drooled on the books again.¡±

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Amriel blinked, trying to force the swirling fog from her mind. Say something normal, she begged herself.

    ¡°I¡ªno, I didn¡¯t drool,¡± she managed weakly, cringing inwardly the second the words left her mouth. Nice one, Riel. Truly brilliant.

    Nikola Vrasic arched a dark brow, a smile tugging dangerously at the corner of his mouth. His storm-gray eyes glinted with amusement. ¡°That,¡± he drawled, ¡°sounds exactly like something a person who definitely drooled would say.¡±

    Her face flushed scarlet as she instinctively folded her arms across her chest. ¡°For your information, Vrasic,¡± she huffed, trying to reclaim a shred of dignity, ¡°I was not napping. I was studying.¡±

    ¡°Studying?¡± he repeated, leaning in just enough that his voice dipped into a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°Is that what we¡¯re calling daydreaming with your mouth open these days?¡±

    Amriel¡¯s breath hitched slightly at his proximity, her senses betraying her as warmth crept up her neck. Oh, come on, she scolded herself, you¡¯re supposed to be smarter than this. But all her mind could think of was the tome and the warnings it carried.

    But thankfully, just as she was about to further embarrass herself, salvation arrived in the form of Niamh Liandris.

    ¡°Riel!¡± Niamh¡¯s clear voice rang across the chamber as her long strides carried her effortlessly through the elegantly arched doorway.

    Nikola straightened, stepping back just enough to give Amriel room to breathe.

    A small, relieved breath escaped Amriel¡¯s lips. Her best friend could not have had better timing.

    ¡°Morning, Vrasic,¡± Niamh greeted smoothly with a nod and a bright smile, her dark red braid gleaming in the golden light streaming through the windows. Her sharp pale green eyes sparkled mischievously. ¡°Interrupting something?¡±

    ¡°Nothing but academic brilliance,¡± Nikola quipped, shooting Amriel a grin. ¡°See you inside.¡±

    With a final curious glance between the two of them, he made his way toward the classroom.

    Niamh waited until his footsteps had fully faded before arching a brow at Amriel, who was still standing stiffly like a startled deer.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t drool?¡± Niamh echoed incredulously, crossing her arms. ¡°That was the best you could come up with? Seriously?¡±

    Amriel groaned, dragging a hand down her flushed face. ¡°Don¡¯t. Just... don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but I will,¡± Niamh declared gleefully, mimicking Amriel¡¯s earlier tone. ¡°¡®I didn¡¯t drool, Nikola!¡¯ Oh, sweet stars, I¡¯m never letting you live that down.¡±

    Amriel tried for a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. ¡°You¡¯re insufferable, you know that?¡±

    ¡°Obviously.¡± Niamh grinned before her teasing expression softened as she took a closer look at her friend. Her smile faltered.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said gently, ¡°what¡¯s wrong? You look like you just walked out of a nightmare.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Amriel croaked, but the words felt hollow even to her.

    Niamh¡¯s sharp gaze flicked toward the ancient tome encased in protective crystal. She waved a dismissive hand toward it. ¡°Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯ve been staring at that thing for too long again. I told you, obsessing over creepy old mysteries will rot your brain.¡±

    Amriel swallowed hard, the runes still burning in her mind. The weight of their message pressed heavy on her chest. How could I even begin to explain it?

    ¡°Riel,¡± Niamh said softly, stepping closer. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me everything. But you¡¯ve got that weird panicked look you get when something really bad happens.¡± She bumped her shoulder lightly against Amriel¡¯s. ¡°So... spill. Or at least let me help.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. How could she possibly describe understanding a language older than recorded history?

    ¡°Alright, you can think about it and tell me later. Come on,¡± Niamh urged. ¡°We¡¯re going to be late. Again.¡±

    Amriel nodded stiffly, her feet moving on instinct as they made their way down the hall. Her thoughts spun wildly, tangled in the echo of the tome¡¯s prophecy: The patient shall emerge... the unraveling of destinies.

    Beside her, Niamh chattered on, and Amriel was grateful for it.

    ¡°Did you hear about the summoning mishap in the Illumination Tower?¡± Niamh asked, her voice brimming with amusement. ¡°Apparently, some poor fool 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 sabotage or just pure incompetence.¡± She snorted. ¡°My money¡¯s on incompetence. These mageborn get cocky way too fast¡ªrookie mistake.¡±

    Amriel forced a nod, offering a noncommittal hum whenever Niamh paused for breath. Her fingers gripped the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

    As they turned the corner into the tiered classroom, the familiar buzz of conversation washed over them. The circular room was filled with rows of rising desks, each occupied by robed acolytes. High, arched windows cast fading streaks of golden light across the stone floor, where intricate runes had been etched into the surface over centuries of use.

    Master Fenris stood at the center platform, his presence as commanding as ever. His broad frame was silhouetted against a chalkboard scrawled with diagrams and spellwork far beyond what any novice dared attempt. The murmurs in the room faded as his steel-gray eyes swept over the students.

    ¡°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

    At midday, Amriel and Niamh navigated the winding halls of the National Khymarh Academy, the faint echoes of distant lectures trailing behind them. The labyrinthine corridors gleamed with polished stone underfoot, sunlight streaming through arched windows and dappling the ancient walls with patches of warm gold.

    Niamh, ever the buoyant counterweight to Amriel¡¯s brooding tendencies, chatted on with carefree energy, her voice filling the spaces between footsteps.

    Amriel nodded absently, the words only partially registering. Her mind was elsewhere¡ªentangled in thoughts of the tome and the impossible revelation it had given her that morning.

    Five millennia. The tome had stood unread for all that time, its angular script defying generations of scholars. Until today. Until her.

    Why now? she wondered for the hundredth time. Why me?

    The mess hall loomed ahead, buzzing with the restless energy of students breaking from their studies. The hum of countless voices blended with the clatter of wooden trays and the metallic scrape of cutlery on stoneware.

    The warm light of the midday sun poured in from high-arched windows, bathing the room and illuminating the long, scarred tables stretching across the grand chamber. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of roasted meat, fresh bread, and a hint of char from the nearby hearths.

    Amriel moved through the throng of students, following Niamh¡¯s easy, confident stride. Bodies jostled around them, but Niamh slipped through with the practiced grace of someone who belonged everywhere she went.

    Amriel, on the other hand, felt like a ghost drifting through the chaos¡ªuntethered, out of sync. The weight of the tome¡¯s warning pressed against her chest, tightening with every breath. Her pulse quickened as fragments of the message echoed in her mind.

    ¡°When silver fire rains from the heavens and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn¡­¡±

    A shiver prickled down her spine despite the warmth of the room. She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus on the present.

    They reached their usual spot at the fourth-years¡¯ table, where their small circle of friends had already gathered.

    Kaleth, gangly and sharp-eyed with perpetually ink-stained fingers, was in the midst of recounting some tale of alchemical mischief. His animated gestures nearly toppled his mug of cider as he exclaimed, ¡°And then the whole flask exploded! I swear, Master Michel¡¯s eyebrows are still singed.¡±

    Mara, ever composed and deliberate, sipped from her steaming mug of tea, her lips quirking into a wry smile. ¡°Perhaps next time you¡¯ll consider reading the entire formula before adding components, Kal.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Kaleth shot back with a grin.

    Simon, broad-shouldered and solid as the anvils he worked in the forge, chuckled deeply. ¡°At least you¡¯re consistent, Kal. Consistently dangerous, but consistent.¡±

    ¡°I think you meant to add handsome. I am dangerously handsome. Consistently¡± Kal replied with a charmingly cocky smile, ¡°And the ladies love it.¡±

    That earned a groan that rippled through the friends gathered around the table and Mara rolled her beautiful hazel eyes at him over the lip of her mug before taking a sip of her steaming tea.

    ¡°We¡¯ll agree to disagree,¡± Simon said as Niamh plopped onto the bench beside him with a theatrical sigh. Instantly the big man¡¯s dark eyes wen¡¯t soft as they settled on his wifes face, ¡°Hello, love.¡± He said softly, wrapping a muscled arm around her waist and drew her near.

    The table groaned again, but this time it was directed at the sight of the love birds. Amriel forced a small smile and sank onto the bench across from Niamh, though her hands still trembled slightly beneath the table.

    The sight brought a rare flicker of warmth to Amriel¡¯s distracted thoughts. Simon and Niamh¡¯s relationship had evolved naturally over the years¡ªan inevitable shift from childhood friendship to something deeper. No one had been surprised, least of all Amriel, who had known Simon since before she could walk.

    Simon placed a kiss on the middle of Niamh¡¯s forehead as she leaned into him, and over her head he caught sight of Amriel¡¯s pale face.

    The blacksmith tilted tilted his head, his deep brown eyes narrowing. ¡°You okay, Riel?¡± He asked quietly, genuine concern filling his voice.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Amriel lied, her voice rough.

    Kal arched a skeptical brow. ¡°Really? Because you look like you just saw the ghost of Finals Future.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just... tired.¡±

    Before Kal or Simon could say anything further, Nimah spoke up, ¡°Leave her be.¡± her voice sounding motherly and protective and not up for question.

    Simon didn¡¯t look convinced, but he let it drop. Amriel was grateful for it¡ªgrateful for the normalcy of their banter and the familiar comfort of the mess hall. Yet even as laughter bubbled around her and the warm scents of supper filled the air, she couldn¡¯t shake the weight pressing against her chest. The words of the prophecy lingered in her mind, sharp and unyielding.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.

    Thankfully, Kaleth¡¯s voice cut through the moment, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.

    ¡°So, Riel, tell me¡ªdo you know of any herb or potion that can make someone lose half their hair? Or all of it? You know... asking for a friend.¡±

    Kaleth¡¯s grin was devilish, his freckled face brimming with faux innocence. His fiery red hair caught the flicker of torchlight from the sconces lining the mess hall, making him look like some mischievous spirit come to life.

    Mara, ever composed, arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. ¡°For a friend? Or for yourself? No one here is going to help you harm someone, Kaleth.¡±

    ¡°What? Harm?¡± He feigned a gasp of insult, hand over his heart. ¡°How do you know it¡¯s not for me? Maybe I¡¯ve grown tired of these stunning locks.¡± He gave his hair a dramatic shake. ¡°Besides, it wouldn¡¯t be for permanent harm, right?¡±

    This time Mara actually snorted, a rare event. ¡°It¡¯s not Caleb¡¯s fault that Dierdra has taken a liking to him.¡±

    Dierdra Fontain, a third-year acolyte, was as elegant as she was stunning¡ªthe sort of beauty that turned heads wherever she went. She also happened to be Kaleth¡¯s latest obsession. His heart, however, shifted as often as the wind, and it was only a matter of time before Dierdra would be forgotten, replaced by someone new. Caleb, an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of Kaleth¡¯s affections, deserved better than magical hair loss.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Simon cut in, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, ¡°Niamh and I are planning a study session tomorrow. You guys are welcome to join.¡±

    ¡°Not a bad idea with finals breathing down our necks,¡± Mara agreed, pulling her blond braid over one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Me too,¡± Kaleth chimed in, lounging back with a grin. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt to brush up.¡±

    Amriel sat quietly, her thoughts drifting despite the banter around her. The prophecy from the ancient tome haunted the edges of her consciousness, each word pulsing like a drumbeat in her mind. She forced herself to stay present, 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.¡±

    Across the table, Niamh arched a delicate brow. ¡°Really? Herb collecting? Right before finals?¡±

    Simon¡¯s dark eyes narrowed slightly, his voice careful but probing. ¡°It¡¯s not like you to skip prep sessions, Riel.¡±

    Amriel shrugged, keeping her tone light despite the turmoil beneath. ¡°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 cadence, earning chuckles from the group.

    ¡°Fair point,¡± Mara conceded, already pulling a notebook from her satchel to jot down study plans.

    The deep chime of the bell echoed through the mess hall, signaling the end of the meal period. Chairs scraped against stone as students rose, their conversations carrying into the corridors beyond.

    Later that day, Niamh¡¯s long strides easily caught up to Amriel¡¯s as they crossed the courtyard toward their final class of the day. The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the cobbled paths, while a cool breeze threaded through the towering spires of the Illumination Tower.

    ¡°So,¡±Niamh began, her tone playfully teasing as they walked side by side through the sun-dappled academy grounds, ¡°Herb collecting? Or is that code for one of your meditative walks into the wild? You look like something¡¯s been gnawing on you since dawn.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s lips quirked in a faint smile despite herself. Niamh always had that uncanny ability to pull humor out of thin air, even when Amriel felt weighed down by the world.

    ¡°Little bit of both,¡± Amriel admitted, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. ¡°But mostly I just needed some grounding.¡± She hesitated before tacking on weakly, ¡°You know, finals and all.¡±

    Niamh arched a brow, skeptical but patient. ¡°Ah, the universal excuse for existential dread: finals. Classic.¡± Her voice softened. ¡°But seriously, Riel, you¡¯ve been weird today¡ªeven for you. Is there something you¡¯re not telling me?¡±

    Amriel¡¯s grip tightened on the strap of her satchel, her thumb tracing the frayed edge as if it held the answers she couldn¡¯t say aloud. The weight of the morning still pressed heavily against her chest¡ªthe cryptic prophecy from the ancient tome echoing in her thoughts.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, the words coming out too stiff, too practiced.

    Niamh stopped walking, turning to face her fully. Her pale green eyes, gleaming in the shifting light, locked onto Amriel with a quiet intensity. The freckles dotting her face seemed more vivid under the afternoon sun. ¡°Riel,¡± she said gently, ¡°come on. Don¡¯t give me the ¡®I¡¯m fine¡¯ routine. I¡¯ve known you too long for that crap.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s throat tightened. She wanted to say something¡ªanything that might deflect the conversation without lying outright¡ªbut the words refused to form. Niamh always made it so damned hard to hide. That was the thing about close friends: they saw you even when you wanted to disappear.

    She forced a casual shrug instead, eyes fixed on the dirt path beneath her feet. ¡°Just... a lot on my mind,¡± she murmured. ¡°I think some quiet time in the Vhengal will help clear my head.¡±

    The mention of the forest brought with it a rush of vivid memories¡ªsunlight filtering through a canopy of ancient trees, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the gentle rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. The Vhengal had always been her sanctuary, a place where the noise of the world faded into nothingness.

    Outside of her books, of course.

    Niamh¡¯s teasing edge faded, replaced by genuine concern. ¡°Look,¡± she said quietly, ¡°if wandering around in the woods talking to flowers helps, fine. But just remember¡ªyou¡¯ve got me too. You don¡¯t have to do everything alone, okay?¡±

    The warmth in Niamh¡¯s voice cracked something inside Amriel, loosening the knot that had been tightening all day. She glanced up, meeting her friend¡¯s steady gaze. There was no judgment there, only fierce loyalty and quiet understanding.

    ¡°I know,¡± Amriel said softly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ¡°Thanks, Niamh. Really.¡±

    Niamh grinned, her usual humor returning like sunlight breaking through clouds. ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Just don¡¯t expect me to talk to plants with you anytime soon. I draw the line at befriending shrubbery.¡±

    Amriel laughed¡ªactually laughed¡ªand the sound surprised even her.

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she said, her heart feeling just a little lighter.

    As they reached the arched entrance to their classroom, Niamh gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The heavy oak door stood open, revealing rows of worn desks and shelves lined with ancient scrolls. Golden light streamed through narrow windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing lazily in the air.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get through this,¡± Niamh said, her voice firm. ¡°Whatever it is.¡±

    Amriel nodded, the cryptic prophecy still lingering in the back of her mind like an unresolved melody¡ªbut for now, Niamh¡¯s unwavering presence was enough to steady her fraying thoughts.

    Somehow, she would find a way forward. She always did.

 Chapter 3

    The Vhengal Forest was not merely a backdrop to Amriel¡¯s life¡ªit was woven into the very marrow of her existence. She had known it first as a playground, filled with the laughter of childhood wonder, then as a refuge where the ache of loneliness could be softened by the rustle of leaves and the call of distant birds. And finally, it became her teacher, offering lessons that no classroom at the Khymarh Academy could replicate.

    Today, however, its familiar embrace felt muted. The golden shafts of sunlight that pierced through the dense canopy and painted intricate patterns on the forest floor barely registered in her distracted mind. The vibrant scent of damp earth mingled with cedar and wildflowers, usually so grounding, was little more than background noise.

    Her boots crunched softly over a path strewn with fallen leaves as she made her way deeper into the woods. The ancient forest thrummed with life¡ªa ceaseless reminder of its vitality¡ªbut Amriel remained locked inside her own spiraling thoughts.

    She couldn¡¯t shake the memory of the tome. The haunting beauty of its once-indecipherable script lingered behind her eyes, like the afterimage of staring too long at the sun. Those same runes had mocked generations of scholars, their meaning impenetrable. Yet for her, they had unfurled effortlessly, revealing secrets that should have remained lost to time.

    A prophecy. A warning.

    Last night she had hardly slept a wink thinking of it.

    With a heavy sigh, she knelt by a stream that carved a gleaming silver ribbon through the landscape. The water babbled softly, its endless journey oblivious to the turmoil within her. Dipping her fingers into the cool current, she sought the grounding calm it usually offered.

    ¡°What the heck are Starlight Witches?¡± she murmured, her voice barely louder than the stream¡¯s gentle song.

    The water carried her question away, offering no answers, only its eternal movement forward.

    Walks in the Vhengal often stirred memories of her mother, Nythia¡ªa presence as enigmatic as the forest itself. Today was no different, though for the first time in years, Amriel found herself yearning to speak with her.

    Her mother had always known things, secrets that stretched beyond the limits of ordinary understanding. If anyone might have understood the tome or the strange awakening within Amriel, it would have been Nythia. But Nythia was gone.

    Watching the stream bubble and swirl around her fingertips, Amriel wondered where her mother had gone after leaving. Was she even still alive?

    The memory of Nythia tugged at her¡ªa complex tangle of emotions. There was love, of course, though it had long since been tempered by bitterness. Nythia had taught her much of what she knew about herbology and the arcane. The Academy merely formalized that knowledge, polishing it with lectures and credentials. But nothing compared to the hands-on lessons from those early years with her mother, wandering the forest together as Nythia demanded precision, discipline, and mastery.

    But affection? That had always been withheld.

    Her mother¡¯s love was conditional¡ªgiven only in exchange for perfection. And when Amriel failed to meet those impossible standards, there were no gentle reassurances, only cold disappointment.

    And then, on her thirteenth birthday, Nythia left. No explanations. No goodbyes. Just an empty cabin and a silence that lingered like a bruise on Amriel¡¯s heart.

    The ache of abandonment had dulled over the years but never fully faded. Even now, it lingered beneath the surface, flaring when she least expected it¡ªlike today.

    Amriel pulled her hand from the water, droplets clinging to her skin before falling back into the stream. She drew a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. The forest had always been her sanctuary, a place to clear her mind. But not even the Vhengal¡¯s ancient magic could quiet the storm brewing within her today.

    What if I¡¯m not ready for this? What if I never figure it out?

    The prophecy¡¯s weight pressed heavily against her chest, but she forced herself to stand. Answers wouldn¡¯t come by drowning in fear. And Nythia¡¯s lessons, for all their harshness, had taught her one thing above all¡ªwhen the world tries to break you, you keep moving.

    And so she did.

    As she walked the path her feet knew well, a sudden rustle in the underbrush shattered the quiet rhythm of her thoughts.

    Amriel¡¯s hand flew instinctively to the small blade at her belt¡ªa lesson drilled into her by her mother long before she ever stepped foot inside the Academy. Keep your guard up. Nature¡¯s beauty was never without its dangers.

    Her pulse quickened, but the tension in her body eased when a rabbit darted across the path, its small body vanishing into the thicket as quickly as it had appeared.

    ¡°Jumping at shadows now?¡± she muttered under her breath, exhaling slowly. The air left her lungs like a weight being lifted, though she still felt the coil of unease lingering beneath her ribs.

    Standing, Amriel brushed dirt from her knees and adjusted the strap of her satchel. She¡¯d knelt by every patch of undergrowth she¡¯d come across and still hadn¡¯t found what she needed. Even the forest seemed determined to deny her peace today.

    Above her, sunlight poured through the spring canopy, painting dappled patterns of gold across the dirt path. It was beautiful in the way Vhengal always was¡ªuntamed yet oddly harmonious, a living entity that thrived on both chaos and order.

    Amriel closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath of cool, fragrant air. The mingled scents of damp soil, cedar, and decaying leaves filled her lungs. To most, decay was unpleasant¡ªsomething to avoid or dismiss. But to Amriel, it was part of the promise the forest always made: Life finds a way. Even in ruin, there was renewal.

    She opened her eyes and pressed forward, ferns brushing against her hips and shoulders like playful companions. Normally, she would have relished these walks. The Vhengal Forest had been her sanctuary for as long as she could remember¡ªa place to escape the pressures of the Academy, the hollow ache left by her mother¡¯s absence, and the weight of expectations that never seemed to lift.

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    But today, the forest couldn¡¯t soothe her restless mind.

    The revelation from the ancient tome lingered like a shadow she couldn¡¯t shake. The prophecy¡ªthe Starlight Witches, the strange language she had no business understanding¡ªit gnawed at her relentlessly. How could she read it when no one else could? And why now?

    She clenched her fists, frustration prickling at the back of her throat. There was no answer, just endless questions swirling like dead leaves caught in a whirlwind.

    Amriel forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She¡¯d told herself this herb-collecting mission was necessary, though deep down she knew it was just an excuse to escape her usual world. Finals loomed on the horizon, and while her classmates were buried in books, she couldn¡¯t think beyond the tome.

    Her cobalt eyes scanned the forest floor, darting over patches of undergrowth in search of vibrant green sprigs. She knew these paths intimately, had walked them so many times she could map them blindfolded.

    The pouch at her hip swung lightly with each step, its near emptiness a constant reminder of her failure so far. She knelt by a patch of undergrowth, brushing aside leaves in search of the elusive herbs she needed. Nothing. With a sigh, she stood again, wiping dirt from her palms.

    Her gaze flicked toward the canopy where the trees thickened into shadow. She thought of her mother¡ªNythia¡ªand that old, gnawing ache surfaced again.

    Most of the time, memories of Nythia were kept neatly boxed away, pushed to the corners of Amriel¡¯s mind where they couldn¡¯t sting as much. But the forest always had a way of unraveling those defenses.

    Nythia had been both teacher and taskmaster, demanding perfection in all things. The lessons Amriel had learned from her were invaluable¡ªhands-on knowledge that the Academy only refined. But warmth? Reassurance? Those were foreign concepts to her mother.

    And then, on Amriel¡¯s thirteenth birthday, Nythia had left without warning. No explanations. No goodbyes. Just... gone.

    Amriel swallowed hard, pushing back the bitterness that threatened to rise. She had long since accepted that her mother wasn¡¯t coming back. And with her father already dead, Amriel would have been alone in the world, if it hadn¡¯t of been for Simon and Nimah.

    But that didn¡¯t stop the questions from lingering, or the occasional flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, she would find answers one day.

    Her fingers brushed the hilt of her blade absently as she walked. Whatever lay ahead¡ªwhether in the forest or within the tangled secrets of the prophecy¡ªshe would face it head-on.

    The forest had guided her before. Maybe, just maybe, it would do so again.

    She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus on the familiar rhythm of the forest. The Vhengal had always been her sanctuary¡ªher oldest refuge. Its towering trees were steadfast guardians, its winding paths a map etched into her very being. Here, life thrived in perpetual motion: leaves shivering in the wind, birds flitting through shadows, distant streams murmuring songs older than memory.

    Each rustle of leaves heightened her senses, and she narrowed her focus on the task ahead. It was time to remedy this mostly empty herb bag.

    ¡°You let the stocks dwindle this low? Careless.¡±

    Her mother¡¯s voice haunted her thoughts, sharp and cutting as ever. Letting supplies run dry was more than an oversight¡ªit was a failure.

    Amriel pressed her lips into a thin line. Even now, years after Nythia¡¯s departure, the weight of her mother¡¯s expectations lingered like a ghost she couldn¡¯t banish.

    No use dwelling on the past. The forest didn¡¯t care about her frustrations¡ªit simply was, indifferent yet welcoming. And she needed to ground herself in that simplicity before the storm inside consumed her entirely.

    As Amriel approached a fork in the path, she hesitated.

    To the right, the trail looped back toward familiar territory, a route she had traversed just days ago without success. On the left, the path veered north, its narrow trail winding toward the distant mountains.

    Her heart quickened at the sight of it.

    The northern path was rarely traveled for a reason. The closer it crept to the mountains, the more unsettling the stories became¡ªwhispers of travelers who vanished, strange shadows lingering where none should be. Even Nythia, pragmatic to a fault, had warned against venturing too far in that direction.

    Amriel gnawed on her lower lip, torn between caution and necessity.

    Play it safe, head back empty-handed, she thought grimly. Or take the risk and see what the North has to offer.

    The wind stirred around her, cool and urgent, rustling the newborn leaves above. Tendrils of auburn hair slipped free from her braid, brushing against her flushed cheeks. Amriel lifted her gaze to the horizon, where slate-gray clouds crept ominously across the sky. The tang of impending rain hung heavy in the air.

    ¡°Well, shit,¡± she muttered, frustration bleeding into her voice. ¡°Alright, north it is. Just won¡¯t go too far.¡±

    She cast another wary glance at the northern path. The unease coiling in her stomach was hard to ignore, but so was the gnawing certainty that turning back would yield nothing but wasted time.

    Brave the unknown, or cling to safety.

    Talking to herself felt strange without Meeko¡¯s silent company. Her forest cat companion usually flicked an ear at her ramblings, offering a measured dose of feline indifference. She missed that quiet, steady presence padding through the underbrush beside her, like a tangible tether to home.

    But today, Meeko had remained curled up on the edge of their bed, tucked into a loaf-shaped ball with his tail neatly wrapped around him. Likely sensing the brewing storm, he had chosen warmth and safety over the unpredictable forest trek. Amriel couldn¡¯t blame him. Cats had a knack for knowing when to stay behind.

    ¡°Tales be damned,¡± she muttered, her voice cutting through the quiet. ¡°They¡¯re just stories, right? Scary tales to keep kids in line.¡±

    Yet her voice faltered as doubt clung stubbornly to her thoughts, heavy as wet wool. She knew better than most how myths often grew from some bitter truth¡ªdistorted over time but never fully extinguished.

    The thickening scent of rain sharpened her senses, mingling with the earth¡¯s musk. Gray clouds pressed low against the horizon, and the wind stirred uneasily through the forest canopy. The valley¡¯s spring storms were unpredictable and fierce. One moment, golden shafts of sunlight danced through the leaves; the next, the skies opened, pelting everything with needle-sharp rain.

    Amriel set her jaw, quickening her pace along the narrow northern trail. She ignored the gnawing unease creeping into her chest, focusing instead on the task at hand.

    Each crunch of leaves and snap of twigs beneath her boots punctuated her search as her gaze combed the underbrush for signs of the herbs she sought. Time was slipping through her fingers faster than she¡¯d hoped, but giving up wasn¡¯t an option. She wouldn¡¯t fail.

    A flash of vibrant green caught her attention, and her heart lifted.

    ¡°Finally,¡± she breathed, relief softening the tight lines of her face. ¡°Horissa Vharia.¡±

    The delicate blue-green plant thrived in patches where sunlight dappled the forest floor. Its heart-shaped leaves stood out like polished gemstones against the browns and grays of the undergrowth.

    Navigating carefully around a moss-covered fallen trunk, Amriel knelt beside the herb, marveling for a moment at the scene before her. The ancient tree, felled long ago by some violent storm, had become a cradle for new life. Its rotting wood served as fertile ground for moss, fungi, and budding saplings already stretching skyward. Even in decay, the forest found renewal.

    There¡¯s always something growing, Amriel thought. Even from ruin.

    As she reached for the Horissa Vharia, her fingers paused midair.

    A flash of black among the shadows beneath the fallen tree caught her eye¡ªleaves sharp and pointed, veined with crimson. Her breath caught, and instinctively, she drew back.

    Khasta Vhar.

    Her pulse quickened as recognition struck like a blow to the chest. Even without years of herbal study, Amriel would have known this plant on sight. Every child in the realm did.

    A shiver traced its way down her spine. The stories surrounding Khasta Vhar weren¡¯t bedtime warnings¡ªthey were something far darker, etched deep into the collective memory of the land.

    Wherever Khasta Vhar grows, an angel has fallen.

 Chapter 4

    Amriel had been a child the last time their kingdom faced war with one of the Fallen, but the memories clung to her mind like the persistent ache of an old wound. No one truly forgot war¡ªnot the ones who lived through it, and certainly not the ones who waited on its fringes, holding their breath and hoping for someone to return.

    He had been one of the fortunate few to return, though ¡°fortunate¡± proved a hollow word. Her mother had often said, ¡°It would have been better if he had perished on that battlefield. To live half a life is no life at all.¡±

    Gods, her mother could be so cold.

    However, the man who limped home was not the father Amriel remembered¡ªthe vibrant, compassionate figure who had lifted her onto his shoulders and made her laugh until her sides hurt. He had returned quieter, his shoulders bowed beneath an invisible weight that pressed down on his very soul. Whatever brightness had once animated him had been snuffed out, replaced by an emptiness as cold as winter¡¯s breath.

    He never spoke of what he had seen or endured. He carried those horrors in silence, eyes distant and vacant, like a sailor adrift without a horizon. The crackle of the hearth became his only desired companion. He would sit for hours, unmoving, staring into the flames as though willing them to burn away the memories lodged in his mind.

    Time wore him down like a relentless tide against stone. His laughter faded first, then his strength, until one frostbitten morning, he simply did not rise.

    Amriel had been the one to find him. Her voice trembled when she whispered to her mother, ¡°The willow by the lake... It¡¯s where he should be. He always said it was his sanctuary.¡±

    And so they had buried him there, beneath the great willow on the border of Vhengal¡ªthe place where he¡¯d once found peace before the war had stolen it from him.

    Now, standing before the thriving Khasta Vhar, Amriel¡¯s chest tightened with a weight she hadn¡¯t felt in years. The memories roared back, fierce and unyielding.

    She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe through the unease coiling in her stomach.

    Khasta Vhar. The black, serrated leaves veined with crimson were unmistakable. The plant was a symbol of ruin, flourishing only in places where angels had fallen. It could be decades old, its roots entwined with the land¡¯s sorrow and memory.

    Her mother¡¯s voice echoed in her mind: ¡°The Fallen don¡¯t hunt humans. We¡¯re beneath their notice¡ªfleeting, fragile things hardly worth their time.¡±

    Maybe that was true, but Amriel knew better than to trust indifference. If a Fallen found it necessary to crush a human underfoot, they would do so without hesitation. Her father had learned that lesson firsthand.

    Her lips thinned into a determined line as she tore her gaze away from the dark plant. Whatever lingered here¡ªwhether memory or something more tangible¡ªshe had no intention of lingering to find out.

    The Horissa Vharia still waited, its blue-green heart-shaped leaves gleaming like a promise against the forest floor. She needed that plant. To leave without it after coming this far would be foolish, even reckless.

    Drawing her knife from its sheath, Amriel made a clean, practiced slice near the base of the herb, leaving behind a few resilient leaves so the plant could recover. The blade gleamed briefly in the muted forest light before she palmed it carefully, unwilling to fully part with it just yet.

    Swiftly, she opened her herb pouch, tucking the precious plant inside with practiced efficiency. Normally, she would have handled it with more care, more reverence¡ªbut today there was no time for ceremony. The looming presence of the Khasta Vhar and the scent of rain on the wind urged her forward.

    She secured the blade back at her side and stepped onto the narrow path, her pace quickening as she moved toward home.

    Petite and slight of frame, Amriel knew she was often underestimated¡ªher slender hips and lean build deceiving those who expected weakness. But she possessed a quick, determined stride that could outlast even those with longer legs. Nythia had made sure of that.

    Her mother had taught her more than the art of gathering herbs. She had taught Amriel to defend herself in the wild, where danger was as common as sunlight filtering through the trees.

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    And as the scent of rain thickened in the air, mingling with the earth¡¯s musk, Amriel reminded herself that survival had always been her birthright. No storm¡ªliteral or otherwise¡ªwould stop her from returning home.

    Still, the image of the Khasta Vhar clung stubbornly to her thoughts, like a warning whispered through the rustling leaves.

    Amriel¡¯s features, fine-boned and delicate, and her auburn hair, bore the clear imprint of her mother, but 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 gust of wind sliced through the trees, biting against Amriel¡¯s skin and sending a chill up her spine. The cold was undeniable, yet she suspected the shiver wasn¡¯t entirely from the breeze.

    Don¡¯t look back. The thought flickered through her mind, unbidden but insistent. She obeyed.

    Her pace quickened along the narrowing path, boots striking the damp earth with a steady rhythm. The forest around her thickened with tension, its towering trees leaning like silent watchers as though aware of the looming storm. Heavy clouds swirled above, a shifting mass of slate-gray shadows, their ominous weight pressing against the sky.

    Even the birds had fallen silent, their absence amplifying the symphony of rustling branches and the low whisper of the wind threading through the canopy.

    Thunder growled in the distance¡ªa deep, resonant warning that echoed through the valley.

    ¡°Great,¡± Amriel muttered, voice tight with frustration. She cast a baleful glance upward where fractured patches of dark sky peeked through the swaying branches. ¡°Just hold on a little longer!.¡±

    She broke into a run, breath hitching as adrenaline pumped through her veins. The narrow path twisted sharply, roots clawing at the ground like skeletal fingers. Each step carried her farther from the place where an angel had once fallen, where ruin had taken root and thrived long after the celestial being had departed.

    Her heart pounded against her ribs, matching the rhythm of her boots striking the earth. The wind howled through the trees, urging her forward as fat raindrops splattered against the forest floor. One struck her squarely between the eyes, startling her into a sharp gasp.

    ¡°Really?¡± she muttered, wiping the water from her face with the back of her sleeve. Her breath came in ragged bursts now, her lungs burning with the effort.

    The rain began in earnest¡ªlight at first, but quickly gathering force as the clouds unleashed their fury. Heavy droplets pelted the earth, turning the dirt path slick beneath her feet.

    Amriel gritted her teeth, summoning a final burst of energy as the forest thinned around her. The trees gave way to open fields, their golden grasses already darkening under the assault of the rain.

    There, in the distance, stood her cottage¡ªsturdy and weather-worn, its stone walls offering a promise of shelter against the tempest. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, a beacon of warmth amidst the chaos.

    ¡°Almost there,¡± she panted, hope flickering in her chest despite the ache in her legs.

    Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the very air around her. The sky cracked open in a blinding flash of silver light, followed by a roar that reverberated through the valley.

    Amriel didn¡¯t stop. Her braid slapped against her back with each stride, her boots churning up mud as she sprinted across the open field. The cold sting of rain soaked through her clothes, chilling her to the bone.

    She didn¡¯t care. The storm could rage all it wanted¡ªshe just had to reach the door.

    A few more steps, breath hitching painfully in her chest. The cottage loomed closer, its sturdy frame defiant against the storm¡¯s fury.

    And finally, with a gasp of relief, Amriel reached the threshold, slamming the wooden door shut behind her as the rain roared against the roof.

    For a long moment, she stood there, breathless and soaked to the skin, the tension slowly ebbing from her body. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke filled the air, grounding her in the familiar comfort of home.

    Safe. For now.

    But as Amriel leaned heavily against the door, fingers trembling from more than just the cold, she couldn¡¯t shake the image that lingered in her mind¡ªthe black-veined leaves of the Khasta Vhar.

    Outside a crack like the heavens splitting in two rang out across the valley. The sky erupted in jagged streaks of lightning, illuminating the shadowed mountains beyond. Thunder rolled in its wake, low and menacing, shaking the earth beneath Amriel¡¯s feet. The rain, thick and unrelenting, hammered against the wooden door at her back. She could feel the vibrations of the raindrops as they pelted down.

    Her father¡¯s distant gaze flickered through her memory, a ghost she hadn¡¯t summoned in years. He¡¯d never spoken of the war, of the battles fought against the Fallen. But his silence had spoken volumes¡ªthe way he would stare into the hearth for hours, as though hoping the flames might burn away whatever lingered in his mind.

    Amriel clenched her jaw, pushing the memory back into the shadows where it belonged. There was no room for grief here. Not now. She already had enough on her plate!

    Amriel¡¯s laugh came unbidden, shaky at first before it bloomed into something wild and incredulous. She pressed a hand to her chest, waiting for her breath to return as her back sank against the door. The absurdity of the last few days hit her all at once¡ªlike some cruel joke the universe had decided to play.

    First, the ancient tome. Its brittle pages had thrummed beneath her fingertips, strange and ominous as though they were filled with secrets better left undisturbed. Then, the Khasta Vhar.

    In all the years she had roamed beneath the sprawling canopy of the Vhengal Forest, mapping its every curve and hollow, she had never once come across that plant. The shadowy leaves veined with crimson were the stuff of fables, whispered warnings shared around hearths on long winter nights. And yet, there it had been, undeniable and very real.

    Amriel shook her head, groaning softly as she tried to ground herself in the familiar rhythm of the rain drumming against the roof. Breathe, she reminded herself. One thing at a time.

 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 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.

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    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.

    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.

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    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.

    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 door frame 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. The primal command surged through her veins: 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¡ªevery ragged inhale, every faltering step.

    Compassion tugged harder, demanding action. She knew that kind of pain, that raw, helpless fight for every breath. And yet¡ª

    Trust is a luxury.

    Meeko¡¯s growl rumbled low and steady beside her, the forest cat poised to strike. Amber eyes flicked between Amriel and the intruder, waiting for her cue.

    She swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to lower her blade. 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¡ªjust fierce, stubborn determination, the look of someone clinging to survival with fraying threads of willpower.

    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 heavy with meaning she couldn¡¯t grasp¡ªbut felt deep in her bones.

    Her pulse quickened, the urge to strike surging through her limbs, but hesitation stalled her blade.

    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. But if I let him die...

    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 stranger¡¯s 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 realized 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.

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    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 receive. 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 in front 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 man¡¯s head. The forest cat¡¯s thick fur gleamed 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 already 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. The 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.

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    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?¡±

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    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.

    ¡°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 stir 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.

    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.

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    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 spend 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.

 Chapter 13

    The Spire of Illumination loomed over the Academy grounds like a watchful sentinel, its grey stone twisting eleven stories into the pale morning sky. The first light of day stained the horizon in soft hues of rose and gold, casting long shadows across the courtyard as Amriel crossed the cobbled path toward the library at the tower¡¯s base.

    She exhaled softly, already knowing exactly where she would find Mara.

    The Academy ensured the lower levels of the Spire were accessible to all students, and Mara¡ªtrue to form¡ªpractically lived there. If she wasn¡¯t in the Archivist¡¯s Hall, she was tucked away in some forgotten corner of the library, buried beneath a fortress of books.

    The air shifted as Amriel stepped inside. Gone was the crisp coolness of morning; in its place, the warm, hushed atmosphere of the grand library enveloped her. A space untouched by the urgency of the outside world.

    The scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather filled her lungs as she wove between towering shelves, their dark wooden frames stretching high toward vaulted ceilings. The only sounds were the faint creak of the floor beneath her steps and the occasional whisper of a turning page. Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, casting shifting mosaics of color onto the stone.

    Her fingers skimmed the spines of books as she passed¡ªrows upon rows of knowledge pressed between covers, entire lives recorded in ink. It was a world Mara had long since made her own.

    Amriel spotted Mara easily. She was exactly where Amriel knew she would be¡ªcurled into the window alcove on the upper floor, a thick tome resting open in her lap.

    Amriel slid onto the bench beside her, glancing at the sea of scattered parchment. ¡°Prepping for finals?¡±

    Mara didn¡¯t even look up as she turned a page. ¡°Finished.¡± She tapped the book¡¯s spine with an ink-smudged finger. ¡°This one¡¯s my reward.¡±

    Amriel raised a brow, feigning deep concern. ¡°Mara, reading for fun? I¡¯m concerned. Should I alert someone?¡±

    Mara shot her a dry look, then lifted her chin with mock regality. ¡°I contain multitudes, Riel.¡±

    She ran her fingers along the book¡¯s worn cover, her expression softening. ¡°It¡¯s a fictional retelling of the War of the Blood Prince. Told from the perspective of his general¡ªwho also happens to fall in love with the prince¡¯s sister.¡±

    Amriel tilted her head. ¡°Sounds interesting,¡± she said, her slightly dry tone suggesting otherwise.

    Mara caught it immediately and smirked. ¡°It¡¯s largely a tactician¡¯s perspective. The romance is, I suspect, the most fictional part of it.¡±

    ¡°Shame, really,¡± Amriel quipped, smirking. ¡°Would¡¯ve made for a much better story.¡±

    Mara laughed, a soft sound that broke through the hushed sanctity of the library. ¡°I think it¡¯s wonderful.¡±

    Amriel huffed a quiet chuckle, but something about the moment struck her deeper than she expected. Mara¡ªbathed in morning light, utterly at home in her world of ink and history¡ªmade it look easy. Knowing exactly who she was. What she wanted.

    Amriel wasn¡¯t sure she could say the same.

    Mara turned her golden-brown eyes on her, sharp and perceptive. ¡°So,¡± she said, voice light but probing, ¡°what brings you here this early? Just come to grace me with your sparkling wit, or is there something else?¡±

    Amriel hesitated. The truth almost came out right then. The tome. The language. The impossible knowledge unraveling in her mind like a thread she wasn¡¯t sure she should pull.

    Instead, she stuck to the plan. ¡°I found a book in my mother¡¯s old collection.¡± She kept her voice casual. ¡°Pretty interesting so far.¡±

    Mara¡¯s interest sharpened immediately. Amriel¡¯s mother, Nythia, had been known for many things at the Academy¡ªscholar, historian, healer. Whatever had caught her attention would undoubtedly intrigue Mara.

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    ¡°What¡¯s it called?¡± Mara asked, leaning slightly forward.

    Amriel exhaled slowly. ¡°Not sure,¡± she admitted. ¡°The cover¡¯s too worn to read.¡±

    Mara didn¡¯t look surprised. If anyone had an ancient, half-decayed book, it would have been Nythia. ¡°Then, what¡¯s it about?¡±

    Amriel hesitated. ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s a fantasy.¡±

    That earned a slight arch of Mara¡¯s brow.

    ¡°A fantasy?¡± she mused. ¡°Strange. I always thought your mother leaned toward philosophy or history. If she needed an escape, I imagined she¡¯d turn to fiction, but fantasy? That seems¡­ uncharacteristic.¡±

    Mara¡¯s gaze flickered with curiosity, but she shrugged. ¡°Then again, your mother was ever the enigma.¡±

    Amriel barely resisted the urge to scoff. Seems I was born to live among enigmas.

    She could feel the weight of the tome¡¯s presence inside the Academy halls. The words she shouldn¡¯t have been able to read. The secrets lurking between its pages.

    And the questions she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted answers to.

    ¡°Well, so far it has to do with Starlight Witches, who seem to be a key to a Door of Eternity,¡± Amriel shrugged, maining a casual expression though she wanted Mara keenly for her reaction. Any ficker of recognition at the mention of either of those things.

    Nothing.

    Mara¡¯s face remained impassive, as if unimpressed. ¡°Indeed, that does sound like fantasy to me. Not my taste, really.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯ve never heard of Starlight Witches?¡± Amriel prodded a little further.

    Mara shook her head, and let her eyes fall back to the pages of the book on her lap, ¡°No, can¡¯t say I have. They aren¡¯t from any stories I¡¯ve ever heard of.¡±

    Amriel hoped her chuckle didn¡¯t sound as hollow as she thought it did, ¡°Phew, me either. Was hoping I hadn¡¯t missed that part in history class.¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± Mara said, not looking up, ¡°You didn¡¯t miss that, at least.¡±

    <hr>

    The Academy¡¯s stone corridors hummed with the steady murmur of students moving toward their morning lectures. Sunlight slanted through arched windows, casting golden patches along the floor, while the scent of parchment, ink, and polished wood lingered in the air¡ªa familiar mix of academia and long, sleepless nights.

    Mara walked beside Amriel, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she studied her with a sidelong glance. ¡°You¡¯re unusually quiet this morning,¡± she observed, her voice measured, as always.

    Amriel shrugged. ¡°Just mentally preparing for Master Galwin¡¯s riveting lecture.¡±

    Mara smiled softly. ¡°Ah, yes. Trade Disputes of the Western Territories. Truly, an epic tale for the ages.¡±

    Amriel chuckled softly. ¡°It¡¯s really all about the dramatic pauses. Really keeps you on the edge of your seat.¡±

    Mara rolled her eyes but allowed a small, knowing smile. ¡°I sometimes wonder if he pauses because he wants us to think deeply¡­ or if he just forgets what he¡¯s saying.¡±

    Amriel barked a quiet laugh, tension she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding slipping away.

    As they turned the corner, the crowd thickened, voices rising in a low symphony of pre-lecture chatter. The carved archway leading into the grand lecture hall loomed ahead, its intricate depictions of historical battles and treaties doing little to make the subject matter inside any more exciting.

    Just beyond the entrance, a familiar figure leaned against the wall, effortlessly composed. Kaleth.

    His long red hair gleamed under the flickering sunlight, falling in artful waves around a handsome face. He wasn¡¯t trying to command attention, but he never had to try. His smile¡ªcasual, confident¡ªwas currently aimed at Emaline Keeary, who, despite her poised demeanor, looked vaguely unimpressed by whatever he was saying.

    Niamh, however, had no such patience for polite conversation. She spotted them instantly and shoved off the wall with an exaggerated groan. ¡°Riel! Mara!¡±

    Kaleth arched a brow at the outburst but made no move to shift from his relaxed stance. Emaline, her sleek black braid draped over one shoulder, barely noticed as her attention remained focused on whatever charming thing was slipping past his lips.

    By the time Amriel and Mara reached them, Kaleth straightened with a slow, easy grace. He flashed a grin¡ªone of those effortlessly charming ones he seemed to carry in his arsenal. ¡°Well, look who finally decided to show.¡±

    Niamh shot back, looping an arm through Amriel¡¯s. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t miss a chance to bask in Professor Galwin¡¯s legendary storytelling.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t miss it for the world,¡± Amriel deadpanned.

    Emaline snorted. ¡°You mean ¡®nap with academic justification,¡¯ right?¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Niamh agreed with zero shame. ¡°God knows, it¡¯s the only place I can get some sleep these days.¡±

    Kaleth chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ¡°If anyone gets caught sleeping, just blame me. Professors love me.¡±

    ¡°You mean they tolerate you,¡± Mara corrected, dry as parchment.

    Kaleth pressed a hand to his chest as if wounded. ¡°Semantics.¡± He winked, and Amriel swore she heard Mara exhale through her nose in a barely-restrained sigh.

    The heavy doors groaned open, and the crowd surged forward.

    Niamh sighed dramatically, gripping Amriel¡¯s arm like she was marching toward battle. ¡°Time to face our doom, comrades.¡±

    ¡°Spoken like a true warrior,¡± Amriel teased.

    Mara, ever practical, merely shook her head and strode forward.

    As they settled into their seats, Amriel allowed herself a moment to breathe. The warmth of camaraderie, the easy laughter¡ªit was moments like these that made even the dullest lectures tolerable. But beneath the surface, her thoughts coiled tightly around the words she wasn¡¯t ready to say out loud.

    The Starlight Witches.

    The Door to Eternity.

    The questions she couldn¡¯t afford to ignore forever.

 Chapter 14

    The next two weeks had passed in a haze of ink-stained fingers, candle-lit study sessions, and the occasional bout of despair. Now, at last, the exams were behind them, and the group found themselves in the inner courtyard of the Journeyman Inn, reveling in their newfound freedom.

    The amber glow of the setting sun stretched long shadows across the worn wooden tables. Ivy clung to the courtyard¡¯s stone walls, swaying lazily in the late-spring breeze, while the scent of blooming jasmine mingled with the evening air . Laughter and murmured conversations wove through the air, a contrast to the hushed intensity that had gripped them all for weeks.

    Around one of the tables, five mugs of amber ale sat in varying states of depletion, mirroring the exhaustion of their owners.

    ¡°If I never have to take another damned test, it¡¯ll be too soon,¡± Simon muttered, rubbing his temples as if the sheer weight of knowledge had left him physically sore.

    Niamh smirked teasingly at her husband, nudging his shoulder. ¡°What? I thought you lived for these exams?¡±

    ¡°My love, you know full well that I live only for you and our girls,¡± Simon returned, lifting her hand to his lips with a smile before adding, ¡°And my forge.¡±

    Kaleth chuckled, leaning back on the bench with an easy grace, his long, fiery-red hair catching the golden light. ¡°Beautiful sentiment, Simon. Really.¡±

    Simon shot the red headed man a withering look.

    Amriel smiled into her drink, the warmth of the ale spreading through her like the quiet satisfaction of making it through something grueling but worthwhile.

    ¡°So,¡± Mara interjected, setting down her nearly untouched beer with deliberate precision. ¡°Now that we¡¯re officially free men and women, what¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°Freedom is a strong word,¡± Niamh mused with a smile, ¡°Simon and I will be taking the twins to visit my parents for a while. They haven¡¯t seen them since they were still in swaddling blankets.¡±

    Simon lifted his head just enough to grumble, ¡°Which means I¡¯ll be spending the next few months repairing every broken fence, door, and tool in their entire village.¡±

    ¡°I believe that¡¯s what we call an even trade,¡± Amriel said, lips twitching in amusement.

    ¡°That¡¯s all good and well. Enjoy your obligatory family dinners and baby diapers,¡± Kaleth said leaned back, swirling his nearly empty drink. ¡°Personally, I plan to travel. See the world. Charm my way through every tavern from here to the far reaches of the kingdom. Possibly beyond.¡± He shot Amriel a wink. ¡°Maybe even become a legend.¡±

    Amriel rolled her eyes, and took another sip.

    It was the first evening in weeks that wasn¡¯t filled with frantic studying, and yet, Amriel found her mind anything but at ease.

    ¡°You mean a cautionary tale?¡± Mara quipped, arching a brow as she took a slow sip from her cup.

    Kaleth pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. ¡°You wound me.¡±

    Mara shook her head, the barest hint of a smile curving her lips. ¡°Well, while you¡¯re off causing international incidents, I¡¯ll be staying at the Academy for a while longer. The Head Master Archivist himself requested my addition to their ranks.¡±

    A round of knowing chuckles passed through the group.

    ¡°And that, folks, may be the least surprising announcement of the century,¡± Kaleth drawled, tilting his head toward her with an easy grin. He lifted his glass in her direction. ¡°But of course he did, Mara. The man would have been a fool to do otherwise.¡±

    A chorus of agreement followed, punctuated by a louder, more resounding toast.

    ¡°To Mara,¡± Kaleth declared, clinking his beer against hers, ¡°while the rest of us are escaping, you¡¯re voluntarily chaining yourself to more books. We thank you for your noble sacrifice.¡±

    Mara gave him a flat look, but there was something warm in the way her golden-brown eyes glimmered in the firelight. ¡°It¡¯s called ambition, Kaleth. You should try it sometime.¡±

    ¡°I thought I was ambitious.¡± He smirked playfully. ¡°Just in a different way.¡±

    Their banter wove effortlessly into the conversation, familiar and rhythmic. It was grounding, in a way. Yet Amriel found herself drifting, absorbing the moment but untethered from it at the same time.

    The past two weeks had been relentless¡ªfinal exams, essays, sparring evaluations. It left little room for distractions, which was fortunate, considering the ones weighing on her mind. The injured man, the tome, the prophecy carved into her thoughts like a brand.

    Not an hour passed without the words repeating themselves in her head, as if waiting for her to make sense of them. She had scoured the library, turning pages until her fingers ached, seeking even the faintest whisper of Starlight Witches, silver fire, or a door to eternity. But it was as if they had been erased from history entirely. If Mara hadn¡¯t even heard of them, what hope did she have of finding answers alone?

    Her grip tightened around her mug. Now that she had exhausted this avenue, what came next? Who could she tell? Who should she tell?

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    ¡°So, what about you, Riel?¡± Kaleth¡¯s voice cut through her thoughts, light but curious. ¡°What¡¯s next for you?¡±

    Amriel hesitated. She could feel Simon¡¯s gaze flicker toward her, measuring. He always noticed more than he let on. She forced an easy smile and shrugged. ¡°Oh, you know me. I could never leave the Vhengal.¡±

    Simon studied her for a moment longer, then nodded as if he understood something unsaid.

    ¡°Well,¡± he said, raising his mug, ¡°to all of us, then. To whatever comes next.¡±

    The others followed suit, their glasses meeting with a quiet clink. The sound lingered for a breath, then melted into the night¡ªthe rustling of ivy, the distant hum of conversation, and the laughter of other graduates stepping into the unknown.

    <hr>

    The willow branches swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, their long tendrils casting shifting shadows across the soft grass. The pond shimmered under the dappled sunlight, rippling as dragonflies skimmed its surface. A chorus of laughter rang out from the field beyond, high and bright, as Simon scooped up one of the girls and tossed her into the air. She shrieked, delighted, before he caught her easily in his strong arms, twirling her once before setting her down to chase her sister.

    Niamh, stretched out beside Amriel on the picnic blanket, sighed dramatically. ¡°Gods, I never thought I¡¯d say this, Amriel,¡± she mused, gaze fixed on the scene before them, ¡°but is there anything sexier than a man who adores his children?¡±

    Amriel smirked, tearing off a piece of her sandwich. ¡°I¡¯ll have to take your word for it.¡±

    Niamh turned her head, arching a brow. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ll understand one day. But don¡¯t rush it.¡±

    Amriel let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s in the cards for me anytime soon.¡±

    She meant it. But still, some days, she wondered. It wasn¡¯t longing exactly¡ªnot in the way Niamh had felt it, an aching certainty that had led her to Simon, to this life of playful chaos and quiet devotion. But there was something about watching them that made Amriel pause. She wasn¡¯t an outsider here, not truly. Simon and Niamh had folded her into their little world effortlessly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And she was grateful for it.

    But that didn¡¯t stop her from wondering what it would feel like to have something of her own. A partner. A family. Someone waiting for her at the end of the day, someone whose life was tangled with hers in a way that felt unshakable.

    That used to seem inevitable. But now? Now, after the tome and the prophecy buried within its pages, the future felt like an unread book¡ªone she wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to open.

    Niamh must have sensed the shift in her mood because she nudged Amriel¡¯s knee with her own. ¡°You thinking too much again?¡±

    Amriel exhaled, forcing a small smile. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Niamh tilted her head, studying her. ¡°About?¡±

    Amriel hesitated. She could brush it off, change the subject. But this was Niamh. If anyone deserved honesty, it was her.

    ¡°I guess I just¡­ don¡¯t know what my future is supposed to look like anymore.¡± She gestured vaguely toward the field, where Simon had hoisted one of the girls onto his shoulders, her laughter ringing clear in the open air. ¡°There was a time I thought it would be something like this. Not this exactly, but¡­ a version of it. A life built with someone.¡±

    Niamh¡¯s expression softened. ¡°And now?¡±

    ¡°Now¡­¡± Amriel trailed off, shaking her head. ¡°Now I¡¯m not so sure.¡±

    Niamh was quiet for a moment, watching her carefully. Then she sat up, hugging one knee to her chest. ¡°Talk to me, Riel.¡±

    Amriel hesitated. She could brush it off¡ªsay something lighthearted and easy, something that wouldn¡¯t make Niamh worry. But that wasn¡¯t the kind of friendship they had.

    She sat up, brushing crumbs from her fingers. ¡°I think it¡¯s time to go see Kortana.¡±

    Niamh¡¯s expression tightened, the teasing edge in her usual smirk fading. ¡°About the book, right?¡±

    Amriel nodded, ¡°I¡¯ve looked Niamh, I¡¯ve searched the library. I¡¯ve asked Mara. I¡¯ve exhausted the ¡®safe¡¯ options. And still, nothing. Absolutely nothing.¡±

    A beat of silence stretched between them. Niamh hummed softly, considering, but didn¡¯t argue. Instead, she flopped back onto the blanket, stretching lazily with feigned indifference. ¡°Fine. But you¡¯re taking me with you.¡±

    Amriel frowned. Before she could object, Simon¡¯s voice cut in, deep and good-natured as he strolled back toward them, the twins hooked under each arm, giggling like fiends.

    ¡°Taking you where?¡± he asked, brows lifting as he gently lowered the girls onto the blanket.

    Niamh tilted her head up at him, grinning. ¡°To the Witches¡¯ Coven. We¡¯re going to talk to Kortana.¡±

    Simon didn¡¯t react immediately. Instead, he crouched down, deftly pulling their lunch from the basket and handing out bits of fruit to the girls, who busied themselves with their meal. Then, finally, he looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Amriel¡¯s. ¡°About?¡±

    ¡°Just some questions I have about an old book,¡± she said evenly.

    Simon¡¯s hands stilled for just a fraction of a second before he continued unpacking their meal. ¡°An old book,¡± he repeated, tone unreadable. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be asking the Archivists about that?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll be my next stop,¡± Amriel admitted, keeping her voice light. ¡°But Kortana was my mother¡¯s friend. She might be more open with me about the subject.¡±

    Simon frowned, eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°Why do I feel like I¡¯m not getting the whole story here?¡±

    Niamh sighed, reaching out to run a hand down her husband¡¯s forearm, her touch as much reassurance as it was distraction. ¡°My love, do not worry so much,¡± she said smoothly. ¡°It¡¯ll just be a quick trip for some quick answers. We¡¯ll be back before dinner.¡±

    ¡°Today?¡± Simon¡¯s head snapped up, his brow furrowing. ¡°You¡¯re doing this today?¡±

    ¡°We are,¡± Niamh confirmed, plucking a piece of cheese from the basket.

    Simon¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Perhaps I should join you. Mom would be more than happy to watch the girls until we get back.¡±

    Before Niamh could answer, Amriel cut in. ¡°No need, Simon.¡± Her tone was firm, leaving little room for argument. ¡°A visit to Kortana is perfectly safe. I trust her.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not Kortana I¡¯m worried about,¡± Simon said distractedly, gently swiping a bug away from Ava¡¯s curious fingers before she could pop it into her mouth. His voice lowered slightly. ¡°It¡¯s the walk home in the evening. The city is getting less safe by the day.¡±

    ¡°You walk home at night all the time,¡± Niamh pointed out, arching a brow.

    ¡°Yes, I do, Niamh,¡± Simon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ¡°But I¡¯m a big man with a big hammer. That¡¯s not exactly the same as two women without any formal training in arms.¡±

    Niamh scoffed, offended. ¡°That¡¯s not true, and you know it. Amriel has her daggers, and I can shoot a moving rabbit through the eye at a hundred paces.¡±

    Simon snorted, lips quirking into a wry smile. ¡±Yes, my love, I don¡¯t know sounds more lethal indeed. Short armed hand to hand combat,¡± He said, referring to Amriel¡¯s smaller stature, ¡°Or an archer in a close-quarters brawl.¡±

    Both women shot him a withering look.

    Simon exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered. ¡°Fine. Go. But promise me you¡¯ll leave the city before dark.¡±

    Niamh grinned triumphantly and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. ¡°Consider it a deal, my love.¡±

    Simon sighed again, but a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. ¡°Gods help me,¡± he murmured.

    Amriel watched them, something bittersweet settling in her chest again. They made it look so easy¡ªthis steady, unwavering partnership. The teasing, the concern, the way they just¡­ fit.

    She forced the thought aside. Now wasn¡¯t the time for wistfulness.

    Now was the time for answers.

 Chapter 15

    Amriel and Nimah set off for the city after the twins were put down for a nap.

    Minus the kiss, Amriel bid Simon farewell before she followed Niamh out of the house into the warmth of the afternoon sunshine.

    Eager to be off, Niamh had already set off down the path towards the road that would take them into the city. Her long, quick strides had already carried her a good distance away. The wheat in the fields surrounding the house already stood knee-high. As Amriel rushed after her friend, the golden stalks gently brushed against her fingertips. This year was already looking to be a good year for the harvest.

    Now, with each step closer to the city, that quiet ache gave way to tension.

    The walk stretched nearly forty minutes, both of them lost in thought, neither speaking. Amriel didn¡¯t mind. The air between them had always been comfortable, whether filled with conversation or silence.

    They wound through the familiar streets, past the estates of the wealthy that surrounded the Academy, their towering facades untouched by hardship. And then, finally, as they rounded a corner, the Coven Tower came into view.

    Standing of an equal height to the Tower of Illumination, the Witches Coven stood bright and proud, a beacon of magic in the heart of the capital city. Its white marble walls gleamed under the afternoon sun, veined with silver and pale gold that caught the light and shimmered like starlight woven into stone.

    The architecture was a blend of elegance and power, a seamless marriage of gothic grandeur and celestial beauty. Tall, arched windows lined the tower¡¯s fa?ade, their glass inlaid with delicate tracings of enchanted silver that pulsed faintly with magic. Each window told a different story¡ªscenes of witches past, the elements they commanded, and the knowledge they guarded.

    At its base, the entrance was framed by a massive white stone archway, carved with intricate runes that seemed to hum faintly when one stepped close. The wooden double doors were tall and reinforced with wrought iron, but painted a deep blue¡ªthe color of wisdom and hidden truths. A pair of statues flanked the doors, a male and female Witch, in the midst of casting a spell.

    Unlike most imposing towers that loomed, casting shadows, the Coven Tower seemed to invite rather than intimidate. Soft ivy and flowering vines curled around its foundation, small blossoms blooming. A stone pathway led up to the entrance, lined with lanterns glowing with witch lights that never flickered.

    Niamh hesitated first. She stopped mid-stride, her sharp gaze fixed on the tower¡¯s entrance. ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡± Her voice was quieter than usual.

    Amriel¡¯s instinct was to turn on her heel and leave. No, she wasn¡¯t sure. She was far from sure. But turning back wouldn¡¯t change anything. If she walked away now, she would only be prolonging the inevitable.

    She exhaled. ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°But I need to try.¡±

    Niamh studied her for a long moment, then nodded. A small, reassuring smile tugged at her lips. ¡°Alright. If you¡¯re going in, I¡¯m going in.¡±

    Without waiting for a response, she reached out and gave Amriel¡¯s hand a quick, firm squeeze. Then she started forward, and after a brief pause, Amriel followed.

    The stone door of the Coven Tower loomed before them, its surface etched with ancient runes¡ªsymbols that time and weather had failed to erode. With a firm push, Amriel felt the weight of the door give way, creaking open just enough for them to slip inside.

    The moment they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. The outside world, warm and bright, felt like a distant memory.

    The air inside the Coven Tower was cool and scented with citrus, jasmine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon¡ªa spell woven into the very stones, meant to brighten and warm the soul. Sunlight streamed in through the massive arched windows, filling the main hall with a golden glow that softened the sharp edges of its gothic architecture.

    The floor was polished green marble, streaked with veins of deep blue and silver, reflecting the intricate patterns of the domed ceiling above. The ceiling itself was a masterpiece¡ªvaulted arches carved with celestial maps and sigils, painted in rich sapphire and gold leaf.

    A grand spiral staircase, its railing shaped into curling vines of enchanted silver, wound up the center of the tower, leading to the higher levels where the private studies, ritual chambers and Kortana¡¯s private quarters.

    The soft glow of witch lights flickered in crystal sconces, their light adjusting to the natural cycle of the day¡ªbrighter in the morning, dimming to a soft candlelight in the evening.

    Unlike many halls of learning, the Coven Tower was never silent. There was a soft murmur of students discussing theories, the rustle of parchment, the occasional sound of a cauldron bubbling in a distant alchemy chamber. And underneath it all, there was something deeper¡ªa hum of magic woven into the very walls, as if the tower itself was alive, listening, remembering.

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    Here, magic and knowledge were not hoarded, nor locked away in shadowed vaults. They were meant to be discovered, shared, and understood. This was a place for seekers, for students, for those who dared to learn.

    From across the sunlit hall, a slender figure emerged¡ªa young acolyte no older than sixteen. She moved with the quiet grace of someone used to treading sacred ground, her copper robes swaying with each measured step. Her black hair cascaded neatly over her shoulders, framing a face both youthful and composed, her almond-shaped eyes reflecting the golden light streaming in from the windows.

    ¡°The Goddess welcomes you,¡± she said, voice warm as she pressed her palms together in greeting.

    Cerennis, the Goddess of magic, watched over the Witches of the realm, just as Frenrith ruled wisdom and knowledge. They were two sides of the same coin, their blessings intertwined.

    Amriel and Niamh responded in unison, their voices a soft echo beneath the tower¡¯s vaulted ceiling. ¡°Blessed are those touched by Cerennis.¡± They lifted their hands to their foreheads in reverence, fingers grazing their skin before falling back to their sides.

    The acolyte nodded in acknowledgment, her smile polite, expectant. ¡°How may I be of assistance?¡±

    Amriel didn¡¯t waste time on pleasantries. ¡°Is Kortana in?¡±

    The acolyte hesitated¡ªjust for a breath. A flicker of something crossed her face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. When she smiled again, it was well-practiced, but her eyes betrayed the truth.

    ¡°Coven Leader Kortana is a very busy woman,¡± she said, the words smooth but impersonal. ¡°Perhaps I can help in her stead?¡±

    Amriel¡¯s jaw tensed. That momentary hesitation, that flicker of uncertainty, told her all she needed to know¡ªKortana was in, and for whatever reason, this girl had been instructed to turn visitors away.

    Beside her, Niamh shifted slightly, her stance casual but attentive. She had noticed it too.

    Amriel met the acolyte¡¯s gaze, her own steady and unwavering. ¡°No, but thank you.¡± She let the words settle before continuing, softer but firm. ¡°Tell her that Nythia¡¯s daughter is here. We¡¯ll wait.¡±

    The acolyte¡¯s expression flickered¡ªrecognition, curiosity, maybe even caution. She had heard the name before.

    For a moment, Amriel thought the girl might refuse or insist on taking the message to someone else, but after a heartbeat¡¯s hesitation, she dipped her head. ¡°As you wish,¡± she murmured, her voice quieter than before. Then, with a practiced grace, she turned on her heel and disappeared through an arched doorway.

    As soon as she was gone, Niamh let out a quiet breath. ¡°That was interesting. Good move on throwing your mom¡¯s name around. Heavy hitter here.¡±

    Amriel shot Niamh a look and recieved a mischivious grin in return. Her gaze returned to the door the girl had disappeared through. something about the acolyte¡¯s reaction felt¡­off. The hesitation. The way her practiced composure had briefly faltered. Amriel had come expecting answers. Instead, she was met with closed doors and quiet resistance.

    She exhaled, crossing her arms as she let her eyes wander the grand chamber.

    The Coven Tower had always been a place of power, but unlike the cold, foreboding halls of the royal court, there was warmth here¡ªan openness that belied the mystery woven into its foundations. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, illuminating the polished green marble floors beneath their feet. Intricately carved pillars reached skyward, stretching toward a domed ceiling painted in deep blues and golds, celestial constellations glimmering faintly under the light of floating orbs.

    All around her, students of magic moved about in clusters, their soft murmurs filling the air like a living current.

    Though the Coven¡¯s true workings¡ªits private chambers, study halls, and ritual spaces¡ªwere reserved for those gifted in the arcane, the ground level of the tower remained open to all. Knowledge, the Witches believed, should not be hoarded. Fear was born from ignorance, and ignorance could be mended with education.

    A philosophy Amriel wished more people shared.

    ¡°Feels different than the last time I was here,¡± Niamh mused beside her, tucking her hands into the folds of her cloak.

    Amriel raised a brow. ¡°How so?¡±

    Niamh glanced around before answering. ¡°Tighter. Warier.¡± Her lips pressed together. ¡°Like they¡¯re expecting something.¡±

    Amriel didn¡¯t respond right away. She had felt it, too¡ªthe careful glances, the measured steps, the way the acolyte¡¯s reaction to Nythia¡¯s name had been just a fraction too slow.

    Something was shifting beneath the surface.

    Before she could voice the thought, the arched doorway reopened, and the acolyte returned, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

    ¡°Coven Leader Kortana will see you,¡± she announced, her gaze lingering on Amriel for just a breath before shifting away. ¡°Please, follow me.¡±

    Amriel and Niamh exchanged glances. That had been quicker than she expected.

    They followed the acolyte up the spiralled stair case, twisting up high and higher, their footsteps softened by plush white carpeting embroidered with silver filigree. At the top, the acolyte led them down a hall.

    At the end of the hall, tall double doors of white oak stood open, leading into a study bathed in golden light.

    And there, standing with the quiet authority of a woman who knew far more than she ever let on, was Kortana.

    She was tall and statuesque, her silver hair cascading down her back like spun moonlight, streaked faintly with black¡ªa ghost of the youth she had once been. Her violet robes were simple but elegant, draping over her tall, elegant frame with effortless grace. The runes embroidered along the cuffs and collar shimmered faintly, as if alive with residual magic.

    Her gaze settled on Amriel, sharp yet unreadable. Assessing. Measuring.

    For a moment, neither of them spoke.

    Then, Kortana inclined her head ever so slightly.

    ¡°Amriel, welcome.¡±

    A flicker of something passed through Amriel¡¯s chest, though she wasn¡¯t sure if it was relief or unease.

    She straightened. ¡°Coven Leader Kortana.¡±

    Kortana gestured toward the seating area by the large bay window, where a tea service was already set. Steam curled from delicate porcelain cups, as if their arrival had been anticipated long before the acolyte had even fetched her.

    ¡°Come,¡± Kortana said, her voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that hinted at steel beneath. ¡°Let us talk.¡±

    Amriel exchanged one last glance with Niamh before stepping forward, knowing this conversation could change everything.

 Chapter 16

    Amriel followed Kortana¡¯s lead, stepping toward the seating area by the large bay window where sunlight pooled across the floor in warm, golden patches. Four chairs carved from the same pale white wood as the door were arranged around a small round table. Whether she knew it or not, Amriel picked the one closest to the door.

    She sat stiffly on the plush chair, trying to ignore the way her pulse thudded in her throat. She wasn¡¯t afraid, exactly. But there was an unease curling in her stomach, a weight pressing against her ribs.

    ¡°You may leave us,¡± Kortana said, casually dismissing the acolyte who still hovered near the doorway.

    But when the Coven Leader¡¯s eyes flickered to Niamh as she sat down, Amriel shook her head, her tone perhaps a touch firmer than she intended, ¡°No. She stays.¡±

    Kortana¡¯s eyes narrowed for only half a heartbeat before she smiled slightly, ¡°You truly are Nythia¡¯s daughter. Very well then, she stays.¡±

    She had come for answers. But the moment she spoke, the moment the words left her lips¡ªthere would be no taking them back.

    Kortana, for her part, moved with unhurried grace, pouring a deep amber-colored tea into three porcelain cups. When she slid one toward Amriel, their fingers almost brushed.

    Cold. Her fingertips were cold.

    ¡°Drink,¡± Kortana said simply, before turning to pour a cup for Niamh. ¡°It will settle your nerves.¡±

    Amriel hesitated. Had she been that easy to read?

    With a quiet inhale, she took the cup, wrapping her hands around the delicate porcelain. It was warm¡ªcomforting, even. She took a careful sip, the floral bitterness of morrow root and chamomile spreading across her tongue.

    For a moment, silence stretched between them. Not awkward, but expectant.

    Kortana did not rush her. The Coven Leader offered Niamh the cup of tea and settled down onto a chair near the window. The light pouring in created a silver halo around her head. She simply studied Amriel with that sharp, knowing gaze, waiting.

    Amriel swallowed. The tea did little to calm the storm inside her.

    She had rehearsed this conversation in her head. She had told herself that she would speak plainly, confidently. That she wouldn¡¯t let doubt creep in.

    But now, sitting across from one of the most powerful witches in the realm, she felt like she was standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into the unknown.

    She forced herself to breathe. In. Out.

    And then, she spoke.

    ¡°I need your help,¡± she said, her voice quieter than she intended. ¡°I¡¯ve come across something. Something¡­ important.¡±

    Kortana raised a pale brow. ¡°Go on.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s grip tightened around her cup.

    She had expected doubt. Skepticism. A hundred reasons why what she was about to say couldn¡¯t be true. And maybe they would come. But she had made it this far. No turning back now.

    She set her cup down carefully on the polished mahogany table between them.

    ¡°The tome of the Val¡¯Dara, it¡¯s written in the language of the Fhemor, right?¡±

    Kortana¡¯s eyes narrowed. Any child or village idiot knew that, let alone someone who¡¯d graduated from the Academy.

    Shit. Amriel cursed herself silently as she watched the doubt flicker across Kortana¡¯s fine features. Maybe not the best start to look like an idiot. Alright, no beating around the bush then, just get it out.

    ¡°A script that no one is able to read, right?¡± She met Kortana¡¯s gaze head-on. ¡°Well, I can.¡±

    The air in the room shifted.

    Niamh, who had been quiet up until now, glanced between them, her fingers tightening around her own cup.

    Kortana, however, did not blink. Did not react with the shock or disbelief Amriel had braced for.

    She simply watched her. Dark eyes measuring. Calculating.

    ¡°And what, exactly, does this tome say?¡± Kortana asked, her voice smooth, but no less intense.

    Amriel¡¯s throat felt dry.

    She hesitated. Because saying it out loud made it real.

    She took a breath, steadying herself.

    ¡°It¡¯s a prophecy.¡±

    The word hung in the air like a blade, sharp and heavy.

    For the first time, something flickered across Kortana¡¯s expression. A shadow of something unreadable.

    Her pulse hammered against her ribs, but there was no stopping now. The prophecy tumbled from her lips, a whisper at first, then stronger¡ªlike a tide pulling her into deeper waters.

    ¡°When silver fire rains from the heavens and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn,

    When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence. When the last of the Starlight Witches falls¡ªThe door to Eternity shall open.

    And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge¡ª those who have kept endless vigil. Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave them anew.

    Beware, for not all who enter shall return, And those who do may never be the same.¡±

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The words hung in the air, pressing against the silence like a held breath.

    Amriel exhaled, willing herself to meet Kortana¡¯s gaze. She expected doubt. Skepticism. A demand for proof.

    Instead¡ªnothing.

    Silence.

    The kind that stretched too long, that made the weight of her own words settle heavy in her bones.

    And then¡ª

    Kortana leaned back, the tips of her long, slender fingers steepling beneath her chin, her expression unreadable.

    ¡°I see.¡±

    That was it. No shock. No disbelief. Just acceptance. Understanding.

    That was what sent a shiver down Amriel¡¯s spine.

    Because Kortana already knew.

    Or at the very least¡ªshe wasn¡¯t surprised.

    Niamh let out a slow breath beside her, then snorted. ¡°That¡¯s all you have to say?¡± She leaned forward, incredulous. ¡°You see? Hows about a ¡®holy shit¡¯? On second thought, I¡¯d even take a ¡®wow.¡¯¡±

    A ghost of a smile played on Kortana¡¯s lips. ¡°Did you expect me to laugh? To call her mad?¡±

    Niamh blinked, clearly at a loss.

    Amriel sat straighter. ¡°You know something.¡±

    Kortana studied her for a long moment, this time her fingers drumming against armrest of her chair, before stilling.

    Then, finally, she spoke.

    ¡°We must bring this to the King.¡±

    The words were too casual, too matter-of-fact.

    Amriel should have been surprised. Should have felt some spark of hope that this was the end of the road for her¡ªthat someone with real power might not just take this seriously, but also relieve her of any further duty.

    But deep down, she had known. This was only the beginning.

    Niamh, however, recoiled. ¡°Wait¡ªwhat is this we stuff?¡± She gestured between them. ¡°Amriel told you what she knows, why does she have to go before the King?¡±

    ¡°Not you,¡± Kortana said sharply, her gaze snapping to the redhead. ¡°Not if we have any chance of being taken seriously.¡±

    Niamh bristled. ¡°Like hell you¡¯re leaving me behind.¡±

    Kortana exhaled slowly, as though summoning patience. ¡°We cannot afford your outbursts.¡± Her voice was calm, but firm¡ªunyielding. ¡°The King, and more importantly, his advisor, Hemrich, do not take kindly to such behavior. And I do not have confidence that you can mind your tongue long enough.¡±

    Amriel could feel her Niamh simmering beside her, she noticed the way her friend¡¯s hands clenched into fists against her thighs.

    And just as Niamh opened her mouth¡ªlikely to unleash a very pointed rebuttal¡ªAmriel cut in.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go alone.¡±

    Niamh stilled, her expression flickering from anger to shock.

    Amriel turned to her, her voice gentler now. ¡°Please, Niamh. Let me do this by myself. I have to.¡±

    Kortana remained silent, watching the scene unfold with that same measured intensity.

    Niamh¡¯s jaw worked, her fingers twitching against her knee. ¡°Are you sure, Riel?¡± Her voice was softer now. ¡°Don¡¯t let her push you into something you¡¯re not comfortable with.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Amriel said, holding her gaze, willing her to understand. ¡°Please. Trust me.¡±

    She wanted to Niamh, and Simon and the girls by association, as far from this as possible. There was still no way of telling how this might go. And if the rumors were true, the King was not only a difficult man to deal with, he was larely unpredictable.

    Niamh¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, muscles tensing as though fighting the instinct to argue. Amriel could see the war happening behind her pale green eyes¡ªthe battle between her fierce loyalty and her reluctance to let go.

    For a moment, Amriel wasn¡¯t sure which side would win.

    And then¡ªresignation.

    Niamh sighed, ¡°Alright, Riel.¡± A small frown pulled at her lips. ¡°If it¡¯s what you want. I don¡¯t agree, but¡­¡± She exhaled. ¡°I won¡¯t push where I¡¯m not wanted.¡±

    Amriel felt the tension in her chest ease¡ªjust slightly. She reached out, squeezing Niamh¡¯s hand briefly. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    But as she turned back to Kortana, steeling herself for what came next, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she had just set something irreversible into motion.

    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, squaring her shoulders, forcing herself to meet the Coven Leader¡¯s steady gaze. ¡°What next?¡±

    ¡°First?¡± She gestured vaguely in Amriel¡¯s direction. ¡°We clean you up and get you properly dressed. You reek of herbs and earth and sun.¡±

    A flicker of annoyance sparked in Amriel¡¯s chest. ¡°I was in the fields,¡± she muttered, brushing at the dirt smudges on her tunic. The scent of the sun drenched field still clung to her sleeves from the picnic that morning.

    Amriel barely had time to catch her breath before Kortana was already in motion. Niamh¡¯s face was a picture of barely restrained fear as she shot her friend a farewell look, ¡°Besides, I did promise Simon you¡¯d be home before dark.¡± Amriel gave her friend a reassuring smile, though her hands trembled ever so slightly.

    She resisted the urge to rest her fingers around the hilt of her blade. It could be taken as a threatening gesture. She didn¡¯t know Kortana well enough to know how it would be taken. Not that the Coven Leader would have anything to fear. A blade, no matter how cleverly wielding, stood little in the way of one as powerful as Kortana.

    Turning away, she silently, she followed the elegant figure of the Coven Leader as she swept through a set of grand arching doors, and disappearing into the next chamber.

    The great white doors closed behind her with a great thud, shut by nothing she could see. But she could feel it.

    Magic. The Power.

    Amriel couldn¡¯t use magic. She wasn¡¯t a Witch, one born attuned with the world of magic, but she could sense it. And that was even stranger.

    ¡°We are fortunate you chose your moment when you did,¡± Kortana said over her shoulder as they walked, ¡°There is a feast at the castle tonight for the princess Irina¡¯s birthday, and she has just come into her Power. The King and Queen will be more than receptive of the Coven tonight. But first, a bath.¡±

    Amriel swallowed hard.

    The entire court was going to be there.

    It had been bad enough when she thought it might just be an audience with the King and his advisor.

    ¡°But we won¡¯t get within a hundred feet of the King with you looking like a beggar forest witch,¡± Kortana said bluntly, already turning toward an arched doorway.

    She¡¯s relentless! Amriel scowled as she followed Kortana through the grand chamber, past tall, fluted columns of pale marble and intricate chandeliers that bathed the room in golden light. Their footsteps echoed as they passed through a narrow corridor.

    Beyond the reception hall, the corridors took on a different air¡ªless public, more sacred. The walls were lined with high, arched windows, allowing sunlight to spill across the polished stone floor in long, golden ribbons. The atmosphere was calm, controlled¡ªjust like Kortana.

    As they stepped into a smaller chamber, two acolytes in copper robes already waited¡ªthe girls were no older than fifteen. One taller, with hair the colour summer wheat, and the other with raven-black hair, both were twisted into a simple braid.

    In unison, they bowed their heads respectfully at Kortana. To the one with the wheat coloured hair, she said, ¡°Summon a carriage to take Niamh home. I wan¡¯t you to ensure she arrives there safely.¡±

    Without a word the blond nodded and departed from the chamber.

    To the other, she said ¡°Amriel, this is Lyanna. She will help you bath and get prepared.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think that is necessary.¡± Amriel protested.

    Kortana¡¯s dark eyes ran the length of Amriel, before turning to the remaining acolyte and reaffirming her orders, ¡°Prepare her,¡± Kortana instructed, sweeping past without another glance.

    The acolyte¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but Amriel caught the way her shoulders stiffened¡ªeither at the abrupt order or at the prospect of handling someone who did not belong.

    Amriel let out a slow breath. Here we go.

    The acolyte¡¯s dark eyes flicked over her, assessing. ¡°Follow me.¡± she finally said. A command, not a request.

    She led Amriel to a nearby chamber with an alcove where a large, claw foot porcelain tub stood, filled with water that reflected the warm witch light.

    A bath.

    A hot bath.

    For a moment, the weight of everything¡ªKortana¡¯s unreadable expression, the prophecy still lingering in her bones like an omen, the looming presence of the King¡ªall of it faded beneath the sheer indulgence of the sight before her.

    Then her eyes settled on the fresh gown of deep blue that matched her cobalt eyes, trimmed with silver embroidery, that lay folded neatly on a nearby stool. Even without touching its fabric, she knew it was far finer than anything she had ever worn.

    And it reeked of magic.

    Amriel frowned at it. ¡°This seems unnecessary. Can I not have a clean tunic and pants?¡±

    ¡°You are going before the King,¡± the acolyte said evenly, unfazed by Amriel¡¯s resistance. ¡°And you arrive in the company of the Coven Leader. No. You will not be allowed to embarrasses us.¡±

 Chapter 17

    ¡°Come,¡± the acolyte said, her voice even as she gestured toward the waiting bath.

    Amriel¡¯s gaze returned to the large, claw-footed tub, its surface steaming gently, wisps of heat curling into the air like ghostly fingers reaching for the ceiling. This time it was the scent of morrow root and rosewood that hung thick in the chamber, warm and grounding.

    A bath. A hot bath.

    Warmed water was a luxury. For common folk, heating a bath required wood, and wood was a precious fuel, not to be wasted on simple comforts. All Amriel had ever known was the touch of cold water against her skin.

    But here, within the Coven, magic bent to convenience. A simple spell, a flicker of power, and the water was warmed to perfection.

    Still, she hesitated, fingers lingering at the hem of her tunic.

    The acolyte stood by, unmoving, watching but offering no impatience.

    With a slow breath, Amriel stripped off her dust-streaked tunic and trousers, feeling the cool air brush against her bare skin before she stepped into the water¡¯s waiting embrace.

    Heat swallowed her whole.

    A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it, her body instinctively melting into the warmth. The bath reached her collarbones, lapping gently at her sun kissed skin, easing the tension that had settled in her bones from that past few weeks.

    Gods.

    It felt divine.

    ¡°Let me know if you require it warmer or cooler,¡± the acolyte said, stepping away and began to prepare only what Amriel could assume was her outfit for the evening.

    Amriel let her fingers skim the water¡¯s surface, watching as tiny ripples expanded outward.

    ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± she said, voice quieter than intended.

    She wanted to relax¡ªgods, she did¡ªbut her mind refused to uncoil completely.

    Just then, something shifted in the air.

    A pulse. A ripple.

    The presence of magic moved around her. It wasn¡¯t exactly subtle, the acolyte still had work to do on refining her skills, they were course as of yet. The sponge resting on the tub¡¯s edge lifted, suspended by invisible hands, before dipping into the water and pressing against her back. Gentle, practiced strokes worked away the grime, while a second force moved through her dark hair, fingers of unseen power untangling and smoothing through the knots.

    Amriel stiffened¡ªjust for a moment¡ªthen let out a slow breath.

    She should have expected this. Of course the witches wouldn¡¯t sully their hands with something so mundane as bathing one such as herself.

    Still, the sensation of being tended to by nothing at all set her teeth on edge.

    She needed something to ground herself, to make this moment feel real.

    ¡°Where are you from, Lyanna?¡± she asked, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest.

    The acolyte, busy arranging what appeared to be layers of fine fabric on a nearby table, hesitated just for a breath before answering.

    ¡°Sa¡¯Dral,¡± she said finally.

    Amriel¡¯s fingers twitched beneath the water.

    Sa¡¯Dral.

    A coastal kingdom, small yet rich with trade and culture, lying just south of Khymarh¡ªher mother¡¯s homeland. Its people bore bronze skin, straight black hair, and almond-shaped eyes, their frames often smaller but strong, their seafaring nature making them resilient. Her mother¡¯s affinity for the forest had been at odds with her intended nature.

    She studied Lyanna for a moment¡ªthe curve of her cheekbones, the subtle golden undertone of her skin, the way her dark eyes flickered with something unreadable.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°You remind me of my mother,¡± Amriel admitted.

    Lyanna glanced up, her gaze sharp with something almost guarded, though she quickly schooled her features.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± the acolyte said briskly, her tone shifting to something firm and unwavering. ¡°Or else the spell I¡¯ve set to untangle this ungodly mess will rip your hair out instead. And we can¡¯t present you to the King bald, now can we?¡±

    Amriel huffed a quiet breath, sinking deeper into the warmth.

    ¡°Charming,¡± she muttered.

    Lyanna didn¡¯t smile, but there was something like amusement in the twitch of her mouth.

    ¡°Rest while you can,¡± she instructed, turning back to her work. ¡°You won¡¯t get another chance tonight.¡±

    Amriel wanted to argue¡ªwanted to insist that she didn¡¯t need rest, that she had survived worse than a simple audience with a King.

    But something in the weight of Lyanna¡¯s words¡ªthe quiet certainty of them¡ªmade her pause.

    So, for once, she closed her eyes.

    And she let herself be still.

    The Acolyte signalled the end of the soak when the water began to cool, and rather rapidly.

    Time¡¯s up. Amriel sighed.

    Lyanna¡¯s voice confirmed it. "It¡¯s time to dress.¡±

    Amriel opened her eyes, reluctantly surfacing from the brief moment of peace. Suspended in the air before her, a deep emerald towel hovered, waiting. She reached for it, the fabric plush and rich against her skin, a stark contrast to the rough, threadbare linens she was used to.

    She dried herself in silence, aware of Lyanna¡¯s patient presence nearby. When she was done, the acolyte handed her a robe¡ªno words, no needless gestures, just the silent efficiency of someone trained in duty above all else.

    Once she¡¯d dried off, the acolyte handed her a white robe without another word, and Amriel slipped it on, the rich fabric cool and weighty against her skin.

    ¡°Follow me,¡± Lyanna said, already moving.

    Amriel fell into step behind her, barefoot against the polished stone, passing through an arched doorway into another chamber.

    Here, the setting sun poured through tall windows, drenching the space in hues of gold and crimson, painting long shadows across the floor.

    As they entered, overhead, witch-lights flared to life, their glow emulating midday brightness, unnatural yet steady, ensuring that no task was hindered by the dying light of day.

    It was disorienting¡ªlike stepping between worlds.

    ¡°Please, sit.¡±

    Lyanna gestured toward a stool before an ornate vanity, its gilded mirror reflecting Amriel¡¯s image in stark clarity.

    She hesitated.

    Her own face stared back at her, framed by damp, dark strands of hair, her cheekbones sharp, lips pale, expression unreadable. A stranger, yet not.

    Amriel settled onto the stool.

    Behind her, Lyanna moved without wasted motion, arranging small vials and powders. A scent of pressed florals and crushed minerals filled the air¡ªcourtly luxuries.

    Magic stirred.

    Amriel stiffened as invisible fingers returned, sweeping through her long black hair, parting, smoothing, twisting. The sensation was strange¡ªnot quite human, not quite touchless¡ªa whisper of warmth trailing her scalp.

    She willed herself to stay still.

    It was one thing to let the magic wash over her skin in the bath. It was another to trust it not to sear her hair off. So she did as instructed and remained still.

    Wouldn¡¯t that be something? Facing the king bald.

    The thought nearly made her smirk.

    Heat bloomed over her head, low and steady, drying the strands as the unseen hands worked. She didn¡¯t fight it. Instead, she studied herself in the mirror, noting the small details she had inherited.

    Her features mirrored Lyanna¡¯s¡ªthrough her mothers unmistakable Sa¡¯Dral blood¡ªfrom the high cheekbones to the almond-shaped eyes. But the cobalt irises? Those were her father¡¯s.

    What would he think if he saw her now?

    For a long time, she hadn¡¯t cared to ask herself that question.

    Though he had drifted away from her after the war with the Fallen, theirs had been a close relationship. There had been a time when he would have rested a calloused hand on her shoulder and called her his little warrior.

    That time was gone. And how she missed him.

    The warmth of the spell faded. A veil of sheer black-blue fabric was draped over her freshly arranged hair, fastened in place with a silver hairpin¡ªsimple, but elegant.

    Magic stirred once more, applying a light touch of cosmetics.

    The soft stroke of a brush across her cheekbones, the delicate press of pigment onto her lips¡ªshe recognized the materials. Rouge, likely from the Amara plant, highly pigmented, reserved for noble women who could afford such indulgences.

    Her gaze flicked to the small pot of dark powder, the kohl mixture of Mhykra and charcoal that now rimmed her eyes, making her cobalt irises stand out¡ªsultry yet sharp. And then the final touch¡ªa brightening dust of finely ground Okalla leaves, giving her skin a luminous glow.

    Subtle.

    Not a mask, not an illusion.

    Just¡­ enhanced.

    Then, as abruptly as it began, the magic withdrew.

    Amriel blinked, taking in her reflection once more.

    Her features were still hers, yet elevated.

    She almost didn¡¯t recognize herself.

    A rustle behind her.

    She turned to find Lyanna standing there, holding the gown she had seen earlier¡ªcobalt and silver.

    Amriel exhaled through her nose, forcing her shoulders to relax as she stood. Together, they dressed her carefully, the fabric draping over her frame without disturbing the meticulous work of the magical hands before.

    The silk whispered against her skin, the weight settling over her like a second skin she hadn¡¯t yet grown accustomed to.

    She swallowed.

    This was it.

    A presence stirred at the doorway.

    Kortana.

    The Coven Leader entered without hesitation, her sharp gaze sweeping over Amriel in silent assessment. She was dressed in a deeper, richer version of her violet robes, the fabric so dark it nearly bled into black. A veil of the same shade covered her long silver-grey hair, framing her sharp, intelligent eyes.

    A nod. Small, but final.

    ¡°Better,¡± Kortana murmured.

    Amriel let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders beneath the unfamiliar weight of the fine robes. ¡°And now?¡±

    Kortana¡¯s lips curled into something that wasn¡¯t quite a smile.

    ¡°Now,¡± she said, voice low and knowing, ¡°we step into the lion¡¯s den.¡±

 Chapter 18

    ¡°I do not believe it beyond the stretch of imagination that you have never been to court, is that correct?¡± Kortana asked as the carriage rocked gently beneath them, wheels groaning over the uneven cobblestone streets as they made their way toward the castle.

    The soft glow of lanterns flickered within, casting shadows that swayed with each turn of the road. Outside, the night was thick with the scent of damp stone, horse sweat, and the faint, ever-present tang of the sea rolling in from the distant cliffs.

    Amriel sat stiffly across from Kortana, trying not to fidget beneath the unfamiliar weight of her new robes that also shimmered faintly in the dim light. The fabric felt heavy, rich, far too fine for her skin, which still tingled from the unaccustomed luxury of the hot bath. Even her hair, now clean and combed smooth, felt foreign to her, no longer tangled and smelling of earth and forest.

    Amriel exhaled, shifting slightly to test the range of movement the fine garments allowed her. Not much. The dress, and the corset Lyanna¡¯s magic had bound her into, were restrictive and difficult to adapt to when she was so used to her tunics and trousers.

    Apparently, the noble women of Khymarh had no need to breathe or run. This was clearly meant for presentation, not practicality let alone comfort.

    Outside, the faint hum of the city was giving way to the imposing silence of the castle¡¯s outer walls, where torches flickered against dark stone, and guards in polished steel armor stood at rigid attention. The sight of them sent an involuntary pulse of tension through Amriel¡¯s spine. She forced herself to breathe through it.

    ¡°No,¡± Amriel admitted. ¡°I You would not be wrong.¡±

    Kortana nodded. ¡°Then listen carefully.¡±

    She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping just enough to command Amriel¡¯s full attention.

    ¡°You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not ask questions unless permitted. And above all, you do not correct the King or his council, even if you know them to be wrong.¡±

    The carriage jolted slightly as they passed through the castle gates, the distinct clang of metal on metal echoing through the night.

    ¡°And what of the Queen?¡± Amriel asked.

    Kortana studied her for a long moment before answering. ¡°The Queen is not your concern.¡±

    Amriel narrowed her eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not an answer.¡±

    Kortana¡¯s expression didn¡¯t shift, but something behind her eyes hardened.

    ¡°You are here for one purpose¡ªto deliver the prophecy and nothing more. The Queen plays her own games, and I suggest you stay far from them.¡±

    The words should have put her at ease, but they didn¡¯t.

    A prickle of unease crawled down Amriel¡¯s spine as the carriage finally rolled to a stop. Outside, the faint clang of a bell rang through the castle grounds, a distant, hollow sound that sent a shiver through her bones.

    ¡°You are about to enter a room where every word is a weapon, every silence a strategy,¡± Kortana murmured, eyes gleaming as she reached for the door. ¡°So steel yourself, Amriel.¡±

    The door swung open.

    Cold air rushed in.

    The castle awaited.

    <hr>

    The castle doors loomed before them, tall and imposing, their dark wood banded with iron and etched with the ancient sigils of the ruling house of Drathex. Massive and unmoving, they bore the weight of history, of kings and queens who had stood behind them, of power that had endured wars, betrayals, and bloodshed. The witch light cast long shadows across the intricate carvings¡ªtwin eagles locked in flight, wings outstretched, talons bared¡ªan ever-present reminder of the strength and vigilance of the royal line.

    A pair of guards stepped forward from their posts, their armor gleaming. Like the doors they protected, they bore the unmistakable mark of their master. Their breastplates, polished to a mirror-like sheen, were enameled in the same crimson as the banners above, the twin eagles of the royal house embossed in silver across the chest. Heavy black cloaks draped over their shoulders, fastened at the collar with a brooch in the shape of a sword piercing through a laurel wreath¡ªan emblem that denoted their rank among the elite castle guard.

    Though their faces were concealed behind closed helms, their scrutiny was palpable. Their gazes swept over Amriel first, lingering for a fraction longer than she liked, before settling on Kortana. The way they shifted subtly, adjusting their stance just so, spoke volumes¡ªthey knew her. They respected her. And they would not dare bar her path.

    ¡°The Coven is expected,¡± one of them intoned, before stepping aside.

    Expected.

    Not welcome, exactly.

    Amriel forced her shoulders to stay relaxed, despite the scrutiny, and followed Kortana through the threshold.

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    The corridors leading to the Grand Hall of Khymarh¡¯s palace stretched long and vaulted, their arched ceilings covered in ancient murals and stone carvings. Every so often, a stone goblin or gargoyle peered down at their passage from atop the lofty pillars, their weathered faces twisted into frozen expressions of mischief or malice.

    Sconces glowing with witch light lined the walls guiding Amriel and Kortana toward the grand chamber ahead. The many silver strands embroidered throughout their gowns glinted like captured moonlight, shifting with each step.

    The sounds of music and chatter grew louder, the hum of conversation blending with the deep, resonant notes of stringed instruments. The scent of roasted meats and honeyed wine curled through the air, a sharp contrast to the cool stone halls.

    Amriel inhaled deeply, steadying herself. She could already feel the weight of the night pressing down on her¡ªtoo many unfamiliar faces, too many expectations she had not asked for.

    Kortana walked slightly ahead, her stride smooth and deliberate. But just as they reached the final turn, footsteps echoed from the adjoining hall¡ªmeasured, unhurried, yet carrying an authority that needed no announcement.

    Amriel felt it before she even saw him.

    Crown Prince Tristan of Khymarh rounded the corner, followed by a routine of courtiers and guards, and stepped into view. But it wasn¡¯t the prince, moving with the quiet authority of a man who had led soldiers into battle rather than merely studied war from the safety of gilded halls, who captured her attention.

    It was the warrior who followed just behind him. Amriel¡¯s stomach twisted.

    It was him.

    She nearly faltered mid-step, heart lurching in her chest. It took every remaining ounce of control to keep her face impassive, to resist the urge to gawk like some slack-jawed fool. But there was no mistaking him¡ªthis was the man who had collapsed on her floor, two enchanted arrows buried in his flesh.

    He was cleaner now, dressed in the chainmail and dark boiled leather armor she had cut from him. Evidently, he¡¯d been able to get it repaired. The hood of his dark cloak lay folded back, revealing his bronze features and sharp emerald eyes that cut through the dim corridor like a blade. He swept a casual glance over the room, assessing, always watching.

    When he finally looked at her, something cold and unreadable passed behind his gaze.

    If he remembered her, he gave no sign of it.

    Prince Tristan, unaware of her spiraling thoughts, slowed to a stop before them. His gaze swept over Kortana first, a flicker of amusement passing through his sharp hazel eyes.

    ¡°Lady Kortana,¡± he greeted smoothly, dipping his head in acknowledgment. ¡°I should have guessed you¡¯d arrive just before the last bell. You were never one for idleness.¡±

    Kortana returned his nod, the sheer veil over her silver-grey hair shifting slightly with the motion. ¡°Your Highness,¡± she said evenly. ¡°Time spent in leisure is often time wasted.¡±

    Tristan huffed a quiet chuckle. ¡°And yet you walk into a grand feast. A den of leisure, if ever there was one.¡±

    Tristan was built like a man who had spent more time in armor than silk¡ªbroad-shouldered, his frame lean but strong, the movements of his body honed by years on the battlefield. He dressed with the understated confidence of a man who did not need finery to command respect. A high-collared tunic of deep charcoal, fastened with silver clasps, was fitted beneath a leather vest embossed with the sigil of his house. His sword belt sat comfortably on his hip, worn and well-used, an ever-present reminder that he was not just a prince but a warrior first.

    His face bore the marks of experience¡ªsharp angles softened only slightly by time, a strong jawline, and a faint scar that traced from his temple to just beneath his jaw. Keen eyes, a shade of golden-hazel, were the most striking thing about him. They held an unwavering sharpness, the kind that missed nothing, weighed everything, and made a man think twice before speaking in his presence. Yet, when amused, those same eyes carried a glint of dry humor, an easy charm that could put even the most guarded at ease¡ªif he wished it.

    His dark hair, streaked subtly with the first signs of silver, was kept short, more out of practicality than vanity. A well-trimmed beard framed his face, doing little to soften the unmistakable authority he carried with him.

    Most might find him intimidating, but not the Coven Leader.

    ¡°I walk into a court,¡± Kortana corrected. ¡°A different beast entirely.¡±

    The corner of Tristan¡¯s mouth twitched¡ªnot quite a smile, but something close. There was an ease between them, one that did not come from duty alone. A familiarity, carefully tucked beneath layers of propriety.

    Then his gaze landed on Amriel.

    His gaze was not lecherous, not laden with the veiled intrigue so common among court men. Instead, it was sharp. Assessing. Like he was reading the spaces between her words before she even spoke them.

    And then¡ª

    ¡°Nythia¡¯s daughter,¡± Kortana announced smoothly, gesturing to her.

    Amriel blinked.

    Not quite the introduction she had expected.

    At the mention of her mother¡¯s name, the warrior behind Tristan turned fully toward her. His expression betrayed nothing, but those piercing emerald eyes¡ª

    Amriel had felt many eyes upon her that evening, but none quite like his.

    A small shiver worked its way down her spine.

    ¡°Nythia¡¯s daughter,¡± Tristan mused, his voice thoughtful.

    A pause.

    A flicker of something¡ªcalculation, recognition¡ªpassed through his golden-hazel gaze, but it was gone before Amriel could place it.

    She hated the way her pulse kicked up, how the weight of his attention made her feel exposed.

    ¡°It¡¯s Amriel, my lord,¡± she blurted, nerves betraying her.

    A beat of silence.

    ¡°You¡¯re Grace,¡± the warrior corrected, his voice even but firm.

    Heat crawled up Amriel¡¯s neck.

    Tristan, thankfully, seemed more amused than offended. ¡°And here I thought I¡¯d met every notable soul in my brother¡¯s kingdom,¡± he said, his tone edged with wry humor. ¡°It appears I was mistaken.¡±

    Amriel lifted her chin, willing her voice steady. ¡°I¡¯ve never been one for court, Your Highness. I prefer to remain unnoticed.¡±

    His lips twitched, the barest ghost of a smirk. ¡°And yet here you are. Noticed.¡±

    Her gaze flickered back to the warrior behind him, but his attention had already returned to scanning the hall, as if their brief exchange had meant nothing at all.

    She had no retort for Tristan¡¯s words¡ªnone that wouldn¡¯t sound defensive.

    Thankfully, the Coven Leader came to her rescue, ¡°She is under my protection,¡± Kortana interjected, her tone firm, though not unkind.

    Tristan inclined his head. ¡°Then she must be worth protecting.¡±

    Kortana¡¯s patience thinned. ¡°We should not keep the court waiting.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tristan smiled and extended an arm towards the Coven Leader, who took it gracefully.

    But just as Amriel moved forward, he spoke again.

    ¡°Try not to look so grim, Lady Amriel. It¡¯s a birthday, not a battle.¡±

    Amriel glanced up at him, catching the glint of playfulness in his golden-hazel gaze.

    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± she muttered.

    Tristan let out a quiet laugh, warm and unguarded.

    Then, without another word, he strode ahead toward the grand doors, where the celebration¡ªand whatever awaited her inside¡ªwas about to begin.

 Chapter 19

    The Grand Hall was a chamber designed not just to host celebrations but to remind all who entered of the weight and power of the crown that reigned over it.

    The chamber stretched nearly the full length of the central keep, vast and cathedral-like, its high, vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow despite the glow of countless chandeliers. Suspended by thick iron chains, the golden fixtures bathed the hall in flickering light, the enchanted flames of witch-lights glimmering across the cavernous space like stars caught in a restless sky.

    Along the hall¡¯s length, massive pillars stood as silent sentinels, their surfaces carved with the tales of kings long dead. Amriel¡¯s gaze skimmed over the engravings as they passed.

    The rise and fall of dynasties, battles waged in blood and steel, divine favor bestowed upon the worthy¡ªall of it etched into cold stone, meant to endure beyond the flesh of the men who once lived it.

    The air carried a thick blend of roasted meats, spiced wines and heady perfumes. Scents of Marr, Veros and Tyr mingled with chestnut stuff duck, herb basted chicken and peppercorn crusted beef.

    Servants in black-and-gold livery moved seamlessly through the throng, bearing silver trays piled high with glazed pheasant and honeyed figs, goblets brimming with deep red wine.

    The hall was alive with conversation, the air thick with the murmured dealings of nobles who wielded whispers as deftly as warriors wielded blades., punctuated every so often by laughter. Above it all, the court musicians played from their gallery, their instruments weaving a melody Amriel vaguely recalled.

    At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, the head table sat empty beneath an opulent canopy of black velvet embroidered with gold thread. The absence of the King and Queen was noticeable, but no one questioned it.

    Power moved as it pleased.

    Ahead of her, Kortana walked arm in arm with Crown Prince Tristan of Khymarh, their approach a deliberate, measured thing. If she hadn¡¯t known better, Amriel might have thought them a pair perfectly matched in ambition and elegance.

    Kortana, ever poised, seemed at home among this world of nobility and wealth, though everyone knew she had been born a merchant¡¯s daughter. She carried herself with the assurance of a woman who had long since decided her place in the world¡ªand dared anyone to challenge it.

    The Prince held his own next to the Coven Leader. Outfitted in his ceremonial military garb, Tristan moved like a man who had commanded armies, yet spoke the language of rulers with ease. There was no need for pomp or extravagance¡ªhis presence alone made people pause, take notice.

    A hush fell over the nearby crowd as the Prince and Coven Leader descended into the thick of the gathering crowd. A few nobles merely glanced their way before turning back to their conversations, but many others lingered. Their shining eyes assessing the pair.

    Amriel did not need to hear their whispers to know what was being said. Were they allies? Lovers? Speculation would fill the corridors by morning, new rumors spun with the ease of silk unwinding from a spool.

    They wear their masks well, Amriel thought, catching the glint of appraisal in more than a few pairs of eyes.

    And then¡ªsome of those eyes shifted to her.

    She felt them, one after another, subtle but pointed. Some curious. Some scrutinizing. Some outright dismissive.

    Amriel was used to being overlooked, used to slipping past attention rather than drawing it. But here, in the grandest hall of Khymarh, flanked by figures who demanded notice, she was something new.

    They¡¯re trying to place me.

    A stranger. A puzzle.

    She was clearly no witch, so why was she in the company of the Coven Leader? Her gown, though well-made, was not of the highest fashion. She bore no great house sigil, no jewels save the simple pendant at her throat. To those who thrived in the delicate warfare of court, her presence was a question that begged an answer.

    She resisted the urge to shift under their scrutiny, instead keeping her expression neutral. If she had learned anything, it was that revealing discomfort in a place like this was like bleeding in the water.

    Beside her, the warrior moved in near silence, his presence a quiet but steady force at her side.

    He was close enough that she could feel the faint brush of his cloak against her arm, the warmth of him a stark contrast to the coolness of the stone around them.

    Amriel exhaled through her nose.

    Well, at least he¡¯s alive and well.

    Did he really not remember her? Or was he simply choosing to pretend?

    Two weeks had passed since she had pulled arrows from his body, since she had sat beside him as his fever burned through him. And now here he was¡ªwhole, armored, silent. Not a single glance, not a flicker of recognition from him.

    You¡¯re welcome, she thought dryly as they neared the dais.

    She kept her head forward, her shoulders squared and her steps measured. She had endured worse than the scrutiny of courtiers. Yet, as they moved through the shifting bodies, the suffocating weight of the hall pressed in around her.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    A voice, low and edged with quiet amusement, broke through her thoughts.

    ¡°You look like you¡¯d rather be anywhere but here.¡±

    The warrior.

    He didn¡¯t quite turn his head, his attention seemingly fixed on the shifting sea of nobles ahead. But the words were meant for her.

    For a brief moment, she considered not answering, swallowing the tension knotted in her chest. But something in his voice¡ªcalm, unbothered¡ªmade it easier to respond.

    ¡°I would,¡± she admitted, her tone wry.

    His lips curved, just slightly. A trace of something¡ªnot quite a smile, not quite indifference.

    ¡°That makes two of us.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know what to say to that. So she said nothing. Instead, she focused on the rhythmic movement of bodies as the procession continued, her presence nothing more than a shadow trailing behind the Coven Leader.

    As Kortana and the Prince were welcome to the first table on the floor below the dais at the head of the hall, Amriel found herself herded off to the side. Her place, evidently, was seated hidden in the archways with the rest of the acolytes and servants.

    She sank into a seat beneath one of the archways, hidden in the half-light where the grand chandeliers didn¡¯t quite reach. An observer.

    To her left, a young witch in deep mauve sat poised, dark hair woven into intricate braids. Second rank, close to ascension. Soon, she would claim the title of Master, the highest rank beneath the Coven Leader.

    The witch made an attempt at conversation¡ªpolite, fleeting¡ªuntil realization struck. Common blood.

    And just like that, the space between them grew.

    Not that it bothered her, Amriel was used to it.

    The acolyte seated on Amriel¡¯s right remained utterly silent. His robes bore the insignia of the Head Archivist, and though she wanted desperately to ask about Mara, the air around him was cold, impassable.

    So she let the silence settle.

    Nearby, the warrior stood¡ªwatchful, still.

    Curiosity tugged at her, a quiet, insistent pull.

    She risked a glance. Brief. Fleeting.

    The warrior stood like a statue¡ªtall, unmoving, watchful. The sharp cut of his jaw, the quiet storm lingering in his emerald eyes, calm yet calculating. Even in stillness, he carried the presence of a man ready to move at a moment¡¯s notice, his attention flickering over the room in measured sweeps.

    He wasn¡¯t dressed like the noble guards that dotted the hall, their ceremonial armor more decorative than functional. No, his gear bore the wear of true use, reinforced for war rather than display. Dark leather layered over steel, the edges worn smooth by time and battle. A warrior, not a pawn of court.

    And yet, he was here. Why?

    She forced herself to look away before he could catch her staring. It didn¡¯t matter. He didn¡¯t matter.

    A sharp note rang through the hall¡ªthe final, drawn-out chord of the musicians. The sound lingered for half a breath before plunging the room into silence.

    Then¡ªmovement.

    The King had arrived.

    The courtiers turned as one, backs straightening, hands smoothing silks and velvets. A hush spread like a ripple over still water, the arrival of the King, Queen, and Princess Irina drew every gaze in the room.

    The air shifted, heavy with expectation. Even the chandeliers seemed to burn brighter, casting gold across the marble floors.

    Through the grand arched doors, he stepped forward.

    Amriel tilted her chin, craning her neck slightly to see the royal family as they ascended the dais.

    Dressed in black robes edged with gold, the King moved with the confidence of a man who had never been questioned. A crown of polished obsidian gleamed atop his silver-streaked hair, and in the dim light, it almost looked as if shadows clung to its edges.

    At his side, the Queen glided with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly, her deep purple gown catching the glow of the witch lights above.

    The Queen was a Witch.

    A truth known to all. It was whispered about in the same breath as her beauty, her wisdom, and¡ªmore recently¡ªthe inheritance of her gifts by the princess who walked at her side.

    Princess Irina was radiant, a vision of youth and power yet to be fully realized. Her gown was a softer shade than her mother¡¯s, violet edged in silver, the fabric shifting like liquid as she moved. The glow of witch light caught in the delicate jewels woven through her dark hair, making her look almost ethereal.

    A princess coming into her power. A kingdom waiting to see what kind of woman she would become.

    She would never inherit her father¡¯s throne. But she was expected one day to serve as counsellor to her father¡¯s heir.

    Amriel¡¯s stomach twisted. She knew what it was to have expectations pressed upon you, to carry a legacy you never asked for. She watched as Irina took her place between her parents, her expression poised, though Amriel could not tell if the quiet tension in her shoulders was nerves or simple restraint.

    From her other side, the warrior remained silent, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp.

    A deep, resonant voice broke the quiet.

    ¡°Honored guests, loyal kin, and devoted subjects of Khymarh,¡± the King began, his tone carrying easily through the vast hall. ¡°Tonight, we gather not only to celebrate, but to bear witness.¡±

    Murmurs rippled through the crowd as goblets were raised, but the King lifted a hand, and silence fell once more.

    ¡°For sixteen years, my daughter has been raised beneath the watchful eyes of this court, a child of both her mother¡¯s wisdom and my own rule. She has been taught in diplomacy, in the histories of our kingdom, and in the weight of her duty. But now, another path opens before her. A path written in her very blood.¡±

    The Queen¡¯s fingers rested lightly on Irina¡¯s arm, a gesture both comforting and affirming. The princess lifted her chin.

    ¡°As she steps forward into her inheritance, she will no longer walk as a child of this court, but as a student of a greater power,¡± the King continued. ¡°And in this, she shall be guided by one who has stood at my side in both war and peace, who has long been the keeper of knowledge and the blade in the dark when the realm has needed it.¡±

    The hall turned as one to Kortana.

    Amriel felt the shift, the silent acknowledgment of the woman beside her. Kortana did not bow¡ªshe never did¡ªbut she inclined her head, accepting the King¡¯s words with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew their place in this world.

    ¡°Coven Leader Kortana,¡± the King addressed her directly now. ¡°It is to you that I entrust my daughter¡¯s training. As you once honed your own gifts, you will shape hers. As you once served this kingdom in times of war, you will prepare her to do the same¡ªshould the gods demand it.¡±

    A pause, weighted and deliberate.

    ¡°We do not know yet what fate has planned for her. But what we do know is that she carries the strength of her ancestors. That she is not only my daughter, but my heir. And she must be ready for what is to come.¡±

    Another murmur passed through the hall. Amriel heard it in the shifting bodies, in the flicker of watchful gazes.

    The King lifted his goblet.

    ¡°To Princess Irina. To the path ahead.¡±

    A chorus of voices echoed back, goblets raised, the words carrying through the great hall like the first gust of a gathering storm.

 Chapter 20

    The remnants of the feast were being cleared away. Servants in their black and gold uniforms, made hardly a sound as they came and went, hurriedly removing the empty plates and refilling the empty goblets.

    The long tables were pushed back against the walls or carried away entirely, clearing the vast floor for dancing. Musicians were already changing up the melodies, the first chords of a lively dancing song drifting through the Grand Hall, setting the mood for the evening¡¯s second act.

    Amriel barely noticed.

    She stood with her back against the wall, her table having already been cleared and removed. Her stomach twisted as she waited in silence, her mind circling the same thought over and over.

    She was about to be presented before the King.

    To tell him about the tome.

    The weight of it settled like a stone in her chest. The best possible outcome? He listened. He believed her. The worst? He dismissed her outright. Or worse still¡ªsaw her as a liar, a fraud, or simply mad.

    A muscle in Amriel¡¯s jaw tightened. And what happens to those deemed mad by the House of Drathex?

    The Dreadfort.

    The name alone was enough to send a chill through her.

    She had only ever seen it from a distance¡ªan unyielding tower of black stone that loomed over the cliffs beyond the capital, its silhouette sharp against the sky. It was a place meant to be looked at, feared, and never entered.

    King Drayus Drathex, six centuries dead, had ordered its construction as a prison for the kingdom¡¯s most vile and deranged. But Amriel knew the truth. The Dreadfort did not simply hold criminals. It swallowed them.

    Enchantment ran through its very foundation, woven so deep into the stone that no magic¡ªno matter how powerful¡ªcould be wielded within its walls. No spells. No escape. No mercy. Beneath the surface, deeper than anyone dared to measure, lay the cells that held the most broken, the most forsaken. Those who vanished into the depths were never seen again.

    Some whispered that the day the Dreadfort was completed was the day the witches of Khymarh betrayed their own.

    Amriel had never wanted to believe that.

    But belief did little to quiet the uneasy shiver crawling up her spine.

    Gods, don¡¯t be ridiculous. Kortana wouldn¡¯t let that happen. Would she?

    The thought dug its claws in, gnawing at the edges of her certainty.

    The thought gnawed at her as the King rose from his seat, giving a brief farewell to the hall before he turned, departing through the grand archway that led to the chambers beyond. His royal guard moved in formation around him, their silver-cloaked figures disappearing into the shadows.

    Amriel barely had time to react before Kortana stood, rising with the quiet confidence of someone who had expected this moment long before it arrived. The Crown Prince followed suit, his expression unreadable.

    She caught a flicker of movement¡ªhim. The warrior. He was already striding after the prince. He did not look back.

    Amriel swallowed and a cold weight settled in her stomach. This is happening.

    At Kortana¡¯s slight nod, Amriel fell in step behind the Coven Leader, keeping her spine straight despite the pulse hammering in her throat. The sounds of celebration behind her grew distant, muffled.

    They passed through the archway, leaving behind the golden glow of the Grand Hall. The corridor beyond was dimmer, the light coming only from a series of sconces lining the stone walls. Their witch flames glowed with an unnatural stillness¡ªthey never guttered, never waned. It made the air feel... lifeless. As if even the walls themselves were listening.

    The revelry of the feast faded behind them, replaced by the hush of stone and shadow.

    Amriel¡¯s fingers curled at her sides.

    She stole a glance at Kortana, who strode ahead with that same measured grace, offering no words, no reassurance.

    Maybe this would be fine. Maybe the King would hear her out.

    Or maybe she was walking straight into the hands of a man who would see her silence as the best course of action.

    Her throat tightened.

    Too late to turn back now.

    They entered the chamber.

    The shift in atmosphere was immediate. This was not the gilded splendor of the Grand Hall, with its towering chandeliers and heavy tapestries woven with the histories of the realm. No. This room had no distractions, no opulence to soften its edges. It was meant for decisions, for war, for shaping the fate of nations.

    A single, vast table dominated the space, its dark wood polished to a dull sheen. Amriel''s breath caught as she stepped closer.

    A map.

    Not just of Khymarh, but of the entire known world.

    Etched across the table¡¯s surface were the jagged coastlines of distant lands, the sprawl of empires and kingdoms, marked with sigils she only half-recognized. Tiny wooden markers stood in precise formations¡ªfleets at sea, armies stationed at borders, fortifications carved into the terrain. Pieces on a board, waiting to be moved.

    The King stood beside it, one hand resting lightly against its edge. He was tall, his presence sharp as a drawn blade, eyes unreadable beneath his heavy crown.

    ¡°Well now, Coven Leader,¡± he said, his voice measured, almost idle. ¡°Was there something you wished to tell me about?¡±

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    Amriel forced herself to stay still as Kortana stepped forward.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± the Coven Leader said smoothly, ¡°may I introduce Amriel Vardon.¡±

    The King¡¯s gaze flicked to her, assessing, waiting. Then¡ª

    ¡°Nythia¡¯s daughter,¡± the Crown Prince said. His voice was softer than his father¡¯s, but there was something behind it¡ªcuriosity, maybe. Amusement. A test. He gestured for her to step forward.

    Behind him, the warrior lingered in the shadows, watching. His emerald eyes flickered over her, unreadable.

    Amriel¡¯s slippers made no sound against the stone floor as she moved closer. The map stretched before her, impossibly detailed, impossibly vast. For a heartbeat, she forgot where she was, drawn to the sheer scale of it. How many wars have been planned at this table? How many lives shifted like these wooden pieces?

    Then she felt it¡ªthe weight of the King¡¯s gaze pressing down on her.

    ¡°Nythia¡¯s daughter,¡± he repeated, quieter now, as if tasting the words, testing their shape on his tongue. His face, once carved from stone, softened¡ªnot into warmth, not quite grief, but something in between. A hesitation. A memory.

    They knew my mother.

    The realization settled deep, cold in her ribs, as if she had swallowed river stones. No one had prepared her for this.

    Beside her, Kortana remained unmoving.

    Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

    "You knew her." The words came quiet, steady, though her throat felt tight. It wasn¡¯t a question.

    The King studied her for a moment longer before his gaze flickered to the Prince. His expression remained unreadable, save for a flicker¡ªsomething behind those gold-hazel eyes.

    Finally, the King inclined his head. ¡°I did.¡± His voice carried weight, as if those two words held an entire history within them.

    Amriel¡¯s breath caught, but she didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t let herself fidget under his scrutiny. The chamber, vast and austere, seemed smaller now, the witch light casting long, flickering shadows across the polished stone floor.

    A shift to her right¡ªsubtle, deliberate. Kortana.

    "Amriel," the Coven Leader said, her voice measured, expectant. "Tell the King what you told me."

    Amriel¡¯s stomach clenched. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thick with the weight of expectation. She shifted her weight, hands curling into fists at her sides. Her gaze flickered from Kortana to the King.

    He did not move at first, only watched her. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his fingers against the edge of the great map table. It was a small movement, but unmistakable. Interest.

    "Go on," he said.

    Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. Say it.

    ¡°I can read the ancient tome of Lygeness.¡±

    The chamber stilled.

    The silence pressed in, thick enough that Amriel could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

    The King did not react immediately. He studied her, his expression unreadable, his eyes sharp¡ªsearching. Not for meaning, but for deception. As if waiting for the illusion to crack, for her words to crumble beneath scrutiny.

    "Impossible," he said at last.

    Amriel forced herself to hold his gaze. ¡°It is not.¡±

    From the corner of her vision, she saw the warrior straighten, his shoulders tensing, his attention sharpening like the edge of a drawn blade. Even Kortana, so practiced in masking her thoughts, tilted her head slightly, watching.

    The King exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound, measured¡ªnot quite disbelief, but nowhere near acceptance. ¡°The tome has been unreadable for centuries,¡± he said. ¡°Even the most skilled scholars and mages have failed to decipher its script.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Amriel said. Her fingers ached from how tightly she had curled them at her sides. She forced them to unclench, to remain steady. ¡°But I can read it. The letters, the language¡ªthey make sense. Now.¡±

    A flicker of something crossed the King¡¯s face. Not yet belief, but curiosity. Wariness. He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping once against the armrest of his throne.

    "And what," he asked, his voice steady but edged, "does it say?"

    Amriel hesitated.

    Say it. Say it now, before you lose your nerve.

    She met his gaze, squared her shoulders.

    The words came unbidden, tumbling from her lips as if they had been waiting to be spoken:

    "When silver fire rains from the heavens and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn,

    When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence.

    When the last of the Starlight Witches falls¡ª

    The door to Eternity shall open.

    And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge¡ª

    Those who have kept endless vigil.

    Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave them anew.

    Beware, for not all who enter shall return,

    And those who do may never be the same."

    The silence that followed was absolute.

    The King¡¯s fingers, which had been resting against the edge of the map table, stilled.

    Tristan, standing beside his brother, was less guarded now, his golden-hazel gaze trained on her with quiet scrutiny. He did not interrupt. Neither did Kortana.

    Amriel swallowed hard, forcing herself to stand taller. Don¡¯t waver. Not now.

    ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± the king asked at last, his voice even, measured.

    ¡°Yes.¡± She forced steel into the word.

    A muscle in the king¡¯s jaw tightened, just slightly. The light from the enchanted sconces cast shifting shadows across his face, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes.

    The king studied her, the weight of his gaze heavier than before. ¡°And why you?¡±

    She hesitated for only a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    The truth of it made her stomach knot, but she had no reason to lie. She did not understand why she alone could read the tome. Why the words had been sealed to others but laid bare before her.

    ¡°Curious,¡± Tristan murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

    Amriel glanced at him. Then her eyes drifted to the warrior standing behind the Crown Prince, his expression remaining unreadable.

    The king exhaled sharply through his nose, as if tasting the weight of her claim on his tongue and finding it bitter. His hands curled into loose fists at his sides before he shook his head once.

    ¡°This is not a matter to be taken lightly,¡± he said, his voice quiet but laced with something colder now. ¡°Do you understand what you claim to hold?¡±

    A shiver ran through her spine.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°I do.¡±

    A beat passed.

    Then, a voice¡ªcool, controlled.

    ¡°She is Nythia¡¯s daughter.¡±

    Kortana.

    The words cut through the chamber like a blade, sharp and undeniable.

    For the first time, the king¡¯s composure cracked.

    It was brief¡ªno more than the tightening of his mouth, the flicker of something almost like grief flashing across his features before it was swiftly buried.

    Amriel¡¯s breath hitched.

    What was my mother to him?

    The king looked away, his eyes flickering to the candlelit map spread across the table. His fingers skimmed over one of the iron markers, a habit, perhaps, of grounding himself in something tangible.

    ¡°If she were here¡­¡± He did not finish the thought. Instead the King stood, and without another word, walked from the chamber.

    Silence.

    Amriel exhaled slowly.

    She had done it.

    And now¡­

    Now, there was no turning back.