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. The chamber resonated with strong preservation and protection magic. Dust motes danced lazily across beams of morning light that filtered through narrow stained-glass windows, casting prismatic patterns across the stone floor.

    Amriel Vardon stood before the tome, her fingertips pressed against her palms so hard they left crescent-shaped indentations in her skin. She hadn''t moved in nearly twenty minutes.

    Her cobalt eyes traced the curling patterns of symbols inked in an impossibly steady hand¡ªsymbols that had mocked scholars and witches alike for five millennia.

    Her heartbeat roared in her ears like the spring rapids of the Tendracil River.

    Holy shit.

    She understood it.

    The realization sent a shudder rippling through her, tightening her chest until it felt like her very bones might crack beneath the pressure. This wasn¡¯t possible. No one could read this.

    No one.

    She glanced toward the small brass plaque mounted in front of the display case, its edges worn smooth by generations of reverent touches:

    THE TOME OF LYGENESS Dated to the Early Twilight Era. Origin Unknown.

    Archivists estimated the tome as over 5000 years old, written in a language so old no one could remember those who spoke it. Entire lifetimes had been spent attempting to unravel even a single passage, with nothing to show for it but frustration and failure. It had been studied by the finest minds of Khymarh and beyond, dissected by the sharpest scholars of the Lyceum, and examined by the most powerful witches.

    All of them had tried.

    All of them had failed.

    The scholarly journals in the main library contained no fewer than six hundred and twenty-eight theses dedicated to theories about the tome''s origins. Amriel had read seventeen of them during her first year, fascinated by its mystery. None had come close to deciphering it.

    And yet, as she stood there, the symbols whispered their meaning into her mind as effortlessly as if she were reading a nursery rhyme.

    Amriel''s fingers hovered just above the enchanted glass casing, trembling with the need to touch the inked script¡ªto feel its texture, to prove it was real. The protection ward hummed softly as she drew closer, a barely perceptible vibration that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. It was a warning.

    Her breath hitched.

    When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the Door to Eternity shall open.

    Her lips parted, shaping the words soundlessly, the ancient syllables feeling both foreign and familiar on her tongue. The last of the Starlight Witches? The Door to Eternity? The meanings were clear, yet somehow just beyond her grasp¡ªlike trying to hold water.

    The syllables settled into her bones like jagged glass, sending spiderweb fractures of awareness through her consciousness.

    Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing the tremor in her hands to still. She forced herself to focus, to breathe. But the symbols only sharpened beneath her gaze, their meaning unfurling with the inevitability of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

    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.

    She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to read on, unable to look away even as her instincts screamed to flee.

    And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge¡ªthose who have kept endless vigil.

    Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave them anew.

    Amriel¡¯s stomach twisted, her pulse hammering in her throat.

    Beware, for not all who enter shall return.

    And those who do may never be the same.

    A violent shiver tore through her as she broke out in a cold sweat.

    The meaning of the text wrapped around her like a noose, tightening with every breath she took.

    This wasn¡¯t just a prophecy¡ªit was a warning.

    Five thousand years unreadable. And now, as easily as breathing, I understand it?

    She swallowed hard, pushing back the rising tide of unease. She needed answers¡ªneeded to find someone who could make sense of this, who could tell her why a book that had remained a mystery for centuries had suddenly decided that she was worthy of its secrets.

    Or worse¡ªwhy it had been waiting for her.

    The world had tilted, and Amriel knew with sudden, terrifying clarity that it would never right itself again.

    The blood rushed inside her head until her pulse was all she could hear. She took a step back, her heel catching on the uneven flagstone that master archivists claimed had been laid by Lygeness himself.

    Then she collided with something solid. Warm. Alive.

    A sharp gasp escaped her as strong hands gripped her shoulders, firm but careful, keeping her upright. The touch sent a jolt through her system, as if her body had forgotten that the world contained anything but ancient words and dire warnings.

    ¡°Whoa there, Reil,¡± a familiar voice drawled, warm with amusement.

    A fresh surge of heat raced up her neck as she turned and found herself looking up into the warm, dark brown eyes of Nikola Vrasic.

    Damn it.

    Of all people, it had to be him. The only person in the entire Lyceum who could make her forget herself entirely.

    His grin¡ªthe same one that had earned him far too many admirers among the students of the Lyceum¡ªcurved at the corner of his mouth as his hands lingered just a second longer than necessary before releasing her.

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    ¡°You alright?¡± he asked, cocking his head slightly. His voice held its usual teasing lilt, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. ¡°You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost. Or worse.¡±

    Then, with that infuriating grin of his, he added, "Don''t tell me you fell asleep in the library again and drooled all over the books. Archivist Thorne nearly had an apoplexy last time."

    Amriel blinked, still reeling, her thoughts a tangled mess of ancient prophecies, cryptic warnings, and the fact that Nikola was still standing far too close. The familiar scent of pine resin and leather clung to him.

    Say something normal, she begged herself. Act like you haven''t just discovered a five-thousand-year-old prophecy that might herald the end of everything.

    "I¡ªno, I didn''t drool," she managed weakly, cringing internally at how pathetic it sounded.

    Nikola''s brow arched, and she instantly regretted her choice of words. The tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened.

    He smirked mischievously, "That," he mused, studying her with altogether too much perception, "sounds exactly like something a person who definitely drooled would say."

    She folded her arms across her chest. ¡°For your information, Vrasic,¡± she huffed, summoning every ounce of composure she could manage, ¡°I was not napping. I was studying.¡±

    ¡°Studying?¡± he echoed, his gray eyes dancing with mischief. He leaned in slightly, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°Is that what we¡¯re calling daydreaming with your mouth open these days?¡±

    Amriel¡¯s breath hitched¡ªbarely, but enough that she wanted to kick herself. He was too close. The faint scent of pine and leather clung to him, grounding, familiar¡ªdamn it, distracting.

    You¡¯re supposed to be smarter than this, Riel. But her body was betraying her, heat creeping up her neck for an entirely different reason.

    She opened her mouth to retort¡ªto wipe that smug look off his face¡ªbut before she could, salvation arrived in the form of Niamh Liandris.

    ¡°Riel!¡±

    Amriel had never been so relieved to hear her best friend¡¯s voice.

    The elegantly arched doorway framed Niamh as she strode in, golden sunlight spilling behind her, catching in the gleaming red bun she had twisted atop her head.

    Her sharp pale green eyes flicked between Amriel and Nikola, a knowing smirk curving her lips.

    ¡°Morning, Nikola,¡± she greeted smoothly, barely hiding her amusement. ¡°Interrupting something?¡±

    Nikola straightened, stepping back just enough to give Amriel room to breathe.

    ¡°Nothing but academic brilliance,¡± he quipped, flashing that damnable grin one last time before turning toward the Grand Hall. ¡°See you inside.¡±

    Amriel exhaled sharply, watching him go.

    Damn him.

    Niamh¡¯s smirk deepened as she crossed her arms.

    "You''re blushing," she observed, not bothering to hide her delight.

    Amriel groaned.

    She was never going to hear the end of this.

    Niamh waited until Nikola¡¯s footsteps had fully faded before crossing her arms and tilting her head at Amriel.

    "You didn¡¯t drool?¡± she echoed, her voice brimming with disbelief. ¡°That was the best you could come up with? Seriously?¡±

    Amriel groaned, dragging a hand down her face, which still felt too warm. ¡°Don¡¯t. Just¡­ don¡¯t.¡±

    Niamh flashed a mischievous grin, ¡°You¡¯re lucky we¡¯re late for class,¡± She said.

    Amriel shot her a halfhearted glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself.

    "You¡¯re insufferable, you know that?¡±

    "Obviously," Niamh grinned, but then something in her expression shifted. The teasing edge softened, replaced by subtle concern as she took a closer look at Amriel.

    Her smile faded.

    "Hey," she said more gently, "what''s wrong? You look like you just walked out of a nightmare."

    Amriel opened her mouth to brush it off, but her throat was dry. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she croaked, and even she didn¡¯t believe it.

    Niamh¡¯s sharp gaze flicked toward the Tome, still resting beneath its protective crystal casing. She made a dismissive wave toward it. ¡°Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯ve been staring at that thing too long again.¡± She wrinkled her nose. ¡°I told you, obsessing over creepy old mysteries will rot your brain.¡±

    Amriel swallowed hard, but the runes still burned in her mind, their warnings hammering against the inside of her skull. The weight of it pressed on her ribs.

    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.¡±

    Amriel wanted to¡ªneeded to¡ªbut how did you put into words something that shouldn''t be possible?

    How did she tell her best friend that she had understood a language no living person could read? That the Tome had whispered its ancient warnings to her and her alone?

    Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

    Niamh studied her for a second, then let out a resigned sigh. "Alright, fine. Think about it and tell me later.¡± She looped her arm through Amriel¡¯s. ¡°But we need to get a move on here. Or we¡¯re going to be late. Again.¡±

    Amriel nodded stiffly, her feet moving on instinct as they strode down the long stone hallway. The warm glow of the torches flickered along the polished walls, illuminating towering stained glass windows depicting ancient battles and celestial constellations.

    She tried to focus on the familiar¡ªthe rhythmic clack of their boots against the floor, the distant murmur of scholars in debate, the faint hum of protective wards woven into the tower¡¯s foundation. But her mind kept spinning, tangled in the prophecy¡¯s warning.

    By the time they turned the final corner, the familiar buzz of the tiered lecture hall washed over them. The circular room smelled of parchment, ink, and faint traces of burnt sage from earlier spellwork. Rising rows of desks curved in a half-moon around a stone dais where the instructor stood. Carved runes inlaid in the floor pulsed faintly beneath their feet¡ªa centuries-old enchantment used to amplify magic within the chamber.

    Master Fenris stood at the center of it all, broad-shouldered and severe, his presence filling the space like a storm on the horizon. His steel-gray eyes swept over the room, landing on them instantly.

    The murmurs of conversation faded to silence.

    "Acolyte Vardon. Acolyte Liandris." His voice boomed, clipped and sharp. "Late. Again."

    Amriel forced herself to stand straighter, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks.

    Beside her, Niamh leaned in and whispered, "At least it¡¯s not the worst trouble we¡¯ve been in."

    Amriel swallowed hard, but her mind wasn''t on the reprimand.

    Because the runes were still whispering in her skull.

    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, heads bowed, quickly weaving through the rows of students.

    They slid into their usual seats mid-tier, nestled between the ambitious overachievers at the front and the indifferent slackers at the back. Niamh immediately sprawled comfortably across her chair.

    Amriel, on the other hand, fumbled with her satchel, her hands still trembling slightly as she retrieved her materials.

    Niamh noticed. Of course she did.

    ¡°Relax,¡± she whispered, leaning just close enough that only Amriel could hear. ¡°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 tight smile, but her mind was still far from the classroom.

    ¡°Today,¡± Fenris began, his voice deep, measured, and absolute, ¡°we continue our discussion on elemental resonance and its practical applications.¡±

    A pause.

    ¡°For those of you who think you already know everything,¡± his gaze flickered to a student in the front row who immediately sat straighter, ¡°I assure you¡ªthis is far more complex than setting your lab partner on fire.¡±

    A ripple of amusement moved through the class.

    Amriel barely heard it.

    The words from the Tome thrummed beneath her skin like a pulse.

    Amriel could not count the times she¡¯d glanced at the tome in passing. Always, it had peered back at her in symbols inked in an indecipherable language.

    And yet, when she had looked upon it this morning¡ª

    She had understood.

    Every word.

    As if it had been waiting for her.

    A chill crawled up her spine.

    She had read a prophecy.

    A warning.

    And worst of all¡ª

    She didn¡¯t know if she was meant to stop it¡­ or if she was already a part of it.

 Chapter 2

    Midday bells tolled across Karadesh as Amriel¡¯s boots clicked against worn marble floors, each step carrying her toward the heart of the Lyceum. Her fingertips brushed against the cool stone wall to her right¡ªa grounding habit she¡¯d developed during her first bewildering weeks at the academy four years ago.

    Niamh, ever the buoyant counterweight to Amriel¡¯s more reserved tendencies, chatted on with carefree energy, her voice filling the spaces between footsteps.

    Through towering arched windows, sunlight fractured into dazzling patterns that danced across the ancient walls, illuminating centuries-old reliefs of scholars, archivists and witches whose stone eyes seemed to follow the pair¡¯s progress.

    ¡°...and then when I told Ava she can¡¯t use that word, she said ¡®Daddy said it!¡¯¡± Niamh was saying, her dark red hair twisted into a practical bun atop her head, bouncing with each animated gesture. ¡°Well, you can just imagine the look on Simon¡¯s face! Our three year old calling him out! I nearly burst out laughing¡ª¡± She paused, green eyes narrowing. ¡°Riel, are you even listening to me?¡±

    Amriel blinked, forcing her gaze to focus on her friend¡¯s freckled face instead of the carved relief they were passing¡ªan ancient archivist, stone hands forever frozen in the act of unfurling a scroll, eyes eerily lifelike despite centuries of students¡¯ reverent touches smoothing away the finer details.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amriel murmured, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. ¡°I¡¯m just...¡± Terrified. Confused. Possibly losing my mind. ¡°...distracted.¡±

    The tome¡¯s revelation burned in her mind like a brand. Five thousand years it kept its secrets locked away in a language scholars had dismissed as indecipherable. Five thousand years of silence, until this morning, when the angular script had suddenly resolved itself before Amriel¡¯s eyes, the words unfurling in her mind as if they¡¯d always been there.

    Why can I read it now? I sure as hell couldn¡¯t read it yesterday, or any day before that! Why now?

    ¡°Distracted doesn¡¯t begin to cover it,¡± Niamh asked, ¡°You¡¯ve been walking around like a shade since this morning. Finals? I know Simon¡¯s stressing over them, too. But then again, that man never puts his hammer down long enough to pick up a book and study. So it¡¯s his own damn fault.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said as they rounded the corner where the corridor led to the inner courtyard.

    Niamh glanced at her, sunlight from the approaching courtyard catching in her red hair, turning it to copper flame. She nudged Amriel with a gentle elbow.

    ¡°Is this about Nikola?¡± Niamh asked, her voice dropping low and little crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about him. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll forget about it.¡± She waved her hand in that fluid, dismissive way she had. ¡°Men always forget such things in the presence of a pretty face. Even if you do drool.¡±

    Amriel nearly laughed at the absurdity¡ªhere she was, possibly holding the key to some ancient prediction of impending catastrophe, and Niamh thought she was worrying over a boy.

    When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.

    The words echoed in her mind, each syllable striking like a small hammer against her temples.

    What did it mean?

    The inner courtyard sprawled before them now, half bathed in the golden light of midday, half cast in cool shadow as the sun traversed the cloudless cerulean sky. The transition from the cold stone floors to the courtyards soft grass was a welcome relief. Amriel only wished she could take off her shoes to embrace its grounding effects, but such things were frowned upon in the Arboretum.

    In the western corner of the courtyard, beneath the spreading branches of one of the trees, her friends had gathered at their usual table.

    A Galious tree, Amriel knew, as her eyes traced over its bluish diamond shaped leaves and dark, thick bark. She recalled the history lesson about those trees¡ªan ancient species nearly obliterated 100 years ago when a trade vessel from Tilvark had docked with its holds full of exotic silks, spices, barrels of wine... and an invasive beetle that had devastated the native Galious forests within a season.

    Only the tireless work of the Green Archivists, with their stubborn dedication, had saved a handful of saplings. Now they grew here, in the protected inner courtyard that doubled as the Lyceum''s arboretum, living monuments to what was nearly lost.

    As they approached the table, Kaleth¡¯s animated voice carried across the courtyard.

    ¡°I swear by all the gods,¡± he was saying, green eyes gleaming with mischief, ¡°the whole flask turned this brilliant purple¡ªnot just any purple, mind you, but the kind that makes your eyes hurt to look at it¡ªand then it started whistling like a kettle! Master Michel dove under his desk so fast his spectacles flew off and skittered across the floor. I thought old Brinkley was going to have an apoplexy!¡±

    Kaleth¡¯s face was alive with delight at the memory, freckles standing out against his flushed skin. Amriel noted, not for the first time, how he somehow managed to look both disheveled and alluring simultaneously¡ªa quality that had charmed nearly every woman in their year, and many outside of it. Mara, seated across from the alchemist, was clearly one of the unaffected.

    Mara, her posture perfect as always, not a single blond hair out of place. She sipped delicately from her steaming cup. One elegantly shaped eyebrow rose fractionally¡ªthe equivalent of an exasperated eye-roll from anyone else.

    ¡°And this,¡± she said, her rich voice carrying the faint lilt of her northern homeland, ¡°is precisely why alchemical elements should be added in precise order, according to established procedure. Not whenever some random inspiration strikes your fancy.¡± She set her cup down with barely a sound on the weathered wooden table. A subtle smile played at the corners of her full lips, belying her stern words.

    Kaleth pressed a hand to his chest, wounded. ¡°Where¡¯s the discovery in that? The great alchemists of history didn¡¯t make breakthroughs by following some dusty tome¡¯s instructions!¡±

    His expression brightened as he spotted Amriel and Niamh approaching. ¡°Riel! Niamh!¡± He beckoned enthusiastically. ¡°Please tell our lovely but frustratingly rule-bound Mara that true innovation requires a certain creative disregard for established procedure.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t drag me into this,¡± Niamh laughed, sliding onto the bench between Kaleth and Simon. ¡°Last time I took your side in an argument about ¡®creative alchemy,¡¯ my eyebrows took three weeks to grow back. Three weeks, Kal!¡±

    Amriel settled beside Mara, the familiar banter washing over her like a balm. For a moment, she could almost pretend this was just another day¡ªthat her world hadn¡¯t shifted irrevocably that morning.

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    Simon, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his rust-colored forge apprentice¡¯s tunic, chuckled deeply. The sound rumbled from his chest like distant thunder. ¡°At least you¡¯re consistent, Kal,¡± he said, his calloused fingers tapping against the wooden table. ¡°Consistently dangerous, but consistent.¡±

    ¡°I think you meant to add handsome,¡± Kaleth replied, running a hand through his unruly hair in a gesture that somehow left it looking artfully tousled rather than messier. His grin was cocky, dimple flashing in his left cheek. ¡°I am dangerously handsome. Consistently. And the ladies love it.¡±

    A collective groan rippled through the friends. Mara rolled her hazel eyes over the rim of her mug before taking another measured sip.

    ¡°We¡¯ll agree to disagree,¡± Simon said as Niamh settled beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

    The change in Simon¡¯s demeanor was immediate and striking¡ªthe solid, stoic craftsman transformed in an instant. His dark eyes softened as they settled on his wife¡¯s face, the hard lines around his mouth melting away. ¡°Hello, love,¡± he murmured, the tenderness in his voice incongruous with his imposing frame as he wrapped a muscled arm around her waist and drew her close.

    The table groaned again, but this time at the display of affection. Amriel attempted a smile as she sank onto the bench across from Niamh, but her hands trembled slightly beneath the table as she clasped them tightly in her lap.

    The sight brought a rare flicker of warmth to Amriel¡¯s distracted thoughts. Their relationship had evolved so naturally over the years¡ªan inevitable shift from childhood friendship to something deeper. No one had been surprised when they¡¯d announced their betrothal, least of all Amriel, who had known Simon since before she could walk.

    Simon placed a kiss on the middle of Niamh¡¯s forehead, and as she leaned into him, he caught sight of Amriel¡¯s face. His brow furrowed, the blacksmith¡¯s perceptive eyes narrowing slightly as they took in her pallor, the tight set of her jaw.

    ¡°You okay, Riel?¡± he asked quietly, genuine concern filling his deep voice. A lifetime of friendship had taught him to read her face better than anyone.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Amriel lied, her voice rough even to her own ears. She cleared her throat, aware that Mara had turned slightly beside her, her sharp gaze now assessing as well.

    Kal arched a skeptical brow and leaned forward, elbows on the table. . ¡°Really? Because you look like you just saw the ghost of Finals Future.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just... tired,¡± Amriel said, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She couldn¡¯t tell them. Not yet. Not until she understood what it meant herself.

    Before Kaleth or Simon could press further, Niamh spoke up, her voice taking on that protective tone that brooked no argument. ¡°Leave her be.¡± She gave Simon a pointed look, then Kaleth.

    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, she couldn¡¯t shake the weight of what she¡¯d discovered.

    The words of the prophecy lingered, sharp and unyielding. She needed answers, and soon.

    Thankfully, Kaleth¡¯s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

    ¡°So, Riel,¡± he said, leaning forward with a mischievous air, ¡°you¡¯re our resident expert on herbology. Tell me¡ªdo you know of any herb or potion that can make someone lose half their hair? Or possibly all of it?¡± His grin turned devilish, freckled face brimming with faux innocence. ¡°Asking for a friend, obviously.¡±

    Mara asked, clearly unimpressed. ¡°For a friend? Or for yourself? No one here is going to help you harm someone, Kaleth.¡±

    ¡°Harm?¡± He feigned a gasp of insult, splaying his long-fingered hand over his heart dramatically. ¡°I¡¯m wounded that you would think such a thing of me! How do you know it¡¯s not for myself? Maybe I¡¯ve grown tired of these stunning locks.¡± He gave his hair a theatrical shake, sending copper strands flying. ¡°Besides,¡± he added, voice dropping to a stage whisper, ¡°it wouldn¡¯t be for permanent harm, right?¡±

    Mara actually snorted¡ªa sound so rare that Amriel glanced up in surprise. The corner of Mara¡¯s usually composed mouth twitched upward as she set down her teacup, ¡°It¡¯s not Caleb¡¯s fault that Dierdra has taken a liking to him,¡± she said.

    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 ¡®accidental¡¯ hair loss. Permanent or not.

    ¡°Anyway,¡± Simon cut in, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, ¡°Niamh and I are planning a study session tomorrow. You¡¯re all 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 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.¡±

    The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She rarely kept secrets from these people.

    Niamh arched a brow, skepticism written across her face. ¡°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.¡±

    Just then, the deep chime of the bell echoed through the capital city, signaling the end of the meal period.

    ¡°Saved by the bell,¡± Kaleth laughed, gathering his scattered papers. ¡°Literally.¡±

    <hr>

    The late afternoon sun hung low over the western tower when Amriel emerged from her Advanced Botanical Theory class, her mind still spinning with the morning¡¯s discovery rather than Professor Telmah¡¯s lecture on adaptive root systems.

    Footsteps quickened behind her¡ªthe distinctive rhythm of Niamh¡¯s determined stride. Amriel slowed, knowing avoidance was futile.

    ¡°So,¡± Niamh began, falling into step beside her. ¡°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.

    ¡°Little bit of both,¡± she admitted, fingertips brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. ¡°But mostly I just needed some grounding.¡± She hesitated before adding weakly, ¡°You know, finals and all.¡±

    Niamh¡¯s skeptical look could have withered a thornbush. ¡°Ah, the universal excuse for existential dread: finals. Classic.¡± Her voice softened, concern replacing mockery. ¡°But seriously, Riel, you¡¯ve been weird today¡ªeven for you. And I know weird. I¡¯m married to a man who talks to metal.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s grip tightened on her satchel strap, thumb working the frayed edge where the leather had split and been mended three times. The weight of the morning still pressed against her ribs, making each breath feel shallow and insufficient.

    Tell her, a voice urged inside her. If anyone would understand, it¡¯s Niamh.

    But what if understanding led to danger?

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, the words coming out too stiff, too practiced.

    Niamh stopped walking, positioning herself squarely in Amriel¡¯s path. The shadows of approaching evening deepened the constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her eyes hard with determination.

    ¡°Riel,¡± she said quietly, ¡°come on. Don¡¯t give me the ¡®I¡¯m fine¡¯ routine. I¡¯ve known you too long for that crap.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s throat tightened. The words of the prophecy seemed to burn behind her breastbone, desperate for release. But seventeen years of caution weren¡¯t easily overcome.

    ¡°Just... a lot on my mind,¡± she murmured, gaze fixed on the worn paving stones beneath her feet¡ªstones crossed by thousands of students before her, each carrying their own secrets and burdens. ¡°I think some quiet time in the Vhengal will help clear my head.¡±

    The mere mention of the ancient forest sent a wave of longing through her¡ªthe cathedral-like silence beneath towering sentinels older than the Academy itself, dappled light painting patterns on the soft forest floor, the whisper of leaves speaking a language older than human memory. The Vhengal had been her refuge since childhood, a place where the constant internal chatter of her thoughts quieted to a manageable hum.

    Niamh¡¯s expression softened, the stubborn set of her jaw relaxing. ¡°Look,¡± she said, her voice low enough that only Amriel could hear, ¡°if wandering around in the woods talking to flowers helps, fine. But just remember¡ªyou¡¯ve got me too.¡± She reached out, her fingers briefly squeezing Amriel¡¯s forearm. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do everything alone, okay?¡±

    The simple touch¡ªwarm, solid, present¡ªcracked something in Amriel¡¯s carefully constructed facade. The knot that had been tightening in her chest all day loosened, just enough to breathe more easily.

    She met Niamh¡¯s steady gaze and saw no judgment there, only the fierce loyalty and understanding of a friendship tempered by years of shared struggles and triumphs.

    ¡°I know,¡± Amriel said softly, a genuine smile tugging at her lips for the first time since morning. ¡°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.

 Chapter 3

    Amriel''s boots pressed into the soft loam of the Vhengal Forest floor, each step releasing the earthy perfume that was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. Golden light fractured through the ancient canopy overhead, dappling the ground in shifting patterns that normally captivated her attention. Today, she barely noticed.

    She stepped over a fallen log, its surface carpeted in emerald moss and miniature shelf fungi that glowed amber in the afternoon light. How many times had she balanced along this same fallen giant as a child, arms outstretched, her mother watching with that inscrutable look on her face? The memory flickered and faded, unable to hold her scattered attention.

    The prophecy''s words repeated themselves like a fever dream: When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity will open.

    Amriel drew a ragged breath, inhaling the damp scents of the forest air, willing it to clear her mind as it had countless times before.

    The Vhengal had been everything to her¡ªfirst playground, then sanctuary, finally teacher. But today, its wisdom remained stubbornly silent.

    She paused where the path curved alongside a narrow stream that cut through the forest like a silver thread on velvet. Water tumbled over smooth stones, creating a liquid melody that had lulled her to sleep on countless nights when she''d camped beneath these trees. Kneeling, she dipped her fingers into the cold current, watching ripples spread outward from her touch.

    "What the heck are Starlight Witches?" she whispered, the question almost lost beneath the stream''s gentle song.

    The water swirled around her fingers, offering no answers¡ªonly the eternal forward movement that had carved this channel through stone and earth over millennia.

    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.

    A flash of her mother''s face surfaced in her mind¡ªangular and beautiful, eyes the color of thunderclouds, dark hair shot through with a single streak of silver

    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 Lyceum 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.

    "Again," Nythia would say when Amriel failed to correctly identify a plant or recite an incantation. Never anger in that voice¡ªanger might have been easier to bear¡ªonly cool disappointment. "Until you get it right. Excellence isn''t optional, Amriel. It''s survival."

    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.

    Time, and the love of Simon and Niamh had eased the ache of abandonment, but it never fully faded. Even now, it lingered beneath the surface, flaring when she least expected it¡ªlike today.

    Amriel withdrew her hand from the water, watching droplets slide from her fingertips back into the stream.

    Rising, Amriel brushed damp soil from her knees. She drew a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. 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 jolted her from her thoughts. Her hand flew to the bone-handled knife at her belt, fingers curling around its familiar grip before her conscious mind could process the movement.

    Another of Nythia''s lessons: Never enter the wild unarmed. Beauty and danger walk hand in hand in places of power.

    Her pulse quickened, senses sharpening as they always did in moments of potential threat.

    A rabbit darted across the path, its brown-gray coat blending with the forest floor. It paused for a heartbeat, nose twitching, dark eyes reflecting Amriel''s stillness before vanishing into the opposite thicket.

    She exhaled slowly, her grip on the knife loosening. "Jumping at shadows now?" she whispered, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips. "Mother would be so disappointed."

    The knife slid back into its sheath with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the forest''s hush. She adjusted the strap of her nearly empty collection satchel, the worn leather smooth against her palm from years of use. The familiar weight should have been comforting, but today it felt like one more reminder of her failure.

    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.

    Ferns brushing against her hips and shoulders like playful companions. Normally, she would have relished these walks. 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¡ªin a language she had no business understanding¡ªgnawed at her relentlessly.

    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.

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    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.

    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. The forest had guided her before. Maybe, just maybe, it would do so again.

    Not much late Amriel stood motionless at the fork in the path, her worn leather boots sinking slightly into the damp moss. The forest''s breath surrounded her¡ªearthy and ancient, carrying the subtle perfume of wild mushrooms and decomposing leaves. Perspiration beaded along her hairline despite the cool air, her dark braid heavy against her neck after hours of trekking.

    To her right stretched the familiar trail, a ribbon of packed earth winding between silver-barked saplings. Three days ago, she had searched that very ground with meticulous care, returning to her cottage with an empty satchel.

    To her left, the northern path disappeared into the ancient heart of the Vhengal. Here, trees older than the kingdom itself reached skyward, their massive trunks wider than village wells. Their interlaced canopy filtered the sunlight into scattered gold coins that danced across the forest floor. The air itself seemed heavier there, laden with secrets whispered between roots that had witnessed centuries pass.

    A silvercrest jay called overhead, its harsh cry shattering the stillness. Amriel flinched, her hand instinctively moving to the bone-handled knife at her hip.

    "Get ahold of yourself," she whispered, though the sound of her own voice provided little comfort.

    Her fingers traced the leather strap of her gathering bag, feeling the emptiness where medicinal herbs should have been bulging against the worn hide.

    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. Nythia had warned against venturing too far in that direction.

    Amriel''s gaze now drifted to those very mountains, violet-hued peaks barely visible through gaps in the canopy. Something about their jagged silhouette against the sky made her skin prickle.

    Play it safe, head back empty-handed, she thought grimly. Or take the risk and see what the north has to offer.

    "Well, shit," she muttered, frustration bleeding into her voice as she pulled her worn cloak tighter. "Alright, north it is. Just won''t go too far."

    The sound hung oddly in the space around her. For years, such utterances had been met with Meeko''s silent companionship¡ªan ear twitch, a slow blink of amber eyes, or sometimes the soft bump of a furred head against her calf.

    This morning, Meeko had watched her preparations from his favorite spot on the edge of their bed, his silver-dappled body forming a perfect loaf, tail curled precisely around massive paws. When she''d whistled their usual signal to depart, he''d simply yawned, displaying impressive fangs before settling his chin on his paws with finality.

    "Some help you are," she''d snorted, but the memory now stirred unease rather than amusement. Meeko had never refused a journey before. The forest cat''s instincts had saved her more than once.

    ¡°Tales be damned,¡± she muttered, her voice cutting through the quiet. ¡°They¡¯re just stories, right? Scary tales to keep kids in line.¡±

    The words dissolved into the hushed forest, swallowed by moss and shadow. Her bravado felt hollow. In her twenty-six years, Amriel had learned that folk tales seldom emerged from nothing. Like river stones, they might be smoothed and shaped by time, but at their core lay something solid and unyielding¡ªsome truth too dangerous or profound to be spoken plainly.

    Amriel adjusted the leather thong holding back her hair and squared her shoulders beneath her well-worn hunting jacket. The garment, patched at the elbows with mismatched fabric, still smelled faintly of woodsmoke from last night''s fire.

    With decisive steps that belied her inner turmoil, Amriel turned left. The northern path immediately began to narrow, as though the forest itself was reaching inward, reluctant to allow passage. Brambles snagged at her leggings, and low-hanging branches forced her to duck repeatedly.

    The quality of light changed subtly as she ventured deeper. Though midday had barely passed, a dusky quality pervaded everything, casting blue-gray shadows that seemed to shift when viewed directly. Birds fell silent. Even the ever-present insects quieted their chorus, leaving only the sound of her breathing and the occasional snap of twigs beneath her boots.

    Amriel kept her eyes trained on the ground, scanning methodically for the distinctive blue-green leaves of Horissa Vharia. The herb preferred dappled light and rich soil¡ªconditions growing increasingly scarce as the canopy thickened overhead. Her hand occasionally brushed the leather pouch at her belt containing her collecting tools: small shears, a bone-handled knife with a blade thin enough for delicate work, and linen squares for wrapping specimens.

    Time slipped by with deceptive fluidity. The forest''s perpetual twilight made it difficult to gauge the hour, but the growing ache in her lower back and shoulders testified to the distance covered. Frustration mounted with each empty clearing, each promising patch that yielded nothing but common ferns and mushrooms.

    Amriel paused to take a swig from her waterskin. The liquid was cool against her throat, tasting faintly of the mint leaves she''d added that morning.

    And then she saw it.

    "Finally," she breathed, the tight lines of her face softening. "Horissa Vharia."

    The plant grew in a small clearing where a gap in the canopy allowed sunlight to penetrate. Its delicate, heart-shaped leaves gleamed with an almost metallic blue-green sheen, distinctive against the forest floor''s muted palette. Clusters of tiny star-shaped flowers, barely larger than pinheads, dotted the stems in pale lavender constellation.

    Navigating carefully around a fallen tree trunk draped in emerald moss and bracket fungi the color of sunset, Amriel approached the patch. The ancient oak must have fallen decades ago, its massive girth now serving as nursery for countless forms of life. Tiny saplings sprouted from its decaying bark, while colonies of mushrooms spread like pale villages along its length. Bright red berries from a nearby shrub had fallen onto the moss, looking like droplets of fresh blood against the verdant cushion.

    There''s always something growing, Amriel thought, a faint smile touching her lips. Even from ruin. The observation felt important somehow, a truth worth holding.

    She knelt beside the herb patch, mud seeping through her leggings. The chill against her skin was a small price for such a find. Reaching into her pouch, she retrieved her cutting tools, fingers moving with practiced precision despite her eagerness.

    "Not too much," she reminded herself, a discipline learned through years of gathering. "Take only what''s needed, leave enough to thrive."

    As she reached toward the first stem, her fingers paused midair.

    A flash of black among the shadows beneath the fallen trunk caught her eye¡ªleaves sharp as arrowheads, veined with crimson that seemed to pulse in the dim light. Something about their arrangement struck her as deliberate, almost sentient.

    Recognition hit her like a physical blow, driving the air from her lungs. Her hand jerked back instinctively, as though the plant might lunge for her.

    Khasta Vhar.

    Even without her years of study, Amriel would have known this plant. Every child in the realm did.

    A cold sweat broke across her skin despite the forest''s chill. This wasn''t mere superstition or cautionary folklore; the presence of Khasta Vhar was a documented omen. Historical accounts spanning centuries described the same phenomenon¡ªthe plant appeared only in places marked by tragedy or supernatural disturbance.

    Wherever Khasta Vhar grows, an angel has fallen.

 Chapter 4

    Amriel''s fingers trembled as she stared at the black plant nestled beneath the fallen log. Every serrated leaf, every crimson vein seemed to pulse with malevolent intent. The forest around her had grown unnaturally still, as though the very trees were holding their breath.

    Khasta Vhar.

    The name itself slithered through her thoughts like ice water through veins. She sank slowly to her haunches, careful not to touch the plant, yet unable to tear her gaze from it. The earth beneath her felt damp against her knees, seeping through the worn patches in her leggings. A single ray of light filtered through the dense canopy above, illuminating dust motes that danced around the black leaves¡ªalmost as if the plant commanded its own peculiar gravity.

    Amriel had been seven winters old 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.

    Her father had been one of the fortunate few to return, though "fortunate" proved a hollow word that tasted of bitter herbs when spoken. Her mother, stiff-backed and tight-lipped, 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, 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. That day was etched into her being with painful clarity: the brittle quality of the winter light through frost-rimed windows, the peculiar stillness of his hands that had always fidgeted, even in sleep.

    Her voice had trembled when she whispered to her mother, hands still cold from touching her father''s cheek, "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. The tree''s long, sweeping branches had seemed to embrace his grave, protective and gentle in a way few things had been during his final years.

    Now, standing before the thriving Khasta Vhar, Amriel''s chest tightened with a weight she hadn''t felt in years. The forest air hung heavy around her, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Even the persistent hum of insects had fallen silent, as though nature itself recognized the significance of the dark plant before her. Its serrated leaves unfurled like black flames, each crimson vein pulsing with an inner light that seemed to feed on shadow rather than sun.

    The memories roared back, fierce and unyielding as winter storms. Her father kneeling before her, pressing his silver ring into her small palm, his once-steady hands trembling as he spoke words she was too young to understand. The acrid smell of smoke clinging to his clothes when he returned from the eastern front, his eyes haunted by sights no mortal was meant to witness. The way his voice had broken when he tried to explain why some who returned from war never truly came home at all.

    Her hand moved unconsciously to the silver ring hanging from a leather cord about her throat¡ªher father''s ring. The metal felt unnaturally cool against her skin despite having rested against her body all day, its intricate engravings of interlaced branches worn smooth from years of worried touches.

    "Damn it all," she muttered, her voice surprisingly steady despite the storm brewing within. The sound was swallowed by the unnatural hush of the forest, as though the words themselves were too intrusive for this sacred, terrible place. "Why now? Why here?"

    Amriel drew a slow, deliberate breath through her nose. Her fingers uncurled from their tight grip on the ring, knuckles white with tension she hadn''t realized she was holding.

    Slowly the tremors in her hands faded and her pulse returned to its normal rhythm. Amriel took another deep breath, this one reaching deeper into her lungs. In the wake of being able to spontaneously read an ancient language that morning¡ªthe weathered symbols on the abandoned shrine shifting from incomprehensible scratches to clear, resonant warnings of an ancient prophecy of possibly impending doom¡ªfinding a Khasta Vhar wasn''t overly unsettling.

    "Perspective," she whispered, the word a talisman against fear. "One impossible thing at a time."

    She crouched closer to the plant, careful not to touch it. Despite Nythia''s extensive tutelage on the forest''s flora, Khasta Vhar had remained theoretical knowledge¡ªsomething to be memorized but never encountered. Now it grew before her, undeniably real, its presence a dark herald that couldn''t be ignored.

    "When the Fallen spill their blood upon mortal soil," she recited under her breath, "the Black Herb rises as witness to their passage." The verse from Nythia''s teaching now took on new significance.

    Amriel pushed a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear, considering.

    The fallen log where both the Khasta Vhar and the healing herb she sought grew side by side seemed a contradiction that bordered on mockery¡ªdeath and life, omen and remedy, sharing the same decaying cradle. Perhaps there was meaning in that, though Amriel had little patience for symbolic interpretations when practical concerns pressed so urgently.

    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 sensation of being watched had returned, a prickling awareness along her spine that raised the fine hairs on her arms.

    "I acknowledge your presence," she stated clearly to the forest, using the formal address Nythia had taught her. "I take only what is needed, with respect and purpose."

    The traditional words hung in the still air, neither accepted nor rejected by the sentient presence she sensed. Amriel had never been certain if such formalities actually mattered, but she respected the old ways. The forest had stood long before humans walked beneath its canopy and would remain long after they returned to dust. Her grandmother had taught her that arrogance toward ancient places was the first step toward destruction.

    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.

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    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¡ªforged by Simon¡ªgleamed briefly in the muted forest light before she palmed it carefully, unwilling to fully part with it just yet. Its bone handle, carved with protective runes, felt reassuring against her calloused palm.

    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. But today there was no time for ceremony. The growing darkness between the trees seemed to shift with purpose, and the silence had deepened to something that pressed against her eardrums like the moment before a storm breaks.

    She secured the blade back at her side and stepped onto the narrow path, her pace quickening as she moved toward home. The forest floor changed subtly as she ran¡ªtransitioning from the spongy moss of the deepest Vhengal to the more compacted earth of frequently traveled routes.

    Her mother''s voice echoed in her mind, clinical and matter-of-fact as always: "The Fallen don''t hunt humans. We''re beneath their notice¡ªfleeting, fragile things hardly worth their time."

    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, forcing her to run the boundary stones of the Vhengal, outside their cottage, each morning before breakfast from the age of five, regardless of weather or season.

    "You carry no man''s strength in your arms," her mother had told her bluntly one dawn, as sleet stung their faces. "But you will carry endurance in your legs and cunning in your mind, or you will not survive the wilds."

    As the path widened, Amriel allowed herself a backward glance. The deeper reaches of the Vhengal had disappeared behind a curtain of green and gray, the ancient trees standing sentinel at the boundary between the world she knew and the realm where older powers held sway.

    For a heartbeat¡ªso brief she could have dismissed it as exhaustion playing tricks on her vision¡ªsomething moved within that living curtain. Not the familiar rustle of a forest hare or the deliberate stalking of a lynx, but something else entirely. Tall, impossibly angular figures that seemed to bend the very fabric of twilight around them, as though reality itself recoiled from their touch.

    Her breath caught, the silver ring suddenly burning cold against her skin. Then the image was gone, leaving only trees and lengthening shadows as twilight approached.

    Just the wind. Just shadows. Nothing more, she tried to convince herself, knowing the lie even as she formed it.

    Amriel turned away, her stride quickening to match her racing heart. Her waterproof leather satchel thumped rhythmically against her back as she moved.

    A shaft of dying sunlight pierced the canopy, illuminating her face in amber light. High cheekbones and delicate features spoke of her mother''s lineage¡ªthe proud Sa¡¯Dral bloodline. But those eyes¡ªdeep cobalt blue now darkened with concentration as they ceaselessly scanned the forest¡ªthose were unmistakably her father''s legacy. Kier''s eyes.

    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.

    Glancing upwards, Amriel saw the heavy clouds swirling 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.

    "Perfect. Absolutely perfect," she muttered, the words escaping through clenched teeth. She glared upward where fractured patches of iron-gray clouds churned beyond the canopy. "I just need a little more time. Is that so much to ask from you?"

    The forest offered no answer beyond the ominous creak of wind-stressed branches.

    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 hammered against her ribs, its rhythm matching the cadence of her footfalls. The wind intensified, howling through the trees with a voice almost human in its fury, driving the first heavy raindrops before it. One struck her squarely between the eyes, startling her into a sharp breath.

    ¡°Really?¡± she muttered, swiping 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 then¡ªa gentle patter that quickly gathered force as the sky darkened further. Heavy droplets pelted the earth, turning the dirt path slick beneath her feet.

    Amriel gritted her teeth against the burn in her thighs, summoning a final burst of energy.The trees finally began to thin, ancient sentinels giving way to younger growth, then to scattered copses that marked the forest''s edge. Beyond lay the open expanse of the valley¡ªundulating meadows of wheat grass that rippled like water under the assault of the strengthening storm.

    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, the words immediately snatched away by the wind.

    Thunder cracked directly overhead, so close that Amriel felt it reverberate through her body. The sky split open in a blinding flash that transformed the landscape into stark relief¡ªfor that instant, every blade of grass, every distant tree stood out in unnatural clarity before being swallowed again by growing darkness. The thunderclap that followed seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth.

    Amriel didn''t falter. Her rain-soaked braid slapped heavily against her back with each stride, water streaming from it in rivulets that joined the torrents already soaking 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.

    With a final surge of effort that sent pain lancing through her overtaxed muscles, Amriel reached the heavy oak door. Her fingers, numb with cold, fumbled with the iron latch before finally wrenching it open. She half-fell inside, using her body''s momentum to slam the door shut against the howling wind.

    For several moments, she simply stood there, lungs heaving as water pooled around her boots on the flagstone floor. The familiar scents of home enveloped her¡ªdried herbs hanging from the rafters, dry wood stacked by a lifeless hearth.

    Safe. For now.

    A particularly violent crack of thunder shook the cottage, rattling the copper pots and sending several dried bundles of herbs swaying on their strings. Lightning transformed the windows into brilliant squares of white light, casting Amriel''s shadow in sharp relief against the far wall. The deluge hammered against the roof with such force that it sounded like a thousand tiny fists demanding entry.

    She closed her eyes, pressing her palm flat against the door as though physically holding back the storm. The vibrations of the raindrops traveled through the wood into her skin, creating a counterpoint to her gradually slowing heartbeat.

    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.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°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?

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°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.¡±

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    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.

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    ¡°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.

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    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 Nythia 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.

 Chapter 21

    The moon hung like a silver medallion in the midnight sky as they finally emerged from the castle''s western gate. The hour had crept well past midnight, the constellations of the Warrior and the Witch Mother hanging low in the sky¡ªa fitting alignment for this night of transition.

    Queen Elara stood at the top of the granite steps, her silver-threaded robes catching the light as she moved, the enchanted fabric seeming to ripple like water with each subtle shift of her body.

    Surrounding the queen, Princess Irina''s nine sisters, full and half, formed a half-circle of varying heights and colorful silks, their jewels winking like stars. Several handmaidens hovered at the edges of the farewell party, some openly dabbing at wet eyes with embroidered kerchiefs while the princess''s courtly friends wept openly. The king''s absence hung in the air like a physical thing, a void more noticeable than if the throne itself had been dragged into the courtyard.

    Amriel observed it all from her position near the waiting carriage, her back pressed against the lacquered wood as she tried to make herself smaller, less intrusive in this family moment. The weight of her discovery¡ªand the king''s peculiar reaction to it¡ªpressed against her ribs more painfully than any corset.

    Of course, what could be considered a normal reaction to hearing such a thing?

    Amriel tried to see their encounter from the king¡¯s point of view. A man in his position, there was no doubt he would have been approached with such things before. And it would always be left to him whether or not to believe. For what he thought, the kingdom, perhaps even the realm, would feel.

    As much as the world might think poorly of him in this moment, perhaps there was a reason the king had not attended. Such that might involve the fate of the realm.

    In place of the king, Prince Tristan descended the steps, his midnight-blue cloak billowing behind him with each purposeful stride. The warrior walked a step behind, one hand resting on his sword hilt as his eyes continuously scanned the courtyard, even here in the heart of the most secure place in the realm. His gaze swept over Amriel without a flicker of recognition. She felt a knot form in her throat, a tangle of frustration, relief, and something more complicated that she refused to name.

    It made no sense, she barely knew him. He¡¯d spent a single night in her care before vanishing without a trace. But that didn¡¯t change the fact she wished he¡¯d recognized her.

    Perhaps the head wound was worse than I believed.

    Queen Elara approached her daughter, their resemblance striking in the moonlight¡ªthe same high cheekbones, the same proud carriage. But where the queen''s Power sang around her like a beautiful, controlled melody, Irina felt like a barely contained storm.

    "Remember who you are," Queen Elara said, her voice carrying across the courtyard, melodious but firm. "The Power does not define you; you define how the Power manifests."

    The traditional farewell of a Witch Queen to her daughter. Amriel had only ever read of such moments in the dusty tomes kept in her village''s small library. The common folk were not welcomed to attend such family events events.

    Princess Irina bowed her head in acknowledgment, a single dark curl escaping the elaborate coronet of braids adorning her head. "I will bring honor to our lineage, Mother."

    No hugs, no tears from either mother or daughter¡ªsuch displays were considered unseemly for those touched by the Power. Emotion clouded judgment, and clouded judgment led to magical catastrophes, or so the old teachings claimed.

    The younger princesses were less restrained, breaking protocol to swarm their departing sister with embraces and tearful goodbyes, their voices rising and falling like songbirds as royal decorum temporarily gave way to genuine sibling affection. Prince Tristan allowed it for several moments before clearing his throat, the sound cutting through the night.

    "The hour grows late, niece," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Coven Leader Kortana awaits, and it wouldn''t do to keep the most powerful witch in Khymarh waiting¡ªroyal blood or no."

    The prince¡¯s horse, along with a routine of mounted guards, stood waiting off to the side, ready to escort the princess safely to her new home for the next seven years.

    Princess Irina extricated herself from her sisters with practiced grace, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her light violet gown, a change from the rich yellow silk and Rhylor lace that had cost more than most families earned in a year that she¡¯d worn for the celebration.She approached the carriage, and for the first time, her dark eyes locked with Amriel''s.

    A moment of understanding passed between them¡ªtwo women standing at the precipice of change, neither fully in control of the forces propelling them forward. Amriel inclined her head slightly, a gesture somewhere between the respect owed to royalty and the acknowledgment of a shared fate.

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    The warrior opened the carriage door. For a heartbeat, Amriel found herself close enough to him to catch the scent of leather and steel and something uniquely him¡ªa scent that had filled her small cottage on one stormy night. His forearm brushed against her shoulder as he steadied the door, and she felt a jolt of... something. Not Power, but something equally disquieting.

    He frowned slightly. Amriel quickly averted her gaze, suddenly fascinated by the intricate carvings on the carriage door¡ªtwining vines and protective runes, ancient symbols of safe passage worked into the wood by craftsmen who understood that in this world, beauty and function were often inseparable.

    With a final glancing farewell, princess Irina entered the carriage and transformed into acolyte Irina.

    Kortana followed, bidding the Queen and the Crown Prince farewell with a graceful nod.

    Amriel climbed in last, acutely aware of how out of place she was in this tableau, a common herbalist, now seated in a royal carriage opposite one of the most powerful women in the realm.

    The door closed with a solid thunk and the carriage lurched forward, wheels crunching over the courtyard''s cobblestones as the horses began their steady pace toward the Coven Tower that loomed in the distance, silhouetted against the star-scattered sky.

    Princess Irina maintained her composure admirably as they rolled away from the castle, but Amriel noticed how the girl''s fingertips pressed white against the velvet seat cushion, betraying her inner turmoil. Only when they passed through the outer gates and turned onto the main thoroughfare did Amriel catch the single tear that escaped, tracing a glistening path down the princess''s cheek like liquid starlight.

    The tear remained unacknowledged, unwiped away¡ªa silent rebellion against the stoicism expected of those who wielded the Power.

    Some might think such emotion excessive for a short journey; after all, the Coven Tower was visible from the castle, perhaps a half-hour''s ride through the capital city. But Amriel understood the true distance being traversed tonight. She had seen enough witches come and go from¡ªsome returning changed, others never returning at all¡ªto know that crossing the threshold of the Coven Tower meant leaving one life behind entirely.

    The carriage jostled over a particularly uneven section of cobblestones, and Amriel winced as her shoulder bumped against the hard wooden frame beneath the velvet upholstery. Silence stretched between the three occupants, broken only by the rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional shout of a night watchman as they passed.

    Beyond the carriage windows, the capital city of Khymarh unfolded in layers of shadow and light. Streets Amriel had only heard of in travelers'' tales materialized before her eyes¡ªthe Glassblowers'' Quarter with its eternally burning kilns casting orange glows through workshop windows; the Scholars'' District where enchanted lamps burned blue-white in tower windows despite the late hour; the sprawling Market Square, now empty save for stray cats prowling between abandoned stalls.

    "It''s late. You will spend the night at the Coven Tower," Kortana declared, her tone leaving no room for discussion. The Coven Leader''s eyes reflected flickers of witch light from the street lamps they passed¡ªspheres of enchanted glass containing magic that never dimmed, never needed fueling. Amriel had marveled at them earlier that evening, but now they felt like watching eyes following their progress through the slumbering city.

    Amriel''s lips parted instinctively to protest¡ªshe needed to return to her cottage on the outskirts of the city, needed the comfort of her own small space after a day that had upended everything she thought she knew. But fatigue crashed over her like a physical wave, the accumulated stress of the day''s revelations draining the last of her reserves.

    The tome, the king''s reaction, the strange familiarity with which Kortana had regarded her... and most disturbing of all, the whispered words the king had uttered before fleeing the chamber: ¡°If Nythia were here¡­¡±

    Nythia. Her mother''s name, spoken by the king himself. With recognition, no less.

    What was my mother to these people? The question circled Amriel''s mind like a hungry wolf, never settling, never finding rest.

    The carriage wheels rattled over the courtyard stones of the Coven Tower''s outer bailey, the sound echoing against walls of pale granite that soared upward until they disappeared into the night sky.

    The clattering hooves of the guardian routine came to a stop just moments before the carriage rolled to a stop. Princess Irina stirred from her silent contemplation of the passing cityscape. In the glow of the enchanted lamps that lined the Tower''s entrance, Amriel could see that the princess had composed herself entirely, no trace remaining of that solitary tear.

    Glancing down, Amriel realized she''d been clutching her own thighs so tightly her fingers had cramped.

    The Warrior, evidently always part of the princes routine, opened the carriage door, his face impassive as he offered a hand first to Princess Irina, who accepted it with regal poise, and then to Kortana, who ignored it completely, descending with the fluid grace of one who had navigated these steps thousands of times before.

    When his hand extended toward Amriel, she hesitated, something rebellious and prideful rising within her. She didn''t need his help; she''d managed perfectly well without the assistance her entire life. But exhaustion made her clumsy, and as she moved to step down, her foot caught on the hem of her borrowed dress.

    His strong fingers closed around her forearm, steadying her with surprising gentleness. For a heartbeat, their eyes met, and something flickered in the depths of his gaze.

    "Careful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard. Up close, the scar that bisected his left eyebrow was more pronounced¡ªa souvenir from the same battle that had nearly claimed his life.

    "I don''t need your help," she replied, more sharply than intended, pulling her arm from his grasp. The contact had unsettled her more than she wished to admit.

    The Warrior¡¯s expression hardened, and he stepped back with a curt nod. "As you wish."

 Chapter 22

    They were escorted through the Tower''s massive doors, carved from ancient ironwood and inlaid with silver sigils of protection and containment. Amriel felt the tingle of powerful wards as they crossed the threshold.

    The young acolyte with hair the color of summer wheat awaited them in Kortana''s private apartments atop the Tower, reached after a dizzying ascent via a spiraling staircase that seemed to go on forever. Amriel''s legs burned with the effort, unused to so many steps, while Princess Irina and Kortana showed no signs of fatigue.

    "Kharla," Kortana addressed the waiting acolyte, "take the princess to her chambers. See that she is settled in for the night." Her voice softened almost imperceptibly as she turned to Irina. "Rest well, princess. Training begins tomorrow morning."

    Princess Irina hesitated, her composure faltering for a heartbeat before she visibly gathered herself. In that moment of vulnerability, Amriel saw not the royal daughter, not the future Witch of Power, but simply a sixteen-year-old girl facing a frightening unknown.

    "Good evening, Coven Leader," Irina responded, inclining her head slightly before following the blonde acolyte from the room, her violet robes whispering against the stone floor like secrets being exchanged.

    As the door closed behind them, Kortana''s rigid posture softened by the barest degree. She crossed to a cabinet of dark, intricately carved wood¡ªblackthorn, Amriel recognized, a wood imbued with natural protective properties¡ªand withdrew a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid that caught the witch light in honeyed facets.

    "A trying evening," Kortana remarked, pouring two small glasses and offering one to Amriel. The unexpected gesture of camaraderie from the austere Coven Leader momentarily stunned her into silence.

    Amriel accepted the drink cautiously, her fingers brushing against Kortana''s. The older woman''s skin was cool and dry, but Amriel could feel the Power thrumming beneath the surface¡ªcontrolled, contained, but immensely potent.

    The liquor burned pleasantly on her tongue, warming her from within¡ªSethian brandy, she recognized, distilled with vervain and meadow salt, herbs known for their restorative properties and their ability to clarify muddled thoughts.

    An interesting choice for a casual nightcap.

    "The princess seems... composed," Amriel ventured, not quite ready to dive back into discussions of ancient tomes and prophecies and whatever connection her mother might have had to the royal family. The brandy''s warmth spread through her limbs, easing some of the day''s accumulated tension.

    Kortana swirled the amber liquid in her glass, studying its movement with those penetrating grey eyes. "All of Queen Elara''s daughters have been preparing for such a moment all their lives," she said. "In case they inherit their mother''s gift and are required to enter training. The moment Irina''s Power manifested during last month''s Lunar Eclipse, this path became inevitable."

    Amriel hadn''t known that detail¡ªthat Princess Irina''s Power had awakened during an eclipse, a time when the boundaries between the mundane world and the realm of magic grew thin. Such awakenings were rare and often heralded exceptional strength.

    "There''s a saying among the Covens that the older the Witch when she comes into her Power, the stronger she will become," Amriel said, recalling scraps of lore from books she''d bartered traveling merchants to borrow for brief nights of study. "At sixteen, the princess is older than many when the gift manifests."

    "Indeed," Kortana agreed, something unreadable flickering across her features. "Queen Elara was seventeen when her Power awakened. And I was nearly eighteen. Late bloomers, all three of us."

    The casual comparison of Princess Irina to her mother and herself sent a chill down Amriel''s spine. Three generations of exceptionally powerful women. What did that portend for the realm?

    Amriel opened her mouth to ask, but a yawn escaped instead, much to her horror.

    Kortana''s lips curved in what might have been the ghost of a smile. She set down her crystal tumbler with a decisive click against the polished stone table and raised her right hand. The movement was so subtle that Amriel might have missed it had she not been watching closely¡ªa mere twitch of fingers, a whispered word that seemed to vibrate the air between them.

    Amriel felt rather than saw the flicker of Power¡ªa ripple in the fabric of reality, there and gone in an instant.

    Moments later, the door opened to admit Lyana. The young acolyte whose features marked her Sa''Dral heritage¡ªthe slight upturn of her eyes, the warm bronze undertone of her skin, and the intricate tattoo at her wrist that Amriel recognized as the mark of one of the coastal trading families.

    "You handled yourself well today, Amriel," the Coven Leader said. The rare compliment hung in the air between them, weighty with unspoken implications. "Get some rest. I believe you are going to need it."

    Kortana turned to peer out the grand, arched windows of her apartment and as Amriel made to follow Lyana, the Coven Leader spoke over her shoulder, ¡°His name is Thalon, by the way. The warrior who walks with the crown prince. Commander Thalon.¡±

    To stunned to speak, Amriel found herself following Lyana through a bewildering series of corridors and halls.

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    Was I that obvious?

    The Tower was far larger inside than it appeared from without¡ªwhether due to clever architecture or magical expansion, she couldn''t tell. Tapestries depicting the history of the Coven and the royal line adorned the walls, interspersed with alcoves containing artifacts that hummed with contained Power.

    The chamber Lyana led her to stole the breath from Amriel''s lungs. Not for the room itself, which was approximately the size of her entire cottage, but for the massive bed that dominated it. Carved from pale gold Lysean oak, the canopy bed was draped in midnight-blue silks that shimmered like the night sky itself, tiny crystals sewn into the fabric catching the light like stars.

    And no doubt that mattress is down-filled! Amriel almost forgot herself and her worries in that moment. Having slept on pallets or straw bedding all her life, she''d never imagined that one day she might sleep in such a bed, in such a room.

    "Will this suit?" Lyana asked, a rare smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she watched Amriel enter the room.

    "It''s... excessive," Amriel whispered, but couldn''t hide the wonder in her voice. Excessive, yes, but also beautiful in a way that made her chest ache. A reminder of how far she stood from the world she''d known yesterday.

    Lyana''s fingers were already crackling with Power, "Shall we remove the court trappings? It''s late, and I imagine we would both prefer to retire."

    Seated near the lulling warmth of the hearth, where a gentle witch fire glowed with unnatural steadiness¡ªnever flickering, never smoking, and exactly the right temperature¡ªAmriel''s eyes grew heavy as Lyana''s magic unraveled the elaborate hairstyle and dissolved the layers of cosmetics that had transformed her for the court appearance.

    She watched in the mirror through half-lidded eyes as the pins removed themselves one by one, floating to a small silver tray while the braids unwound like serpents returning to slumber. The kohl that had darkened her lashes, the rouge that had brightened her cheeks, the subtle shimmer of powdered crystal that had given her skin an otherworldly glow during the demonstrations¡ªall slowly vanished from her face until, finally, she looked like her old self once more.

    Yet the face that stared back at her seemed somehow changed, as if the events of the day had rewritten something fundamental in her features.

    Amriel let out a breath of relief when the last of the laces came undone, releasing her from the corset''s confines. The structured garment had compressed her ribs for hours, forcing her into the perfect posture demanded of Coven representatives at court. As she inhaled deeply for what felt like the first time that day, her ribs expanded gratefully.

    The soft sleeping shift that Lyana helped her into felt like a cloud against her skin, so different from the rough-spun fabric she''d grown up wearing. As she slid beneath the impossibly soft covers of the canopy bed, the down mattress enveloping her like an embrace, Amriel released a sigh that seemed to carry the burden of the entire day.

    Sleep claimed her almost immediately as her head settled onto the down-filled pillow, her last conscious thoughts drifting to the warrior, to the man she''d saved during the height of a savage spring storm. Commander Thalon, with his scarred face and penetrating gaze that had swept over her without recognition.

    Bastard didn''t even recognize me, she thought, though there was little malice behind it. How different he looked. How well he looked.

    Perhaps it was better this way. She already had enough on her plate. Especially now, with ancient tomes and cryptic prophecies and her mother''s mysterious past suddenly complicating everything she thought she knew about herself.

    As unconsciousness claimed her, Amriel could have sworn she heard a voice¡ªneither Kortana''s nor the queen''s, but somehow familiar nonetheless¡ªwhispering from very far away: "The time comes, daughter of Nythia."

    <hr>

    Amriel was already awake, seated in the bay window overlooking the Lyceum, by the time Lyana arrived to help her bathe and dress. The sun had just begun to crest the eastern hills, bathing the city in golden light that transformed the dew-covered gardens below into fields of diamonds.

    Sleep had been more elusive than she''d expected in that luxurious bed. Dreams had plagued her¡ªfragmentary visions of her mother''s face, of the tome''s pages turning by themselves, of Commander Thalon lying pale and still on her cottage floor while a storm raged outside. She''d woken well before dawn, her heart racing, the echo of that strange voice still ringing in her ears.

    From her vantage point in the window seat, Amriel could see much of the city sprawled below the Tower. Beyond the city walls, the fertile plains stretched toward the Vhengal Forest and distant mountains, their peaks still capped with snow despite the spring thaw.

    She''d already searched the room for any sign of her own clothes, opening ornately carved wardrobes and delicately inlaid chests, but only found extra plush throws for the bed and fine linens that seemed too delicate to actually use. Her familiar, comfortable garments¡ªpatched in places but serviceable¡ªwere nowhere to be found.

    The door opened without a knock, and Lyana entered carrying a copper tray laden with towels and vials of scented oils. Her Sa''Dral heritage was even more evident in daylight¡ªthe intricate tattoo at her wrist seemed to shift and change as she moved.

    The moment the acolyte entered the chamber, Amriel could feel the Power''s presence, radiating from the younger woman in waves. Though it was coarse and lacking refinement, there was substantial strength behind Lyana''s Power. No wonder Kortana kept her close¡ªproperly trained, this girl could become formidable.

    "Your clothes were taken to be laundered," Lyana informed her, setting down her burden beside a copper tub that hadn''t been there the night before. Her tone carried the faintest hint of disdain as she added, "Or burned. I could not be certain from the look of them. Or from the smell."

    A flush rose to Amriel¡¯s cheeks. Her cottage often carried the scent of the healing herbs she worked with¡ªpungent and earthy rather than the delicate floral perfumes favored by court ladies and Coven witches. She''d grown so accustomed to it that she hardly noticed anymore, but to others, it likely seemed rustic at best.

    "I''ve prepared your bath," Lyana continued, gesturing toward the steaming tub. "Coven Leader Kortana requests your presence at breakfast within the hour."

    Amriel bit back a sigh. "I am perfectly capable of bathing myself, you know." She stood from the window seat, pushing the hair that had escaped her sleeping braid from her face, aware of how defensive she sounded but unable to stop herself. "I''ve managed it this far without assistance."

    "Have you, really?" Lyana''s expression remained pleasantly neutral, though her eyes scanned Amriel from head to toe in a way that felt like both assessment and judgment. "I see. Well, my orders come from the Coven Leader. Not you." She gestured toward the bath once more, more insistently this time. "Now, please. We shouldn''t keep the Coven Leader waiting."

    The unspoken message was clear: This wasn''t a negotiation.

 Chapter 23

    Morning sunlight poured across the terrace of the Coven Tower, bathing the white stone with a golden glow that softened its imposing gothic architecture. From this height, the entirety of the capital city spread beneath them like an intricate tapestry¡ªthe palace with its gleaming spires, the sprawling markets, and beyond them, the distant smudge of green that marked the Vhengal Forest.

    Home.

    Amriel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The delicate chair, crafted from pale wood and cushioned with silk, felt as foreign to her as everything else about her current situation. Her fingers fidgeted with the fine fabric of the gray gown Lyana had insisted she wear, so different from her practical tunics and leggings.

    Across the round table, Princess Irina sat with perfect posture, her dark hair arranged in a simpler style than the previous night but still more elegant than anything Amriel could have managed herself. The princess''s doe eyes kept darting toward Amriel with barely concealed curiosity.

    "The warm bread is quite delicious," Princess Irina said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. "You should try it with the honey." Her voice carried the practiced politeness of someone trained to make conversation, but beneath it, Amriel detected genuine warmth.

    "Thank you," Amriel replied, reaching for the bread. The loaf was still warm, its crust crackling beneath her fingers as she tore off a piece. The honey, served in a small crystal dish, gleamed amber in the morning light.

    Kortana watched their exchange with sharp, assessing eyes as she sipped from a steaming cup of tea. Unlike the princess, whose training had only just begun, the Coven Leader maintained an aura of contained power that seemed to ripple around her like heat above summer stones.

    "I hope you slept well," Kortana said, setting down her cup with a deliberate motion.

    Amriel swallowed her bite of honeyed bread. "The accommodations were... generous," she said carefully, not wanting to admit how unsettling it had been to sleep in such luxury after a lifetime of simple comfort.

    "I hardly slept at all," Princess Irina confessed, a hint of youthful enthusiasm breaking through her courtly demeanor. "It''s all so different from the palace."

    Kortana''s lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else''s face. "You will adjust, Irina." Her gaze shifted to Amriel. "After breakfast, I will be taking you to meet Archivist Velren."

    Amriel''s heart quickened. "The Head Archivist?"

    "Indeed." Kortana nodded, her silver-gray hair catching the sunlight.

    Amriel''s throat felt suddenly dry. She reached for her tea, the delicate porcelain cup warm against her palms.

    She understood what Kortana did not want to say aloud in front of the princess. They needed access to the tome, to see if there was more to be gleaned from its weathered pages.

    A gentle breeze swept across the terrace, carrying with it the scent of flowering vines that climbed the tower''s exterior. Below, the city was coming fully to life¡ªthe distant sounds of market vendors setting up their stalls, the first bells of the day ringing from the temple district.

    "We will depart within the hour," Kortana announced, rising from her seat in one fluid motion.

    As Kortana moved toward the terrace doors, her robes flowing around her like water over stone, Amriel found her voice again. "What if he refuses?"

    Kortana paused, turning back with an expression that might have been amusement on any other face. "He won''t refuse me." Her confidence was absolute, brooking no argument.

    <hr>

    The Illumination Tower pierced the sky like a spear of gray stone, its windows catching the light and reflecting it back in cool, silver flashes. Unlike the ethereal white architecture of the Coven Tower, the Illumination Tower was all angles and deliberate strength¡ªa fortress protecting the realm''s knowledge.

    Kortana led their small procession, her violet robes billowing slightly in the morning breeze, silver-gray hair gleaming in the sunlight. Behind her walked three figures in identical violet robes, their faces obscured by deep hoods¡ªanonymous acolytes to any casual observer.

    Beneath her hood, Amriel''s skin prickled with nervous energy. She kept her head slightly bowed as Kortana had instructed, trying to mimic the practiced grace of actual acolytes.

    "Remember," Kortana had told her when they stood alone after breakfast, "you are a shadow today¡ªpresent but unremarkable. The fewer people who connect you to what happens at the Archives, the safer you will be."

    Beside Amriel, Princess Irina moved with the natural poise of someone born to royalty, even hidden beneath humble robes. On her other side, Lyana moved quietly.

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    "We will be admitted directly to Archivist Velren''s study," Kortana continued as they approached the tower''s main entrance. "The fewer eyes on us, the better."

    They passed under the great stone archway of the Illumination Tower, its surface etched with the sigils of knowledge and preservation. Scholars and students moved through the vaulted entrance hall, many too absorbed in their own thoughts to pay attention to yet another group of witches.

    As they turned down a less populated corridor, Amriel noticed a man standing near one of the alcoves, partially hidden by a stone column. Something about his posture caught her attention¡ªtoo still, too watchful, his eyes tracking their movement with unusual intensity. Unlike the scholars in their blue robes or the students in their gray tunics, he wore nondescript brown clothing that seemed deliberately chosen to avoid notice.

    A chill crept up her spine. She slowed her pace slightly, trying to get a better look without being obvious.

    The man turned away as they passed, his face momentarily visible in the shadows¡ªangular features, sunken cheeks and eyes that seemed almost fever-bright. Something about him struck her as familiar, though she couldn''t place where she might have seen him before.

    Amriel hesitated, nearly breaking formation.

    "Keep moving," Lyana whispered sharply beside her.

    Amriel forced her feet forward, though she couldn''t resist glancing back over her shoulder. The man had vanished.

    You''re being ridiculous, she chided herself. Your nerves are making you see threats where there are none.

    Still, the uneasy feeling lingered as they ascended a sweeping staircase to the Archives'' upper levels. The steps were worn smooth from centuries of use, slight depressions marking where countless feet had tread before them.

    As they reached the third floor landing, a woman approached from the opposite direction¡ªa noble, judging by her richly embroidered blue gown and the silver chain of office draped across her shoulders. Her graying hair was arranged in an elaborate crown of braids, and jewels glittered at her throat and fingers.

    "Coven Leader Kortana," the woman called, her voice carrying the refined accent of Khymarh''s eastern provinces. "What a fortuitous encounter!"

    Kortana paused, her posture revealing the barest hint of tension. "Lady Mavrene," she acknowledged with a slight nod. "I did not expect to find you at the Archives this morning."

    "One must stay abreast of new discoveries, especially in these uncertain times," Lady Mavrene replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She glanced at the three hooded figures with barely disguised curiosity. "I had hoped to speak with you about my niece''s application to the Coven. Perhaps we might discuss it now?"

    Amriel could sense Kortana''s resistance, though the Coven Leader''s face remained impassive. "I''m afraid I have an appointment with the Head Archivist that cannot be delayed."

    "It would take but a moment of your time," Lady Mavrene insisted, stepping closer. "The girl shows exceptional promise, much like her mother before her."

    As Kortana reluctantly engaged with the noblewoman, Amriel became aware of movement at the far end of the corridor¡ªa figure in brown, moving quickly toward them. The same man she''d noticed below. This time, there was no mistaking the purpose in his stride.

    Her heart lurched.

    "Kortana¡ª" she began, breaking protocol in her alarm.

    But before she could finish, the man broke into a run, his hands raised before him. Blue light crackled between his fingers, growing in intensity with each step. His face contorted in a grimace of determination as he shouted words in a language Amriel didn''t recognize¡ªharsh, guttural sounds that seemed to tear at the air itself.

    Time seemed to slow.

    Lyana was already moving, shoving Princess Irina toward the wall, her hands glowing with defensive magic. Lady Mavrene screamed, stumbling backward. Kortana whirled, Power already gathering around her like a storm cloud.

    Amriel''s body reacted before her mind could process what was happening. She lunged toward Princess Irina, acting on pure instinct to protect the royal daughter. Their bodies collided as she pushed the princess behind a stone column.

    The man''s voice rose to a crescendo, the blue light expanding around him until he seemed encased in crackling energy. His eyes met Amriel''s for a single, terrible moment¡ªand there was no madness there, only cold, calculated purpose.

    The world erupted in searing blue light.

    The blast hit Amriel like a physical wall, throwing her backward. Heat scorched her lungs as she tried to breathe, the air itself seeming to ignite around her. Her body slammed against stone, pain blossoming across her back and skull.

    Through the roaring in her ears, she heard screaming¡ªdistant, as if from underwater. Her vision blurred, shadows encroaching from all sides. The violet robe she wore was burning, the fabric melting away in patches of searing agony.

    She tried to move, to call out, but her limbs wouldn''t respond. Something warm and wet trickled down her face. Blood, she realized distantly.

    A few feet away lay Princess Irina, her hood thrown back to reveal her face, now deathly pale. Their eyes met across the rubble-strewn floor. The princess''s lips moved, forming words Amriel couldn''t hear. Then the light faded from Irina''s eyes, leaving them empty and staring.

    No...

    Amriel tried to reach for her, but darkness was pulling her down, an inexorable tide she couldn''t fight. The pain was receding now, replaced by a spreading numbness that was somehow worse.

    The last thing she saw was Kortana''s face appearing above her, the Coven Leader''s usual composure shattered by grief and rage. Her lips formed Amriel''s name, though no sound reached through the encroaching darkness.

    Then the world faded entirely, all light and sound and sensation slipping away into nothingness.

    Falling.

    Falling through endless black.

    And then...

    A voice, calling from very far away.

    "The time comes, daughter of Nythia."

    Light began to return¡ªnot the harsh blue of the explosion, but something softer, silver-white, like moonlight on still water. It gathered around her, through her, filling the void.

    "Return."

    The darkness receded.

    And Amriel began the long journey back.

 Chapter 24

    Darkness.

    Not the gentle darkness of closed eyes or nightfall, but an absolute void that devoured all sensation. Amriel drifted through this emptiness, this endless twilight, suspended between heartbeats, between breaths. Neither here nor there, a liminal space where the lines between reality and dreams blurred. The boundary between being and nothingness wavered like cloth caught in a gentle breeze.

    Names, faces, memories¡ªall receded, leaving only the barest whisper of identity. Amriel. The name clung to her like the last leaf on a winter-stripped branch, though she could no longer recall what it signified or why it mattered.

    Time stretched and compressed around her, it had no meaning in this place between places. How long she drifted, she couldn''t say. It could be moments, or it could be a millennia. The question itself seemed to dissolve before she could grasp it fully, leaving only impression where certainty should dwell.

    At first, there was only darkness.

    Then¡ªa shift. Not light exactly, but a lessening of the absolute darkness. Pinpricks of luminescence bloomed in the distance, like stars birthing themselves from nothingness. They multiplied, swirled, arranging and rearranging in patterns that stirred something deep within her fragmented awareness.

    The stars coalesced and wove themselves into pathways, corridors, the skeleton of something vast taking shape around her. They pulled at her, not physically¡ªfor she had no body to be pulled¡ªbut with a gravity of significance that compelled her toward them.

    The blackness thinned, became translucent, then transparent. Color seeped in¡ªmuted grays that shifted to silvers, then warmer ambers and burnished golds. With color came substance¡ªboundaries forming, defining space where before had been only endless nothing.

    Stone materialized beneath her, its ancient surface warm to the touch, as though it basked in perpetual sunlight despite being far from any window. Each flagstone whispered secrets as her boots¡ªunfamiliar, yet perfectly fitted¡ªpassed over them.

    Torchlight danced along walls that stretched impossibly high, their surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to shift when she tried to focus on them. Runes, perhaps¡ªolder than any language she knew, yet somehow achingly familiar.

    I know this, she thought, though she couldn''t say what this was.

    She couldn''t control her movement. This body¡ªtaller than her own, stronger¡ªmoved with fluid grace, each step made with purpose down the corridor, resonating with quiet confidence. Silver-white hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight, catching the light with an almost ethereal glow, like starlight scattered on the surface of a quiet lake.

    Her fingers¡ªlonger than her own, marked with calluses she''d never earned¡ªbrushed absently against the twin curved blades at her hips. The hilts fit her palms as though molded specifically for these hands, the leather wrappings worn precisely where fingers habitually gripped. Their weight a comforting presence, their familiar contours a silent reassurance. They were more than weapons¡ªthey too were part of her. Just as her armor, they were also extensions of her body, her identity.

    As she walked, a dark cloak billowed behind her, the fabric rustling faintly with each step, a soft murmur against her legs. Beneath it, her armor¡ªsleek, form-fitting leather and chain-mail¡ªfit almost like a second skin, catching the torchlight with a quiet gleam. With each step, the echoes of her own movement resonated through the great hall, a rhythmic pulse that matched the beat of her heart¡ªa heart that felt both foreign and yet undeniably hers.

    These aren''t my hands. This isn''t my body. I''m... inside someone else.

    The realization should have frightened her, yet fear remained distant, academic. Instead, she felt a profound sense of homecoming, as though she''d finally returned to a place she''d forgotten she missed.

    The corridor opened into a vast circular chamber, its domed ceiling lost in shadows despite the dozens of torches burning along the walls. At its center, a pool of what appeared to be liquid silver reflected the flames, its surface unnaturally still. Around it, seven stone thrones stood empty, each carved from a different material¡ªcrystal, obsidian, jade, amber, a wood so dark it was nearly black, white marble veined with gold, and something that resembled coral but couldn''t possibly be.

    The room felt expectant, as though it had been waiting for her arrival for a very, very long time.

    At the far side, beside an archway that seemed to lead into deeper darkness, stood a figure wrapped in shadows that moved independently of the torchlight. Tall, certainly male, but features indistinct save for eyes that reflected the light.

    He was waiting.

    A nameless emotion surged through her borrowed form¡ªcomplex, layered, intense enough to steal her breath. Longing intertwined with wariness. Relief tangled with dread. Beneath it all pulsed something deeper, more primal¡ªa connection that transcended ordinary bonds, as though their very souls recognized each other across some vast, unbridgeable distance.

    They knew each other, this stranger and the woman whose skin she wore.

    The body she inhabited moved forward without hesitation, steps measured and deliberate. One hand drifted to the hilt of the left-hand blade¡ªnot in threat but in acknowledgment. A salute between equals, between those who had crossed blades enough times to respect each other''s deadly skill.

    The man stepped forward, but before he could fully emerge from the shadows, the vision blurred, the edges of reality softening, the dream began to unravel.

    A voice shattered the vision, calling a name she couldn''t quite grasp yet recognized as her own. It echoed through the ethereal hall, resonating in her bones rather than her ears.

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    "Return, daughter of Nythia."

    The marble pillars began to melt like candle wax, torchlight dimming to ghostly flickers. The mysterious stranger reached toward her with fingers that seemed to elongate impossibly¡ª

    And Amriel was falling, tumbling through gossamer layers of reality, the vision unraveling around her like a tapestry violently torn apart. Colors blurred, sounds distorted, and the sensation of weightlessness gave way to the crushing pressure of physical existence.

    Pain slammed into her with the merciless force of a battering ram.

    Her body¡ªher real body¡ªscreamed in protest as sensation returned with brutal clarity. Every nerve ending felt flayed and exposed to salt air. The taste of copper flooded her mouth, thick and overwhelming. She couldn''t move, couldn''t breathe, could only endure as wave after wave of agony crashed over her consciousness, threatening to drag her back into the void.

    Through the haze of pain came fragments of awareness, pieced together like shards of broken glass. The grit of stone dust against her lacerated skin. The metallic scent of blood¡ªher blood¡ªmingling with the acrid stench of arcane residue. Voices, distant and distorted, speaking words that seemed to bend around her consciousness rather than penetrate it.

    Something warm and wet pooled beneath her head, matting her hair to the stone floor. She tried to open her eyes, but even that small movement sent fresh agony lancing through her skull, as if someone had driven a white-hot needle through her temple.

    "¡ªboth gone. The blast was too powerful¡ª" Kortana''s voice sliced through the haze, stripped of its usual composure. Kortana, who had faced down demon lords without flinching, sounded utterly terrified. "No protection spell could have¡ªnot natural"

    "I don''t accept that." Prince Tristan''s voice, raw and broken. Something crashed nearby¡ªstone against stone. "Try again. There must be something¡ª"

    Why can I hear them? Amriel wondered distantly. If I''m dead, why can I still hear?

    The thought drifted through her mind, curiously detached from the broken vessel that contained it. She felt herself slipping again, the pain beginning to recede as darkness beckoned.

    Then came the heat.

    It began as a spark deep within her chest, a tiny point of warmth amid the cold pain, like the first ember of a fire refusing to die. It pulsed once, twice, then began to spread outward along her veins like liquid starlight. Not painful¡ªno, this heat pushed the pain aside, consumed it, transformed it into something else entirely.

    The heat reached her fingertips, her toes, the crown of her head. It filled her completely, and with it came strength. Her lungs expanded in a sudden, desperate inhalation that sent dust motes swirling before her eyes¡ªeyes that were somehow now open, staring up at a ceiling fractured with jagged cracks that resembled lightning frozen in stone.

    "Impossible." Kortana''s voice again, closer now. A shadow fell across Amriel''s face¡ªthe Coven Leader''s profile, streaked with dirt and something darker. Blood glinted wetly along a gash at her temple, her silver hair matted with debris.

    Memory crashed back with the force of a tidal wave¡ªthe corridor with its ancient tapestries, the shelves filled with books, the strange man with eyes like midnight pools, the blinding flash as his hands curved in an unfamiliar sigil, the explosion. Princess Irina''s horrified face in that final moment as Amriel had tried, too late, to save her.

    Amriel turned her head, muscles screaming in protest at the movement. Beside her, the princess lay motionless, her delicate features untouched amidst the destruction, as though she had simply laid down to rest among the rubble. But the stillness of her chest, the vacant, gaze of her eyes told a different truth. Her dark hair fanned out around her head like a halo, unstained by the carnage that surrounded them.

    I was tried to protect her. The thought brought with it a wave of grief so profound it momentarily eclipsed even the strange heat still coursing through her veins. Failure tasted more bitter than blood.

    "Lyana, get everyone else out!" Kortana snapped, composure momentarily regained. Then her gaze returned to Amriel. Their eyes locked, and Amriel saw something she had never expected to see on the Coven Leader''s face¡ªfear mingled with awe. "You were dead," she whispered, voice barely audible over the distant shouts and groans of shifting rubble. "I felt your spirit leave."

    Through the dust and debris that danced in shafts of sunlight from the newly created holes in the ceiling, four faces peered down at Amriel¡ªKortana, with blood trickling from her temple; Lyana, her dark eyes wide with disbelief; Commander Thalon, his face a rigid mask concealing whatever storm raged beneath; and Prince Tristan, grief and rage in equal mixed played on his face as he knelt beside his nieces body.

    Each wore a different shade of the same stunned expression, as if they were witnessing something beyond the realm of possibility.

    Then, the heat within Amriel began to concentrate, gathering once more in her chest like a star collapsing in on itself. It pulsed in time with her heartbeat¡ªa heartbeat that shouldn''t exist. Her vision cleared, sharpened, colors suddenly more vivid than she''d ever seen them.

    With effort, Amriel pushed herself up on one elbow. Bits of stone and glass tinkled off her body. Her tattered robes, soaked with what could only be her own blood, clung to her skin. Yet beneath the torn fabric, her flesh was unmarked, whole.

    "Why is everyone looking at me like that?" The words scraped past her throat, tasting of ash and copper. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears¡ªdeeper, resonant with something that hadn''t been there before.

    "Because..." Kortana''s voice faltered, an unprecedented occurrence from a woman whose certainty had always seemed as immutable as the laws of nature. Her hand trembled as she reached toward Amriel, stopping short of touching her. "You were dead. Your chest was... there was no way¡ª"

    "Gone," Lyana whispered, stating what Kortana could not. "Half your ribcage was gone. Your heart..." She shook her head, dark curls sending dust cascading. "There was nothing left to heal."

    Prince Tristan''s head snapped up, his grief-stricken gaze fixing on Amriel with sudden, desperate hope. "Then Irina¡ª"

    "No." The single word from Thalon cut through the air like a blade. The commander stepped forward, boots crunching on pulverized stone. "The princess''s injuries were... different."

    Amriel followed his gaze to Irina''s serene face. Unlike Amriel, there wasn''t a mark on her¡ªjust that terrible stillness, that absence of life behind eyes that had sparkled with mischief only minutes ago.

    Thalon knelt beside Amriel. His hand moved toward her face, hesitating just shy of touching her cheek, as if she might dissolve at his touch. The commander''s expression had already shuttered, the raw emotion contained once more behind a warrior''s discipline.

    "They look at you with shock because you were dead. And now you''re not," he said, his voice gruff. "Not something that happens every day." His fingers finally made contact with her skin, and Amriel was shocked at how cool they felt against the fever-heat of her flesh.

    From the shattered doorway came the sound of running feet, voices calling out. The world beyond this bubble of impossibility was reasserting itself.

    But as Amriel looked down at her blood-soaked clothes and unmarred skin, as she felt the strange new power humming beneath her breastbone where her heart should be¡ªwhere her heart had been destroyed¡ªshe knew with absolute certainty that nothing would ever be the same.

    She had died. She had returned. And something had come back with her.

 Chapter 25

    The throne room echoed with silence.

    Not the peaceful quiet of an empty chamber, but the weighted stillness of collective breath held too long, words bitten back, accusations simmering beneath the surface. Not a single tapestry stirred against the stone walls.

    Amriel''s knees ached against the cold marble floor. Her fingers found the iron ring hanging from the leather cord around her neck¡ªher father''s ring. The metal warmed against her skin, a small comfort against the storm raging inside her. She traced the worn engravings with her thumb, feeling each familiar groove, the way she had countless times when the world tilted beneath her feet.

    Blood¡ªdried now¡ªstiffened the fabric of her gown, turning it from pale violet to crusty brown-black. Her chest no longer bore the gaping wound that had killed her hours earlier, but her skin remembered. It tingled with phantom pain where flesh and bone had been torn apart, where her heart had been exposed to open air before failing entirely.

    King Marcus Drathex sat rigidly upon the onyx throne, his knuckles white against the armrests. The royal mourning cloak of midnight blue draped his shoulders, fastened with the twin eagle brooch of House Drathex¡ªblack silk ribbons draped over the golden wings, signifying a death in the royal line.

    To his right stood Lord Severith Caldwell, the High Chancellor, his thin frame draped in robes of slate gray. His face reminded Amriel of the weasels that sometimes raided the chicken coops back home¡ªnarrow, watchful, with eyes that missed nothing and revealed less.

    Kortana stood at Amriel''s right, refusing the King''s silent command to kneel. Her deep purple robes hid the color of dried blood better than Amriel and Lyana''s pale violet, but it was noticeable all the same. So were the gashes and trails of blood that still marred her face.

    Lyana knelt on Amriel''s left, a bandage wrapped around her forearm where a shard of stone had sliced deep. Her dark eyes remained downcast, but her shoulders were rigid with tension.

    Prince Tristan stood to the left of the throne, the tightness around his eyes betraying his contained emotion. Behind him, Commander Thalon maintained a watchful stance, his emerald eyes constantly scanning the chamber.

    The King rose, each movement weighted with the gravity of his position.

    "Coven Leader Kortana," he began, his voice brittle, like ice about to crack. "You were entrusted with my daughter''s safety. Instead, she lies in the temple, cold as winter stone, while you stand before me with mere scratches."

    Kortana met his gaze unflinchingly. "Your Majesty''s grief is justified. The loss of Princess Irina wounds the realm deeply."

    "Spare me your carefully chosen words," the King snapped. "I want to know how my daughter was murdered within the walls of the Illumination Tower, under the very noses of those sworn to protect her."

    Amriel''s fingers tightened around her father''s ring. The metal grew warmer, almost responding to her rising panic.

    Lord Severith stepped forward with smooth precision. "If I may, Your Majesty." His voice was surprisingly melodious, almost hypnotic. "The assassination bears all hallmarks of the Purifiers. The explosive rune, the timing, the precision... they are nothing if not meticulous."

    "The Purifiers haven''t operated within our borders for a decade," Prince Tristan interjected, brow furrowed. "Why target Irina now? She posed no political threat."

    "Perhaps the target wasn''t the princess," Severith replied, lips curving in what might have been a smile, "but what she represented¡ªthe future of magic within the royal line. Some find such power... unsettling."

    Kortana stiffened, the air around her humming with controlled Power.

    "A theory without evidence," she said, her tone respectful but steely.

    "Perhaps," Severith conceded. He descended the dais steps to stand before Amriel. "But I took a little look into our young friend''s history. The Archivists were quite helpful."

    He loomed over her, smiling. "You''ve a past with the Purifiers, don''t you, my dear?"

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    Amriel''s brows furrowed in confusion. She knew of the cult¡ªmale mages who attacked Witches. But they had been hunted nearly to extinction.

    "I have no idea what you''re talking about," she said, heart sinking further.

    "Your father," Severith said, his tone almost a purr. "He belonged to the Purifiers, did he not?"

    "I¡ªI don''t¡ª" Amriel stammered, caught completely off-guard.

    "Of course you don''t," Severith smiled, teeth gleaming. "That''s what anyone would say."

    "This is absurd," Kortana cut in sharply. "Amriel was a child when her father died. And I knew the man¡ªhe was a hero who fought the Fallen."

    Severith''s smile widened as he turned to Kortana. "Did you know him well enough to see beneath his mask?" He produced a weathered parchment. "This roster from Blackthorn Pass lists Kier Vardon among the Third Company. And this," he revealed a second document, "is a manifest taken during a raid on a Purifier stronghold. The same name appears."

    The King''s gaze fixed on Amriel. "Is this true?"

    Amriel''s mind reeled. Her father¡ªthe gentle man who told her stories beneath the stars, who taught her the names of every herb¡ªa member of a cult that murdered witches? Impossible. And yet...

    Memories surfaced unbidden. Her father''s strange silences whenever her mother spoke of the Coven. The nightmares that plagued his final years, when he would wake screaming names she didn''t recognize.

    "My father was a soldier," she managed, voice cracking. "He fought the Fallen. That''s all I know."

    "Convenient ignorance," Severith said, circling her like a predator. "You, whose very existence defies death itself."

    "That''s enough, Severith," Prince Tristan stepped forward, voice carrying authority. "These accusations are reaching. Brother, it''s time to rein in your pet."

    "Ah, Prince Tristan, defending the Coven Leader again," Severith bowed mockingly. "What would your wife think?"

    An uncomfortable silence fell over the chamber. The prince''s jaw clenched as he stepped back, falling silent.

    Amriel clutched her father''s ring tighter. It burned against her skin now, no longer a comfort but a question with no answer.

    Severith continued smoothly, "I''ve seen magic restore grievous wounds, Your Majesty. I''ve seen healers bring back those near death. But what happened to Amriel Vardon was different. My witness says she was gone completely, then wasn''t."

    The King''s expression darkened. "What are you suggesting?"

    "Something none of us understand," Severith replied. "Which is precisely why caution is required. Something unnatural has occurred, defying the laws of life and death. Until we know what magic restored this woman¡ªand why¡ªshe must be contained."

    A chill spread through Amriel''s veins. Contained. The Dreadfort¡ªthe black prison where those deemed dangerous were sent to be forgotten.

    Her fingers gripped her father''s ring so tightly the edges bit into her palm. The pain anchored her, kept her from crying out as panic threatened to overwhelm her.

    Kortana stepped forward, eyes flashing with rare anger. "Your Majesty, this is madness. Amriel is a victim, not a threat. If her father''s past is tied to the Purifiers¡ªwhich I question¡ªshe cannot be held accountable for it."

    "Can she not?" Severith raised an eyebrow. "The daughter of a Purifier, miraculously surviving an attack that killed your daughter? The coincidence strains belief."

    The King''s grief-hardened features settled into something colder, more calculating. He returned to his throne, fingers drumming against the armrest as he considered.

    "Coven Leader Kortana, launch a full investigation into this attack," he finally declared. "As for you, Amriel Vardon¡ªuntil we understand what you are, what brought you back from death, you will be held in the Dreadfort."

    "Your Majesty, please¡ª" Amriel began, blood draining from her face.

    "Silence," the King commanded. "The northern tower. Comfortable quarters, but secured against any magic within you." He gestured to the guards. "Take her away."

    "Your Majesty," Kortana interjected, "I must insist on access to Amriel during her confinement."

    The King hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Supervised visits only."

    Severith''s smile thinned, displeasure flashing across his features before his mask returned. "A wise compromise, Your Majesty."

    As guards hauled Amriel to her feet, she felt something strange stir within her chest¡ªwhere her heart had been destroyed. A warmth not her own, a strength she couldn''t explain. The iron ring hummed against her skin, responding to her fear.

    Prince Tristan stepped forward. "I''ll escort the prisoner personally."

    The King waved dismissively. "As you wish."

    As they led her from the throne room, away from Severith''s calculating smile and the King''s cold fury, a strange certainty settled in Amriel''s bones.

    This wasn''t the end of her story but the beginning of something far larger¡ªa destiny set in motion long before she''d collapsed in that blood-soaked corridor. A destiny that had reached beyond death itself to claim her.

    Her father''s ring warmed against her skin as she walked through the castle corridors toward the Dreadfort. Whatever she had become, whatever had brought her back from the void, she would face it with the same determination that had defined her life.

    After all, she had already died once today. What was left to fear?

 Chapter 26

    Amriel traced her finger along the tally marks she''d scratched into the stone wall¡ªthirteen days. Nearly two weeks in this lightless pit they called the seventh layer of the Dreadfort. It was the only way to mark time in a place where morning and night meant nothing.

    "The northern tower," she whispered bitterly, recalling the King''s words. "Comfortable quarters."

    A laugh escaped her, hollow and unfamiliar to her own ears. She pressed her fist against her mouth to silence it, afraid of what might follow if she let it continue. In the seventh layer, even laughter could be dangerous¡ªit might never stop.

    When Prince Tristan had handed her over to the Dreadfort warden¡ªa gaunt man with eyes like frozen puddles¡ªsomething in the prince''s expression had suggested he knew what would happen. A flicker of apology, quickly buried beneath duty. The warden had merely glanced at the royal decree bearing the King''s seal, then handed her to a guard whose breath reeked of sour wine.

    "Take her down," was all he''d said.

    She hadn''t understood at first. Not when they descended the first winding staircase, stones worn smooth by generations of prisoners dragged to their fates. Not even when they passed the third level, where muffled sobs and prayers leaked through iron-barred doors. It was only at the fifth level, when the stone walls began to glisten with cold moisture and the air turned sharp with frost, that dread truly took hold.

    Seven layers deep, the Dreadfort was said to run. Seven layers into the permafrost, where only the earthworms and fellow inmates could hear your screams. Where the mad were interred with the forgotten, and sometimes it became impossible to distinguish between the two.

    Amriel pressed her back against the wall of her cell, drawing her knees up to her chest. The rough-spun blanket they''d provided¡ªher only concession to humanity¡ªdid little against the perpetual chill that seemed to emanate from the stones themselves. Her breath clouded before her face, visible even in the dim blue glow that emanated from the enchanted stones embedded in the ceiling. Not bright enough to read by, if she''d had anything to read. Just enough light to ensure the darkness wasn''t absolute.

    Sometimes she thought that was the cruelest part. Total darkness might have been a mercy.

    She''d known that ending up here was one of the possible outcomes of her actions. But the precise path that had led her to this cell was not what she had anticipated.

    Unbidden, the vision of Princess Irina rose in her mind¡ªthe girl lying on that marble floor, her dark eyes dull and lifeless, deep brown hair spread around her head. Amriel had tried to help her. Had only tried to¡ª

    "The moon is a lie," a voice called out, harsh and grating, from the cell nearby, interrupting her thoughts.

    Groaning softly, Amriel closed her eyes. It was beginning again.

    "A fabrication," continued the first voice, the words floating through the darkness like debris. "A pretty, pretty lie to keep us lost."

    "No, no, no," cackled another voice, this one warbling and unsteady. "The moon is real. As real as you or I." A pause followed, measured and considering. "Are we real?"

    Every day, the same conversation, to the point where Amriel could recite the lines herself. "What is real?" she mouthed silently, lips barely moving.

    And right on cue, as if reading her thoughts, a third voice hissed, "Whas iss weal? Can you tell me that, new-blood?"

    She''d learned their patterns now, like a twisted theatrical performance. The high-voiced one had been a former advisor until the King had his tongue split for sedition. Now his words lisped and hissed between teeth and forked flesh. Then there was the one with a voice like curdled milk, who spoke of the moon as one might speak of a faithless lover, with bitterness and betrayal. The third was simply "the Old One," a prisoner who had been in the seventh layer so long even the guards didn''t remember his crime.

    Amriel pressed her palms against her ears, but it did little to block the voices. They seemed to bypass her ears entirely, seeping directly into her mind like poisoned honey.

    "Can you shut up?" Amriel called out, immediately regretting the outburst. Engaging was dangerous. She''d learned that on her third day when another inmate¡ªthe one with a voice like curdled milk¡ªhad spent six hours reciting what he claimed were lunar prophecies after she''d asked him a simple question.

    Don''t engage. Don''t become part of their madness, she chided herself.

    Her fingers found the iron ring hanging from a leather cord around her neck¡ªher father''s. Its familiar weight and rough edges had been her anchor these past thirteen days. The guards had tried to take it during the humiliating inspection they''d subjected her to upon arrival, but something strange had happened. Their eyes had simply slid past it, as if it were invisible. She''d kept it hidden since, only touching it when she was certain no one was watching.

    Something cold dripped from the ceiling, landing on her forehead. She wiped it away, the moisture somehow different from water¡ªthicker, more viscous. Above, an unseen creature skittered across the stones. The lowest level of the Dreadfort hosted more than just human prisoners.

    "Poor, poor new-blood," said the Old One, his voice almost gentle. "You''ll learn. We all learn down here. The seventh layer reveals all truths eventually."

    "She doesn''t understand," Moonhater rumbled. "She still thinks the moon is real."

    "Weal? Weal? What iss weal?" quarked the serpent-tongued advisor.

    Her fingers found the iron ring hanging from a leather cord around her neck¡ªher father''s. Its familiar weight and rough edges had been her anchor these past thirteen days. The guards had tried to take it during the humiliating inspection they''d subjected her to upon arrival, but something strange had happened. Their eyes had simply slid past it, as if it were invisible. She''d kept it hidden since, only touching it when she was certain no one was watching.

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    Something cold dripped from the ceiling, landing on her forehead. She wiped it away, the moisture somehow different from water¡ªthicker, more viscous. Above, an unseen creature skittered across the stones. The lowest level of the Dreadfort hosted more than just human prisoners.

    "Poor, poor new-blood," said the Old One, his voice almost gentle. "You''ll learn. We all learn down here. The seventh layer reveals all truths eventually."

    "She doesn''t understand," Moonhater rumbled. "She still thinks the moon is real."

    "Weal? Weal? Whas iss weal?" quarked Serpent-tongue, his forked tongue giving each word an unnerving echo.

    A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Amriel''s spine. Were they mad before they came here, or did the seventh layer create their madness? How long before she too began to believe the moon was a lie?

    Then, something new¡ªa voice she hadn''t heard before.

    "I know what you have, new-blood," whispered an inmate from the cell directly across from hers, their voice suddenly closer, as if they''d pressed themselves against their bars. "I can hear it singing. Iron sings differently in the dark."

    Amriel''s hand froze on the ring, her breath catching. How could they possibly know?

    "Who are you?" she whispered back, straining to see into the shadowed cell across the narrow corridor.

    A soft laugh answered her, melodic and disconcertingly lucid. "Names are the first thing they take from you here."

    "Iron keeps the truth away," Moonshadow continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried perfectly. "Iron binds and blinds and shields. Is that why you keep it close? Are you afraid of seeing?"

    Amriel''s mouth went dry. "Seeing what?"

    "The paths between," They replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "The ways out that aren''t doors. The reflections that lead elsewhere."

    This one is just as mad as the others, Amriel thought, even as a part of her mind stirred with uncomfortable recognition.

    In the dim blue light, she could now make out a pale hand gripping one of the bars of the cell opposite hers¡ªlong-fingered and elegant despite the grime beneath the nails.

    "The moon is a lie!" The one who felt so bitterly towards the moon insisted, more forcefully now. "A beautiful lie!"

    "Tell me the story of the silver lady," The Old One suddenly demanded, his voice rising. "Tell me about the silver lady who walks our world and theirs!"

    And on and on they went.

    Amriel wanted to scream, to block out their words. Instead, she pressed her forehead to her knees and began to rock slightly, a small, desperate motion that did nothing to calm the storm inside her mind.

    Her father''s ring seemed to pulse against her skin, growing warmer. Or was that just another delusion, another step toward the madness that clearly awaited her?

    "She died and yet she returned," The one across from her observed, their voice thoughtful. "How curious. The silver lady must have plans for you, new-blood."

    Amriel''s head snapped up. "What did you say?"

    "I can smell it on you," They continued. "Death''s kiss. The void''s touch. You crossed the boundary and came back. Very few manage that."

    Cold sweat broke out across her forehead despite the chill. How could he know?

    "You don''t know anything about me," Amriel said, her voice steadier than she felt.

    Pulling her threadbare blanket tight about her, Amriel fought back the sudden onslaught of tears that spilled down her cheeks.

    <hr>

    Twenty-seven marks on the wall now. Nearly a month in darkness.

    Time was a funny thing down here in the Dreadfort. Living in near perpetual darkness, it was hard to tell when it was night or day. Reaching out, Amriel traced over the twenty-seventh mark on the wall. Dirt crusted beneath her broken fingernails. Had it not been for these marks, she didn''t doubt she would have lost track already.

    Twenty-seven days. Almost a month.

    Gods, how I miss them, Amriel thought as the faces of her loved ones swam before her eyes. Twenty-seven days since she''d last talked to Niamh or Simon. Twenty-seven days since she last ruffled the fur between Meeko''s ears.

    Beyond the walls of her cell the endless prattle of her fellow cell mates echoed through the corridors. Thankfully, the one across from her, the one who knew, had remained silent.

    Amriel''s eyes scanned across her dark cell. They didn''t provide beds, only a dank bed roll she''d been reluctant to use. From the smell of it, she was pretty certain the cell''s last occupant had died in it. The rough burlap was stiff with old stains she preferred not to identify, and tiny creatures occasionally skittered through its folds when she disturbed it. She''d taken to sleeping propped against the wall instead, which left her neck and back in constant pain.

    In one corner sat her only other provision: a rusted metal bucket that served as her privy. The guards emptied it every three days¡ªnot often enough to prevent the sour stench from permeating every corner of her small space.

    Her black hair hung in matted clumps, plastered against her scalp with grease and grime. Her cheekbones stood out sharply beneath skin that had taken on an unhealthy pallor. The plain shirt and trousers they''d given her upon arrival hung loosely from her frame¡ªevidence of the weight melting off her with each passing day.

    The meager rations they slid through the slot in her door twice daily were barely enough to sustain life¡ªthin gruel in the morning, a chunk of hard bread and sometimes a bit of sour cheese in the evening. Water came in a clay cup she''d learned to ration carefully throughout the day.

    She ran her tongue over cracked lips, wincing at the sting. Even the simple act of staying hydrated had become a challenge. The constant cold made her joints ache, a deep-seated pain that never truly subsided. A persistent cough had developed in the past week, and she wondered distantly if the damp was settling in her lungs. Many prisoners died of lung rot in the Dreadfort; everyone knew the tales.

    Amriel fingered the iron ring at her throat, the only thing that still connected her to her former life.

    She was about to attempt another fitful rest when a commotion erupted somewhere down the corridor¡ªthe sound of running feet and raised voices.

    A guard shouted, his voice bouncing off the stone walls.

    The clang of steel against steel followed, then a grunt of pain. More footsteps, heavier this time, and the sound of something¡ªor someone¡ªhitting the floor with force.

    The prisoners around her erupted in response to the disturbance. Serpent-tongue began a high, keening wail that set Amriel''s teeth on edge. The one who hates the moon rattled his bars, metal clanging against metal in a frenzied rhythm. The Old One started laughing, a terrible sound that rose above the others like smoke.

    "They''re coming! The reflections walk!" he cackled. "New-blood, the silver paths open for you!"

    Amriel scrambled to her feet, heart hammering against her ribs. More shouts echoed from the direction of the level entrance, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.

    The sounds of fighting grew closer. A guard screamed, the sound cut short with terrible abruptness. Then footsteps, heading in their direction.

    Amriel clutched her father''s ring in one hand, her other pressed against the cold stone wall for support. Her heart felt as though it might burst from her chest.

 Chapter 27

    The inmates screamed and hollered like caged animals, their cries echoing through the cold, damp corridors of the Dreadfort''s seventh layer. A symphony of madness.

    Amriel pressed herself against the wall of her cell, her heart thundering against her ribs as the sounds of combat intensified beyond her line of sight.

    Steel clashed against steel¡ªnot the controlled, rhythmic clangs of training, but the desperate, chaotic strikes of men fighting for their lives. Guards shouted commands, their voices fracturing with panic. Then came a wet, gurgling sound¡ªthe unmistakable noise of a blade finding flesh¡ªfollowed by a thud of a body crashing to the floor.

    Instinctively, Amriel''s fingers curled into the space where her bone blade should have been. Its absence hollowed her, the phantom weight a cruel reminder that she was utterly defenseless, stripped of everything but her tattered clothes and racing thoughts.

    The screams of the other prisoners intensified, a cacophony of madness that made it impossible to discern what was happening in the corridor. Some howled like wolves, others laughed with the kind of hysteria that made Amriel''s skin crawl. The Old One began chanting in a language she couldn''t understand, his voice unnervingly steady amid the chaos.

    Footsteps approached.

    The screams intensified, mingling with the raucous laughter of the other prisoners. Amriel could see through the bars as a shadowy figure moved closer. Her pulse quickened, and cold sweat broke out along her spine. Twenty-seven days of imprisonment had weakened her body, but not her instinct for survival.

    Panic surged through her chest, and she instinctively shrank back, her gaze darting around the cramped space, landing on her flea-infested blanket and the rusted metal bucket in the corner. Meager weapons, but they would have to do.

    Hiding in the shadows of the corner beside the door, Amriel braced herself, knees bent slightly, weight balanced on the balls of her feet as her mother had taught her. Her breath quickened as she listened intently. The footsteps grew louder, heavy and deliberate. Then came the jingling of keys¡ªmetallic, ominous, a herald of either salvation or deeper damnation.

    The lock on her door gave way with a heavy, ominous clunk, and the iron-barred door swung open. In stepped a hooded figure, face obscured by shadows. The blade at his side glimmered in the pale blue light, its edge slick with fresh blood.

    Without hesitation, Amriel seized the moment. She threw the blanket over the hooded figure''s head, momentarily disorienting them, and grabbed the metal bucket. With a swift, desperate motion, she brought it crashing down onto the stranger''s head. The figure let out a surprised grunt, stumbling back as the blow connected with a hollow clang that reverberated off the stone walls.

    She pressed the advantage, driving her knee up toward the figure''s groin. The man twisted at the last second, her knee glancing off his hip instead. He staggered back, cursing.

    "Seven hells!" the figure growled, voice deep and masculine.

    Amriel didn''t hesitate. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she darted past him into the corridor. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The corridor stretched before her, lined with cells on either side, shrouded in shadows and uncertainty.

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    The screams and insane laughter of her fellow inmates crescendoed into a frenzy as she dashed past their cells. Some slammed themselves against their doors, skeletal arms reaching out to her through the iron bars, their fingers grasping at her as she passed. She refused to look at their faces, keeping her eyes fixed on the end of the hall where their stairs waited.

    "Amriel, wait!" cried the voice behind her. "Please wait!"

    Blood rushed so loudly inside her head she barely heard. Her bare feet slapped against cold stone as she raced toward the spiraling staircase at the corridor''s end. Each impact sent shocks of pain through her weakened legs. The meager rations they''d provided¡ªjust enough to keep her alive for questioning¡ªand minimal movement had taken a toll on her once-strong muscles.

    Behind her, the hooded man''s footsteps accelerated. He was gaining.

    As she reached the stairwell, she was confronted by the sight of two guards sprawled on the stone. Their blood pooled beneath them, black in the dim light. Amriel swallowed her revulsion and leapt over them, taking the spiraling steps two at a time.

    With each step, her legs trembled with weakness. Her breath came in sharp gasps, muscles screaming in protest as exhaustion threatened to drag her down. Still, she pushed herself harder, the fear of what lay behind her¡ªand the desperate hope of what might lie ahead¡ªdriving her onward.

    "Stop! Please!" the man called from below, his voice echoing up the stairwell.

    Amriel ignored him, focusing instead on the burn in her lungs and the promise of escape. As she spiraled upward, she passed the sixth level, then the fifth, where the air grew marginally warmer. But her strength was waning fast. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision, and her legs felt like lead weights.

    Just as she reached the fourth level landing, her father''s ring¡ªwhich had hung silently around her neck for twenty-seven days¡ªsuddenly grew warm against her skin. The heat of it startled her, causing her to stumble.

    The man''s footsteps echoed behind her, steady and determined.

    "Stop running, damn it!" His voice bounced off the stone walls. "The upper levels are crawling with guards!"

    A voice that was familiar. A voice that had played itself inside her mind over and over until it felt like someone she had known for a lifetime. Skidding to a stop over the stone, she froze for a heartbeat before she turned to see the hooded figure she had attacked recovering from her blow.

    She whirled, summoning what little strength remained to wrench her arm away. As she did, the man pulled his hood back, revealing a face that sent a shock of recognition through her.

    Strong jaw. Emerald eyes that shone with intensity even in the dim light. A thin scar running along his left cheekbone.

    Thalon.

    Memories crashed through her mind¡ªnot of the Dreadfort, but of a night over a month ago. A storm raging outside her cottage in the foothills. An injured man at her door, blood seeping from the wounds in his side. "Help me," he had gasped before collapsing on her threshold.

    "You," she breathed, the word escaping her lips like a prayer and an accusation all at once.

    The stranger offered a wry smile, ¡°Yes. It¡¯s me,¡± he replied softly.

    ¡°Twenty-seven days,¡± She rasped through her ragged breaths, ¡°Twenty-seven days¡­¡±

    Her voice trailed off as a wave of anger surged within her, fierce and unrelenting, and with a cry of rage, Amriel lunged forward, fists clenched tightly, her body coiled with fury, desperate to confront him for the chaos he had unleashed in her life.

    But as she propelled herself forward, her legs betrayed her. They buckled beneath her, and she collapsed, the unforgiving stone floor rushing up to meet her. In that fleeting moment, she heard her name called out just before everything faded to darkness.

 Chapter 28

    Amriel''s consciousness slipped into a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and half-formed shapes.

    Once more, she found herself in a body not her own¡ªthough one not entirely unfamiliar to her. This had happened before, these strange dreams that felt more like memories from another life. The body she inhabited moved with a warrior''s grace, each step precise and deliberate. In these dreams, she was stronger, more certain.

    In fact, she''d grown rather used to walking in this form. The weight of the twin swords at her hips felt grounding, almost comforting¡ªan extension of herself rather than mere weapons. The feel of supple leather armor against her skin was a welcome change from the flea-infested and tarnished rags that clung to her emaciated frame in the depths of the Dreadfort. Here, when the sun shone, she could feel its warmth upon her face, even if the lungs that drew breath were not truly hers.

    He was there in every dream. Always off in the distance, a silhouette standing atop a ridge or between ancient trees, watching her with eyes that seemed to glow like embers in the twilight. Always waiting for her, patient and eternal as the mountains themselves.

    She felt drawn to him, pulled by an invisible thread that tugged at something deep in her core¡ªsomething older than memory, more primal than thought. Each time, she would walk toward him, her heart pounding with anticipation and a strange sense of homecoming she couldn''t explain. Each time, she would whisper a name that felt like it had always lived in her throat, waiting to be spoken.

    And, as always, he vanished like morning mist as she drew near, dissolving into particles of light that scattered on the wind. The dream would slip away, leaving her grasping at fragments that dissolved between her fingers like sand.

    But this time was different. As a voice called her name¡ªa name she couldn''t quite place but knew as intimately as her own heartbeat¡ªand the walls of the dream faded away like stars dissolving at dawn, Amriel woke not to the cold, dank walls of the Dreadfort.

    Instead, it was the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of woodland creatures that welcomed her back to consciousness. Not the endless screams and maddened arguments of her cellmates that had become a macabre lullaby over twenty-seven days.

    The scents of damp earth, pine sap, and wildflowers filled the air, a stark contrast to the dank, oppressive atmosphere of the Dreadfort with its perpetual stench of human misery. She had no sense of how long she had been unconscious, only that she was no longer trapped within the suffocating stone walls that had nearly become her tomb.

    Lying still with her eyes closed, Amriel absorbed the feeling of the ground beneath her¡ªa surface soft and yielding, a far cry from the unforgiving cold of the dungeon floor. She realized she was lying on a bed of moss and fern, the cool softness cradling her aching body like a mother''s embrace. Every muscle in her frame ached with a bone-deep weariness, but it was a clean pain, honest in a way the suffering of the Dreadfort had never been.

    A gentle breeze brushed across her skin, weaving through her matted hair, as though nature itself were cradling her in its embrace, offering solace and freedom. Against her neck, her father''s iron ring still hung, its weight a constant reminder of who she was and what she carried. In the Dreadfort, it had been her only tether to sanity. Now, in this moment of rebirth, it felt like a promise.

    As the sounds of the world slowly filtered into her awareness¡ªrustling leaves, the distant calls of thrushes and jays, the gentle burbling of a nearby stream¡ªAmriel stirred. Her cobalt eyes fluttered open, immediately squinting against the dappled sunlight that filtered through the canopy above. The light pierced through in golden shafts, illuminating flecks of dust and pollen that danced in the air like miniature constellations. After so long in near-darkness, even this filtered forest light was almost painful in its beauty.

    Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, not from the brightness, but from the sudden, overwhelming gratitude for something as simple as sunlight. She had begun to fear she would die without ever seeing it again.

    The ancient trees loomed over her, their gnarled trunks and twisted limbs like silent sentinels standing guard. Oak, ash, and elder¡ªthe sacred trinity of the old forest¡ªtheir bark rough with lichen and moss, their roots diving deep into soil that seemed to pulse with life. High above, their branches swayed gently, leaves rustling in a language older than human speech.

    Amriel pushed herself up slowly, wincing as her muscles protested, still weary from her ordeal and the mad dash through the Dreadfort. Her body felt alien to her now¡ªtoo thin, too fragile, like a dried autumn leaf that might crumble at the slightest pressure. She could feel the remnants of fear and uncertainty clinging to her like a shadow, but as she breathed in the freshness of the forest, a sense of cautious calm began to settle within her.

    As she glanced around, her heart raced, taking in the lush surroundings. Ferns unfurled their delicate fronds in spirals of vibrant green, their tips still pearled with morning dew. They contrasted beautifully with clusters of wildflowers scattered across the forest floor¡ªviolets with their heart-shaped leaves, bluebells nodding gently in the breeze, and tiny white star-shaped flowers. She knew all their names by heart, and took comfort in their familiarity. Pale yellow and blue butterflies drifted lazily from bloom to bloom, unbothered by her presence.

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    There was no mistaking it, she was in the Vhengal Forest. Home.

    A gentle breeze drifted past her, carrying with it the mouthwatering scent of roasting meat seasoned with wild herbs. Her stomach clenched violently, then growled with such ferocity it was almost painful¡ªa visceral reminder of the near-starvation diet of watery gruel and stale bread that had been her sustenance in the Dreadfort.

    The thought of real food¡ªhot, savory, abundant¡ªnearly brought her to tears again. She swallowed hard against the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth, trying to compose herself. To show such weakness before whoever had rescued her¡ªor captured her, for the possibility still lingered¡ªwould be dangerous.

    Slowly turning around, she faced a fire crackling at the center of the forest clearing, flames dancing playfully in a ring of carefully arranged stones. Smoke spiraled upward, curling lazily into the air like a wisp of dreams, before disappearing into the canopy above.

    In front of the fire, a man sat with his back to her, leaning forward with deliberate, focused movements as he slowly rotated a rabbit suspended on a green wood spit over the open flames. The savory aroma of the roasting meat mingled with the earthy scents of the forest, creating an enticing symphony of fragrance that made her lightheaded with hunger.

    She hesitated at the edge of the clearing, studying him. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrower waist. His posture was relaxed but alert, like a predator at rest.

    Amriel glanced down at herself, suddenly conscious of her appearance. Her prison garments hung in filthy tatters from her frame, stained with sweat, blood, and worse. Her arms were mottled with bruises in various stages of healing, and her fingers were cracked and raw. She felt a flush of shame creep up her neck, followed immediately by anger at herself for feeling it. She had survived. There was no shame in that.

    Amriel moved cautiously toward the fire, her bare feet whispering against the soft forest floor, each step deliberate as she approached. As she drew nearer, the figure turned to face her, revealing a handsome face etched with both resolve and kindness. His deep emerald green eyes sparkled with recognition, igniting a flicker of familiarity in her mind.

    ¡°Welcome back to the world, Amriel,¡± he said, his voice warm and inviting, like the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. The words wrapped around her like a comforting embrace, grounding her in the present moment.

    In that moment, as his eyes met hers, recognition bloomed in her chest like a winter rose, surprising and undeniable.

    Those eyes¡ªdeep emerald green, flecked with gold near the pupils. She knew those eyes, had seen them in her dreams and in that frantic moment in the Dreadfort.

    Thalon.

    Amriel froze, her gaze locked onto the man before her, unblinking.

    At her sides, her hands moved restlessly, clenching and unclenching in an attempt to find something solid to hold onto in a world that had just been ripped apart. She could feel the weight of every thought in her head¡ªevery question, every fear. The silence stretched out heavily between them.

    Dark, tousled hair fell just past his ears, framing a chiseled jawline and cheekbones that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. His piercing eyes, like shards of emeralds, never left her face, watching her closely, though his expression was unreadable.

    For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Amriel could hear the pulse of her heartbeat in her ears, the sound of it deafening in the stillness.

    "It¡¯s good you¡¯re finally awake," he said, the words slipping out with a wry amusement that was almost disarming. "I was beginning to think I¡¯d have to eat this all by myself."

    Amriel¡¯s sharp cobalt eyes flicked toward the fire, where a rabbit slowly rotated on a spit, its skin sizzling and crackling in the heat. The smell¡ªrich and savory, with a smoky edge¡ªwafted toward her, an irresistible scent that made her stomach clench and growl loudly.

    After a moment, the man sighed and his gaze softened. Turning back to the fire, he said "You must be hungry,"The words gentle, almost tentative. "I know I¡¯d be if I¡¯d been stuck in that place as long as you were." The crackling fire breaking the silence with a soothing, rhythmic hiss.

    Amriel¡¯s stomach gave another insistent growl, louder now.

    But when she didn¡¯t move, the man added, "I promise you, Amriel, that no one will force you to do anything ever again. Not ever." His voice steady and firm, "So, if I must eat this rabbit by myself, then so be it. But you can explain to Meeko why you refused to eat the lunch he so thoughtfully provided."

    ¡°Meeko?¡± Amriel¡¯s brows furrowed momentarily. Her feline companion had found them?

    Perhaps that shouldn¡¯t be as surprising as she thought. The Vhengal was, after all, Meeko¡¯s home just as much as it was hers. If not more.

    Then the thought crossed her mind, Meeko¡¯s here, and he trusted this man enough to leave me alone with him.

    ¡°He should be around here somewhere,¡± The man continued as he leaned forward to turn this spit. The fire crackled and hiss, sputtering forth a small plum of smoke as the renders fat dripped down.

    Amriel watched in silent horror. That fat could have been collected for mixing with herbs for one of her medicinal salves. The waste made her stomach twist in something other than hunger.

    ¡°From the way he darted off earlier, I suspect he¡¯s using nature¡¯s litter box.¡± Thalon said drly, ¡°Interesting name, I might add. That will get some laughs.¡± The last part he added in a murmur that wasn¡¯t really meant for her.

    Meeko, she was going to see Meeko again. Amriel¡¯s heart soared, and just as quickly sunk, ¡°Simon¡­Niamah¡± She gasped. What trouble could her escaping the Dreadfort cause for them?

    Would the King go after her friends?

    Without another word, Amriel turned and bolted into the depths of the forest, her legs carrying her through the underbrush, heart pounding in her chest. She knew the Vhengal well enough. It wouldn¡¯t take long for her to regain her bearings. All that mattered now was reaching Simon, Niamh, and the girls before the Dreadfort could close in on them.

 Chapter 29

    "Dammit, Amriel, wait!" Thalon''s voice rang out behind her, sharp with frustration but edged with something softer¡ªconcern, perhaps. "Stop!"

    But Amriel didn''t stop. She couldn''t. Her friends needed her, and thoughts of danger pushed her onward. She forced her petite frame forward, her dark hair whipping across her face as she ran. Her bare feet tripped over fallen branches and snarling roots, nearly sending her sprawling twice.

    The late afternoon sun filtered through the vaulted forest canopy, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for her like spectral fingers. Her breath tore from her chest in ragged gasps. Her legs already burned. Her body was reminding her it wasn''t quite what it used to be.

    A fallen tree blocked her path, its massive trunk covered in emerald moss despite the winter chill. She tried to scramble over it, the rough bark tearing at her palms, and she stumbled, falling to the forest floor.

    Her chest heaved and her lungs screamed in protest. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled her nostrils as she lay there, momentarily defeated.

    Simon, Niamh, I have to get to them, her mind screamed. But her body ignored it, her legs refusing to work.

    Behind her, Thalon had already caught up.

    "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

    No, she thought bitterly, I''m not alright. Nothing is alright.

    For a moment, Amriel said nothing as she lay on the forest floor. The dampness soaked into her clothes where her small body lay against the ground.

    "If I can survive having a hole blown in my chest, I think I can handle a scraped knee," Amriel grumbled dryly, her cobalt eyes flashing with defiance.

    "Technically, you didn''t survive the first one," Thalon said matter-of-factly.

    Amriel''s eyes narrowed in irritation at the correction, even if he was right. Technically.

    Before she could snap back, a firm set of hands scooped her up off the ground as gently and effortlessly as if she''d been a baby. Amriel froze as he held her close for a moment, her muscles rigid. She could smell those familiar scents on him¡ªpine and leather and smoke.

    "Please stop running, Amriel," he said softly as he set her back on her feet. His hands lingered at a distance for a moment, hovering near her shoulders, just in case she wasn''t quite ready to be upright. "I assure you, they are safe, Amriel. I made sure of that before I came for you."

    The top of her head barely reached his shoulder as he steadied her. Her cobalt eyes went wide with disbelief. "They''re safe?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

    Thalon nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes," he said, his emerald eyes locking with hers. "You''re going to have to trust me on that."

    Amriel''s heart thundered in her chest. The urge to run was still there, a gnawing fear deep within her, but she knew realistically her body wasn''t ready for it. She took a shuddering breath, her slender shoulders rising and falling beneath her tattered tunic.

    "How can I be sure?" she asked, her voice steadier now but still tense with worry. "Simon and Niamh¡ª"

    Thalon paused, his gaze softening just slightly as he reached into his belt and drew something out. "Here," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Niamh gave me this. She said it would prove my words to you."

    With deliberate care, he extended his hand in which Niamh''s favorite hairpin lay nestled in his palm along with a note.

    With steady breaths Amriel opened the letter to see Niamh''s familiar handwriting peering back up at her: We''re safe, Riel. As you better be. The simple note was followed by the elegant scaling letters of Niamh''s signature.

    Relief washed over Amriel''s features, softening the worry lines that had formed between her brows. Her dark hair fell forward, dirty and matted strands partially obscuring her face as she bent her head over the note.

    "Alright," Amriel folded the letter and held it close to her heart as she peered up into Thalon''s eyes.

    "Ah, I also have this," he said, and pulled her bone blade from his waistband.

    Amriel''s breath caught in her throat. For a long moment, she stood frozen, staring at the weapon in his hand. The hilt was worn smooth with age and use, the metal slightly dulled, but there was no mistaking it¡ªit was hers.

    Thalon nodded, relief visible in the slight easing of his shoulders. "We should get back to camp. Night''s coming, and Meeko has probably devoured half the rabbit by now."

    She nodded silently, falling into step beside him. Her shorter stature meant she had to take quick steps to match his longer stride, but she moved with a natural grace despite her earlier exhaustion.

    "That insufferable forest cat," Thalon said, a hint of fondness in his voice. "He''s appointed himself your guardian, whether you want one or not."

    As they turned back toward camp, Amriel clutched her recovered blade, wondering what lay ahead on this journey she was on. The forest around them deepened into twilight, the last rays of sunlight turning the leaves to burnished copper before fading away.

    <hr>

    What had just happened to her life? How had everything spiraled out of control so quickly?

    Thalon had led her back to their camp as the day''s light began to fade, painting the western sky in hues of amber and violet. Towering trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, their shadows lengthening across the forest floor with each passing minute. The scent of resin hung in the air, mingling with the earthy fragrance of damp soil and decaying leaves.

    Meeko awaited them by the dying fire, his massive form unmistakable even in the dimming light. The ebony and tawny forest cat¡ªnearly the size of a wolfhound¡ªmoved to her side with a feline grace that left her mesmerized. His silver eyes, intelligent and watchful, fixed on her face as if assessing her condition.

    At some point she had sat down on a fallen tree trunk, opposite Thalon across the fire. Her mind spun with a storm of unanswered questions while her body still hummed with the remnants of fear. The adrenaline slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a hollow, unsettling emptiness that made her limbs feel leaden. The wound in her chest, though healed, throbbed dully as a reminder of how close she had come to true death.

    Her gaze fell on the cooking rabbit, its skin crisping to a golden brown, fat dripping into the flames with a satisfying hiss. The flickering flames danced and twisted beneath the rabbit, her thoughts moving just as erratically.

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    Her fingers absent-mindedly threaded through Meeko''s thick, warm fur as he lay nestled beside her, his purring a soft, steady rhythm against her side that anchored her to the present moment, though it did little to quiet the disquiet stirring in her heart.

    She had escaped the Dreadfort, but what now? She couldn''t return home; they were probably waiting for her. And the capital writhed with eyes. She knew she wouldn''t last a second on those streets.

    Her gaze lingered on the flames. For a moment, her mind drifted to memories of home. Would she ever see her cottage again, with its thatched roof and the climbing roses her mother had planted? Or the great weeping willow that bowed over the pond at the forest''s edge, where they had laid her father to rest? How he had loved to spend his days reading beneath the shelter of its weeping branches and delicate leaves, the leather-bound books always in his hands.

    What of Simon and Niamh and their twin girls?

    Evening had fully descended now, the first stars appearing in the indigo canopy above the trees. Across from her, Thalon worked with deliberate focus, his hunting knife slicing through the roasted rabbit meat with practiced ease. Each piece he cut, he speared carefully on the tip of his blade, offering it to her silently.

    She accepted the first piece without hesitation, her hunger¡ªwhich had been gnawing at her insides since her escape¡ªdemanding satisfaction. The warmth of the meat spread through her, the taste rich and savory after days of the Dreadfort''s meager gruel.

    Meeko lifted his head, his nose twitching at the scent of food.

    "There''s a small stream nearby that you can wash up in, and I''ve a change of clothes for you," Thalon said as he carved a hunk of meat from the rabbit and handed it to her on the tip of his knife. "But first, you eat." His voice was low and steady, a counterpoint to the crackling of the fire.

    Amriel looked up, surprised by the sudden break in silence. The firelight cast half his face in shadow, but she could see the intensity in his emerald eyes, the firm set of his jaw beneath the faint stubble of a beard.

    Thalon then cut a generous piece of meat and offered it to the cat. Meeko took it delicately from his fingers, a stark contrast to his usual territorial behavior around strangers.

    She watched Meeko return to her side, his massive form pressing against her leg as he settled once more, his eyes half-closed in contentment. The knowledge that her companion had sought help¡ªhad somehow known to find Thalon¡ªadded yet another question to the growing list in her mind.

    Yet, Thalon didn''t push her to speak further. He simply continued preparing their meal, his movements efficient and calm, his gaze occasionally meeting hers across the flames before returning to his task. The night deepened around them, the forest canopy now a dark lattice against the star-filled sky.

    When she''d had her fill, Thalon led her to the stream that ran through the forest just beyond their camp. Meeko followed close by her side and settled down to sit near the river, his silver eyes reflecting in the shafts of moonlight that filtered down through the canopy.

    "Here are your clothes, Niamh picked them out," he said, settling a bundle down on a rock near the stream. Next to them he placed a pair of sturdy leather boots. "I''ll be just over there if you need me. Promise I won''t look." He said and vanished back through the undergrowth to their camp.

    Amriel shivered in the cool night air as she stripped the filthy clothes from her body and cast them aside. Her flesh trembled as she used the river water to clean the grime from her skin and hair as best she could.

    Unlike the baths she''d enjoyed in the Coven Tower, with its heated water and scented oils, this one Amriel kept brief and shivering. The frigid water numbed her fingers as she scrubbed days of filth from her skin, wincing as she passed over the raised, jagged scar on her chest. The mark was still an angry red¡ªa permanent reminder of her death and impossible resurrection.

    Teeth chattering, she hurriedly shrugged her trembling body into the clean clothes Niamh had provided¡ªa simple tunic and trousers of sturdy wool. Next she slipped on the boots and laced them up.

    As she dressed, Meeko remained vigilant, his massive form a silent sentinel against the darkness. Occasionally his ears would twitch, tracking sounds in the forest that human ears couldn''t detect. His presence was reassuring, a constant in her life when everything else had become uncertain.

    With her wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders, Amriel made her way back to camp, her mind racing with questions yet finding no answers. The bone blade hung at her hip now, its familiar weight both comforting and strange¡ªlike returning to a childhood home after years away.

    Thalon was tending the fire when she returned, adding small branches to keep the flames alive. He looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable in the flickering light. For a moment, neither spoke, the crackle of the fire filling the silence between them.

    "Better?" he asked finally, gesturing to a spot near the fire.

    Amriel nodded, settling herself on the fallen log again. The heat from the flames began to chase away the chill that had settled deep in her bones. Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind was alert, buzzing with too many thoughts to allow for rest.

    "How long was I unconscious?" she asked, her voice rough from the cold water and lingering fatigue. She pulled her damp hair away from her face, twisting it over one shoulder.

    "Since yesterday," Thalon replied, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. His eyes remained fixed on the flames that danced inside the fire, casting his features in shifting shadows. "You collapsed as we were leaving the Dreadfort. Your body had reached its limit."

    The heat from the flames caressed her skin, and she realized how deeply cold she had been¡ªnot just from the stream, but from days of fear and captivity. The warmth seemed to reach places within her that had been frozen for too long.

    After several moments of silence broken only by the fire''s crackle and Meeko''s soft purring, a question that had been gnawing at her finally found its way to her lips.

    "Why did you come for me?" she asked, looking up to meet his gaze directly. "Why risk your life to free someone you barely know?"

    Meeko stirred beside her, raising his massive head as if interested in Thalon''s response. The forest cat''s silver eyes reflected the firelight, giving them an almost supernatural glow in the darkness.

    Thalon''s eyes flickered with something¡ªsurprise, perhaps, or uncertainty.

    "I need to know what you are," he said levelly, his emerald eyes holding hers.

    The fire crackled between them, sparks ascending like departing spirits into the darkening sky above.

    His response caught Amriel off guard. Her hand instinctively moved to the scar on her chest, the mark of her death and impossible return.

    He''s trying to figure me out? Well, isn''t that a turn of the tables, she thought, a hint of bitterness rising within her. All this time, she''d been wondering who he was, and it turned out he was just as uncertain about her.

    Amriel let out a short, bitter laugh. "What I am? That''s... not what I expected." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the fire. "Funny thing is, I''ve been asking myself the same question."

    Thalon raised an eyebrow. "The tome. The ancient language. The prophecy only you could read. Coming back from the dead." He gestured vaguely at her. "There''s something about you that doesn''t quite... fit."

    The mention of the prophecy sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the night air. The strange symbols that had swirled on the page, meaningless to all eyes but hers, had haunted her dreams since the day she''d first seen them in the dusty archives of the Coven Tower.

    "So you''ve brought me here to interrogate me?" Amriel asked, her voice tight, fingers curling into the fabric of her new tunic.

    "No," Thalon said, slowly shaking his head. "I have questions, and I''m taking you to those who have answers."

    "That''s wonderfully vague," Amriel muttered. "Who exactly are these mysterious people, and where are you taking me?"

    Thalon''s mouth quirked into something almost resembling a smile. "To the Veil," he said simply.

    "The Veil," Amriel repeated. The name stirred no recollection from her studied with either her mother or the Lyceum. "Where is that?

    "That," Thalon said, meeting her eyes again, "is something you''ll have to see for yourself."

    "You''re not big on straight answers, are you?" she said. "This Veil¡ªis it far?"

    Thalon poked at the fire with a stick, sending a fresh shower of sparks into the night air. "A day, if we keep a good pace." He glanced at her. "Maybe two."

    "Two days of your charming company," Amriel said dryly. "Lucky me."

    A hint of amusement flickered across Thalon''s face. "I''ve been told I grow on people."

    "Like mould on bread?" Amriel countered, but there was less edge to her voice now. The food was restoring not just her strength but something of her spirit.

    Thalon broke off another piece of meat for himself. "Something like that. At least it won''t be worse than the company you had in the Dreadfort. I hope, anyway."

    As Meeko stretched out beside her, his warmth against her leg a comforting presence, Amriel found herself studying Thalon''s profile against the firelight. He was an enigma¡ªthis man who had rescued her only to tell her he didn''t know what she was.

 Chapter 30

    The night deepened around them, wrapping the forest in layers of darkness pierced only by the glow of their small fire. With her belly full and her body clean, the warmth of the flames began to seep into Amriel''s bones, chasing away the lingering chill. Her eyelids grew heavy as exhaustion, held at bay for too long by fear and adrenaline, finally caught up with her.

    She tried to focus on Thalon''s words as he spoke of their journey ahead, but his voice seemed to come from farther and farther away. The dancing flames blurred before her eyes, their orange glow melding with the shadows. Her head dipped once, twice, before she caught herself, blinking rapidly.

    "Sorry," she murmured, her words slurring slightly. "What were you saying about the mountain pass?"

    Meeko shifted beside her, his substantial weight leaning more heavily against her leg as if encouraging her to rest. The rhythmic rumble of his purring vibrated through her, a lullaby as ancient as the forest itself. His silver eyes reflected the firelight, giving them an otherworldly gleam that seemed almost knowing.

    Thalon paused mid-sentence, studying her with those emerald eyes that seemed to miss nothing. "You''re exhausted," he said, his voice gentler than she''d heard it before. For a moment, the hardened warrior''s mask slipped, revealing something older, something that carried the weight of more years than his appearance suggested.

    "I''m fine," Amriel protested weakly, even as her head nodded forward again. Her fingers, which had been absently stroking Meeko''s fur, stilled as her hand fell limply to her side. The bone blade at her hip pressed uncomfortably against her thigh, but she lacked the energy to adjust it.

    Through half-lidded eyes, she watched as Thalon rose and moved around the fire toward her. His figure seemed to waver like a mirage in the heat of the flames, tall and solid one moment, indistinct the next. She should be wary, she knew. She should keep her guard up. But her body had other ideas, surrendering to weariness against her will.

    "Don''t fight it," Thalon''s voice came to her as if through water. "Your body needs to heal."

    She felt the weight of something heavy and warm being draped around her shoulders. His cloak, she realized distantly, the fabric carrying his scent of pine and leather and something else¡ªsomething like frost on a clear winter''s night. The warmth of it enveloped her immediately, and she found herself leaning into it despite herself.

    "Get some sleep, Amriel," he said, his voice a low rumble near her ear. "We''ve got a long journey ahead."

    She meant to respond, to thank him perhaps, but the words dissolved before they reached her lips, lost in the growing fog of near-sleep.

    As consciousness began to slip away, she was vaguely aware of strong hands guiding her to lie down on something soft¡ªa bedroll he must have prepared while she bathed. Meeko''s substantial weight settled against her back, a living barrier between her and the night.

    "I''ll keep watch," came Thalon''s voice, now seeming to come from very far away. "You''re safe."

    Her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her completely was that she couldn''t remember the last time anyone had told her she was safe and she had actually believed them.

    <hr>

    The pale light of dawn filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor. Amriel woke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the softness beneath her and the weight of Meeko pressed against her side. The forest cat''s rhythmic purring vibrated against her ribs, a soothing counterpoint to the sharp memories that came flooding back.

    She was free. No longer in the cold, dank cell of the Dreadfort.

    Across the remnants of last night''s fire, Thalon crouched, methodically packing supplies into a weathered leather satchel. His movements were efficient, deliberate, each item carefully secured with the precision of someone long accustomed to life on the move. The glint of his twin blades caught the morning light as he adjusted them across his back. She noticed a faint silvery tracery on the scabbards¡ªrunes or symbols of some kind, nothing like the script from the ancient tome, but clearly not from any language she knew.

    Had he slept at all? His emerald eyes showed no signs of fatigue as they flicked up to meet hers.

    "You''re awake," he said simply, tossing her a small bundle wrapped in cloth. "Eat. We should move soon." His voice carried an edge it hadn''t the night before, a tension that made her instantly alert.

    Amriel caught the bundle reflexively, unwrapping the package to find dried berries and strips of smoked meat. She hesitated only briefly before hunger overtook caution, and she began to eat with careful restraint, though her body demanded she devour it all at once.

    "Something''s wrong," she said between bites, noticing how Thalon''s gaze repeatedly swept the tree line. "What is it?"

    He paused in his packing, head tilting slightly as if listening to something beyond her hearing. "We were followed," he said at last, voice low. "They''re keeping their distance for now, but we shouldn''t linger."

    A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the morning air. "The Dreadfort guards?"

    "No." His expression darkened. "Something else. Something that shouldn''t be in these woods."

    Amriel¡¯s eyes widened, Well isn¡¯t that terrifyingly cryptic.

    Meeko stretched languidly beside her, his massive paws extending forward as his back arched. With a soft chirp, he sauntered toward Thalon, eyes fixed expectantly on the warrior''s pack. Despite the apparent danger, the forest cat seemed unconcerned.

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    "Your cat expects a share," Thalon observed dryly, though he reached into his satchel and produced a small piece of dried fish, which Meeko accepted with surprising delicacy.

    "He''s not actually my cat," Amriel said through bites of berries. "If anything, I''m his human."

    A ghost of a smile flickered across Thalon''s face, there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it. "Creatures like him choose their companions with purpose," he said cryptically, securing the last of their supplies.

    As she ate, the questions that had swirled in her mind before sleep overtook her resurfaced with renewed urgency. The Veil. A place she''d never heard of, yet beyond it apparently held answers about what she was.

    "This Veil," she began, gathering her courage, rising to her feet as she tucked the remaining food into her pocket. The morning air was crisp against her skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, along with something else¡ªsomething like metal and ozone, sharp enough to make her nostrils flare. "You said it''s where we''ll find answers. What exactly is it?"

    Thalon''s hands stilled momentarily before he continued his work, his expression carefully neutral. He straightened, surveying the clearing one final time before turning to her.

    "Walk with me," he said instead of answering. "We need to put distance between us and this place."

    Frustration surged within her. "That''s not¡ª"

    "You have questions. I understand that." His tone was firm but not unkind. "I''ll answer what I can as we move. But right now, we need to go."

    Something in his expression¡ªa flicker of genuine concern¡ªmade her swallow her protest. She nodded reluctantly, adjusting the bone blade at her hip to a more comfortable position.

    As they set off through the forest, Meeko ranging slightly ahead like a silent scout, Thalon maintained a watchful silence. The undergrowth grew denser here, ferns and wild blackberry bushes clutching at their legs as they passed. Overhead, the canopy thickened, filtering the morning light into a green-gold haze that danced across their path.

    "The Veil," Thalon said at last, when they had put nearly an hour''s distance between themselves and their camp, "is not easily explained to those who haven''t seen it."

    He stepped over a fallen tree trunk wrapped in emerald moss, its core half-decayed and teeming with life¡ªtiny mushrooms sprouted in clusters along its length, their caps gleaming with morning dew. Pausing, he offered his hand to help Amriel over. She hesitated only briefly before accepting it, startled by the unexpected warmth of his calloused palm against hers. For someone who seemed carved from cold stone, his touch held surprising heat.

    Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling his face with patterns of gold and shadow that shifted with each breath of wind. In that play of light, Amriel caught something ancient in his eyes¡ªa depth that belied his apparent age.

    "It exists between this realm and the others," he continued as they walked, voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow carried clearly to her ears despite the forest sounds surrounding them¡ªthe distant calls of forest birds, the rustle of leaves underfoot, the soft murmur of a stream somewhere beyond the trees. "I''m taking you to a place where the boundaries grow thin enough to cross, if one knows the way."

    "Another realm?" Amriel''s voice caught, her throat suddenly dry. "But those are just stories..."

    She trailed off, memories surfacing unbidden¡ªher mother''s face illuminated by firelight on winter nights, Nythia''s normally stern expression softened as she spoke of places beyond mortal sight. The stories had seemed like mere entertainment to a young Amriel who''d snuggled beneath wool blankets, eyes wide with wonder. But Nythia had never been one to waste breath on something without merit. Each tale had been delivered with the same precision with which she taught herb lore and healing¡ªas essential knowledge, not idle fancy.

    "Like the tales of someone returning from death?" Thalon countered, "The old stories often contain more truth than people realize."

    With each step deeper into the forest, Amriel felt the foundations of her life crumbling beneath her. Amriel wondered what exactly her mother had been preparing her for, because it certainly wasn¡¯t coming across as the simple life of a herbalist that she¡¯d first thought.

    "Where is this place where the boundaries grow thin?" Amriel asked, though even as the words left her lips, an image formed unbidden in her mind: jagged peaks silhouetted against a violet sky, where stars seemed close enough to touch. The northern mountains¡ªa place she''d never been yet knew of.

    "The mountain passage to the north," Thalon confirmed. He glanced back, eyes catching hers with that unnerving intensity. "Beyond the Widow''s Teeth, where the silver lady graces the land."

    A shiver passed through Amriel that had nothing to do with the cool forest air. "My mother warned me about the northern mountains," she murmured, her fingers absently tracing the iron ring at her throat.

    She could still hear Nythia''s voice, unusually urgent: The mountain passage is not for mortal souls. The memory carried with it, the feeling of her mother''s grip on her shoulders, too tight to be a casual concern.

    "I suspected she would," Thalon said, navigating around a thicket of brambles with preternatural grace. "Nythia was always thorough in her precautions."

    Amriel stumbled over an exposed root, catching herself against the rough bark of an oak, where ahead Thalon moved as if the forest welcomed him, parting branches and easing his passage.

    "How do you know my mother?" she demanded, breath coming quicker now as they ascended a gentle slope. The question had been building since her mother¡¯s name had come with recognition within the castle, by the King no less. She studied him as they walked¡ªhis otherworldly grace, the ageless quality to his features despite his warrior''s build. "Who are you to her?"

    This time Thalon''s step faltered, just for a heartbeat¡ªa crack in his perfect composure that spoke volumes. He paused atop the rise, silhouetted against dappled sunlight, his profile sharp as a blade against the verdant backdrop.

    "The Veil is guarded by those whom time has forgotten," he said finally, his voice carrying an echo of something she couldn¡¯t quite place. "Those who walked between worlds before your kingdoms were built, who maintain the balance when it threatens to tip."

    "And these guardians," Amriel said slowly, the pieces shifting in her mind like a puzzle box being solved, "you know them?"

    "Your mother is one of them," he answered, each word measured and heavy with implication. "As am I."

    The world seemed to still around them¡ªbirds falling silent, leaves ceasing their whisper, even the air growing thick with unspoken truths. In that suspended moment, Amriel felt something fundamental shift within her understanding of reality, like a door long locked suddenly opening to reveal vistas beyond imagination.

    "Then she''s alive," Amriel whispered, her voice caught between hope and accusation. "All this time..."

    Before Thalon could answer, Meeko suddenly froze ahead of them, his massive form going unnaturally still as his tail puffed to twice its size. A low, warning growl rumbled from his chest¡ªa sound Amriel had heard only once before, when a starving wolf had stalked their cottage during the deepest part of winter.

    Thalon''s hands flew to the shorter blades at his hips, the forest too dense for the use of swords, the movement so swift Amriel barely caught it. "Get behind me," he ordered, voice hardening to the commander she''d glimpsed at court.

    But before she could move, the forest ahead exploded into chaos.

 Chapter 31

    A figure burst through the undergrowth, moving with inhuman speed¡ªa silhouette cut from the fabric of twilight itself. Standing unnaturally tall, it moved with liquid grace, each step leaving faint traces of violet-black mist that dissipated seconds later. Its form was androgynous and elegant, with limbs too long and joints that bent at subtly wrong angles. The creature''s skin gleamed like polished obsidian shot through with veins of starlight, neither fully solid nor entirely ethereal.

    Its face was a perfect oval of midnight blue, featuring only three distinct elements: a mouth like a thin silver crescent, high cheekbones that caught light at impossible angles, and eyes¡ªtwo almond-shaped pools of swirling galaxies, lacking pupils yet somehow conveying ancient awareness.

    The creature wore no conventional armor but was draped in what seemed to be solidified shadow, forming patterns across its chest and shoulders that rearranged themselves when viewed directly.

    Around them, the ancient forest seemed to recoil. The towering oaks and pines shrank back, their usual whispers silenced.

    The creature turned its eyes on her, where she stood behind Thalon, "Fha''lear," its voice came as a hiss, the same word Amriel had heard Thalon utter when he''d collapsed in her cottage. The sound was both terrifying and yet not all at once.

    Thalon''s blades were in his hands without her seeing him draw them, the sharp edges glinting wickedly. "Stay behind me," he commanded.

    The creature tilted its featureless head, that terrible mouth stretching into what might have been a smile. "Guardian," it said to Thalon, its voice like rocks grinding together. "Give us the Witch, and you may yet live."

    Witch? All her life she''d been an herbalist, a healer who relied on plants and poultices, not Power.

    She knew many witches¡ªthose rare souls born with an affinity for the Currents of Power¡ªbut Amriel had never shown a hint of such abilities. Her mother¡¯s remedies and careful teachings had been the source of her healing gifts, not magic.

    Thalon''s stance shifted, his body coiling like a spring. "She is under my protection," he replied, his voice resonating with power that made the air between them shimmer. "She is to go before the Keepers. Return to your master and tell him the old treaties still hold."

    The creature''s laughter was the sound of ice cracking over deep water. "Treaties?" It tilted its head at an impossible angle. "The Door weakens, Guardian. The Patient stir. What are treaties to those who slumbered before your kind drew breath? Give us the Witch. She is ours!"

    What the hell is this thing? And what does it want with me?

    Amriel''s mind raced and her heart thundered inside her head.

    Meeko snarled, hackles raised as he positioned himself protectively at Amriel''s side. She felt rooted to the spot, emotions churning within her like leaves caught in a whirlpool¡ªterror, confusion, and beneath it all, a strange defiance that surprised her with its intensity.

    "I''ll ask only once more," Thalon said, his voice dropping dangerously. "Leave. Now."

    The creature''s response was to lunge forward, movements unnaturally fluid, like water flowing uphill. Thalon met it with blinding speed, his twin blades singing through the air. Where they struck, the creature''s form seemed to ripple and distort, as if it wasn''t entirely solid.

    Amriel stumbled backward, her bone blade somehow in her hand though she didn''t remember drawing it.

    The creature was impossibly fast, darting around Thalon''s defenses to swipe at him with elongated fingers that ended in curved talons.

    Thalon spun, his blades carving silver arcs through the air. He grunted, parrying a strike that would have opened his throat.

    The creature''s attacks came in relentless waves, each movement flowing into the next like a dance choreographed in another world. Thalon met each strike with preternatural speed, his daggers singing as they cut through air that seemed to thicken around the creature''s form. They circled each other, predator against predator, neither gaining advantage.

    Amriel watched in horrified fascination, her bone blade clutched in white-knuckled hands. The forest around them had gone unnaturally still, as if the very trees held their breath. The usual chittering of irate squirrels and songs of mountain thrushes had ceased entirely, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the whistle of blades through air and the occasional grunt of exertion.

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    "What do I do?" she whispered, though whether to herself or Meeko, she couldn''t say. Her thoughts were a tangle of bewilderment and half-formed plans. She''d spent her life tending to the sick, not fighting otherworldly horrors. Yet something in her refused to be merely a spectator to her own fate.

    The forest cat pressed against her leg, his silver eyes never leaving the combat. A low growl vibrated through his massive frame, muscles tensed and ready.

    The creature feinted left, then struck with impossible speed, its arm elongating as it reached for Amriel. Thalon twisted, intercepting the attack with his body rather than his blade. The creature''s talons raked across his shoulder, tearing through leather and flesh alike. Blood flowed from the jagged tears.

    "Thalon!" Amriel cried, instinctively stepping forward. Her healer''s instincts warred with his warnings to stay back. The sight of his blood awakened something in her¡ªnot fear, but resolution. Whatever this creature wanted, whatever it thought she was, she would not let Thalon face it alone.

    "Stay back!" he commanded, voice tight with pain.

    The creature paused, galaxy eyes narrowing. "You have changed, Guardian," it said, voice resonating with something almost like respect. "The mortal shell you wear grows stronger with each passage."

    "You have no idea," Thalon said, advancing. In that moment''s hesitation, Thalon struck, his blade burning itself into the creature''s left side before it could fully evade.

    A fatal wound. Amriel knew from the sight of it, her healer''s eyes recognizing the depth of the strike. Yet instead of blood, light poured from the creature''s wound.

    The creature shrieked¡ªa savage sound.

    "This changes nothing, Guardian. The Witch belongs to us." Its form began to lose cohesion, edges blurring into the shadows between trees.

    With a sound like wind through trees, the creature dissolved into tendrils of violet-black mist that slithered away through the underbrush, leaving nothing but a lingering chill in the air.

    Thalon stood motionless for several heartbeats, blades still raised, muscles coiled tight as bowstrings. Only when the last trace of mist had vanished did he finally lower his weapons, shoulders sagging with a weariness that seemed to age him before Amriel''s eyes.

    "It''s gone. For now," he said, sheathing his blades with hands that trembled slightly.

    Amriel hesitated only a moment before rushing to his side. "You''re hurt," she said, eyeing the torn leather of his armor where the creature''s talons had struck. Her mind was a whirl of questions, but her healer''s training took precedence.

    "It will heal," Thalon replied, already moving to gather their scattered belongings. "But we need to move. Quickly."

    "That... creature," Amriel said, the unfamiliar word sitting strangely on her tongue. "What in all the hells was that? And why did it call me a Witch?" The questions tumbled out, her voice pitched higher than normal, betraying the tremor of bewilderment she fought to control.

    Thalon slung his pack over his shoulder, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his healing wound. "That was what was stalking us last night," he said grimly. "It¡¯s kind serve the ones who live in Nightmares. As for why it named you Witch..." His emerald eyes flickered to her throat where the stone lay hidden. ¡°I plan to find that out. But what matters now is your safety."

    "Come on, we need to keep moving." Thalon continued, already starting north at a pace that Amriel struggled to keep up. "It''ll be back. It always comes back."

    Meeko loped alongside them, occasionally darting ahead to scout the path before returning to Amriel''s side. The forest cat moved with determined grace, his silver eyes constantly alert.

    "Can that thing... heal like you do?" Amriel asked as they crossed a shallow stream, cold water soaking through her boots. Her mind still reeled from the creature''s words. The Witch belongs to us.

    Thalon''s expression tightened. "Unfortunately, yes." He glanced at her, something unreadable flickering in his emerald eyes. "But not as quickly. We have time, just not much."

    Thalon fell silent, increasing his pace. They traveled with little rest as the hours wore on, Amriel''s legs burning with exertion, her lungs straining in the thinning air. Thalon only allowed them the occasional rest stops before pressing onward. Each time they paused, Amriel found her gaze drawn back to the vast forest they were leaving behind, half-expecting to see tendrils of violet-black mist pursuing them as the approached the foothills.

    Glazing up through the forest canopy, she could see the northern mountains as their jagged peaks rose high into the sky.

    Only when the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, painting the mountainsides in hues of amber and gold, did Thalon finally slow his relentless pace.

    "We''re close," he said, pausing atop a rocky outcropping that overlooked the valley they had traversed. The forest stretched below them like a vast green sea, the late sun casting long shadows across its canopy.

    Amriel braced her hands on her knees, drawing deep breaths into her starved lungs. "Close to what?" she managed between gasps. "The Veil?"

    "Yes. To the threshold," Thalon replied, scanning the mountainside above them. "The entrance lies beyond that ridge. But first, we need something."

    "What?" Amriel asked, straightening despite her body''s protests.

    As Amriel watched, something in Thalon''s demeanor shifted. The wariness that had driven their flight didn''t vanish but receded like a tide, giving way to a quiet intentness that transformed him before her eyes. His posture changed subtly¡ªmore centered, more present¡ªas he drew a deep breath of the mountain air. The emerald of his eyes seemed to brighten, catching the last rays of sunlight like polished jade.

    "What is it?" Amriel asked, suddenly alert. "Are we being hunted again?"

    The tension in Thalon''s face eased, "No," he said, voice resonating with quiet certainty. "Now we are the hunters.¡±

 Chapter 32

    Thalon burst from their hiding place with a predators grace, each step precise and measured as he crossed the clearing.

    The serene silence of the grove shattered with a horrendous screech that seemed to vibrate through the very air. The bird flapped its immense wings in panic. Amriel''s breath caught in her throat as she watched Thalon tackle the magnificent bird with startling precision.

    Unable to bear witness to the death of such a beautiful creature, Amriel averted her gaze, her fingers buried deep in Meeko''s fur. The forest cat trembled beneath her touch, not from fear but from a strange resonance with the energy that now pulsed through the clearing.

    She squeezed her eyes shut against the vision of destruction she expected to follow. The sound of beating wings grew frantic, then abruptly ceased.

    The silence that followed was deafening.

    "I got it!" Thalon''s triumphant voice called out.

    Tentatively, Amriel opened her eyes, expecting carnage but finding none. Instead, the warrior knelt in the moonlit clearing, a single, pristine azure feather glowing faintly in his hand. Its edges shimmered with that same iridescent light that had outlined the bird''s form.

    "You didn''t... kill it?" she asked, stepping cautiously into the clearing. Her voice carried equal measures of relief and confusion as her eyes searched for any signs of blood or broken feathers. Nothing but the gentle sway of the disturbed moonflowers suggested anything had happened at all.

    Thalon raised an eyebrow, as though surprised by her question, then shook his head. "No. Of course not. Why would I kill an Aurex when all we need is a feather?"

    Amriel watched Thalon rise and cross the clearing back to her. The way he was holding the feather aloft, paired with the triumphant look on his face, reminded Amriel of when Niamh¡¯s twins did something they were proud of.

    "This," he said as he neared her, "is our key to the Vale."

    Amriel stared, her gaze shifting between the feather''s radiant glow and the sharp, shadowed angles of his face. "That has to be the strangest key I''ve ever seen," she murmured.

    Silvery moonlight caught in his hair, turning the dark strands almost luminous against his bronzed skin as he approached the thick cluster of bushes where she still stood.

    ¡°Oh, there are much stranger ones, I assure you.¡± He said matter-of-factly, a brief flash of disgust flitted across his face while he muttered, ¡°The gods do have a strange sense of humor after all.¡±

    Then, with a shrug, he proceeded to tuck the feather away into the folds of his cloak and collected his belongings from the brush beside Amriel.

    Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Thalon set off across the clearing and disappeared between two ancient oak trees whose massive trunks were twisted together like lovers embracing, their canopy creating a natural archway. One moment he was visible, his outline clear against the darkness; the next, he had melted into the shadows as if the forest had swallowed him whole.

    Amriel¡¯s eyes darted through the forest around her. She knew these woods extremely well. Even if this was a part of it she had never tread, she was confident she could make her way back home from here. But what awaited her there? To be thrown back into the Dreadfort?

    A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of the cold cells and the maddening chatter.

    Truthfully, she could go anywhere now. Just run away, go anywhere else. They¡¯d never find her.

    But part of her wanted to know, and hopefully understand, what was happening to her, and Thalon might take her to those who could answer a great deal of questions.

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    Before she could mull the thoughts over in an already muddled mind, Meeko, who had remained remarkably still throughout the ordeal, darted out to follow Thalon, and, together, they disappeared into the shadows of the forest without so much as a glance back.

    Suddenly, she was all alone, and the dark forest loomed in.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Amriel called, scrambling after them, crashing through the underbrush with a little less grace than she would have appreciated.

    Together, the three companions continued their journey through the forest. Thalon moved with purpose, occasionally pausing to examine subtle markers Amriel couldn''t discern¡ªa bent branch here, a peculiar arrangement of stones there. The night deepened around them, and moonlight filtered through the canopy in silver shafts that danced as the wind stirred the leaves.

    Just when Amriel wondered if they were lost, the dense undergrowth of the Vhengal Forest gave way to reveal another clearing. This one, however, was unlike any she had ever encountered in her countless explorations.

    Amriel had taken pride in her knowledge of the Vhengal. She''d spent her childhood roaming its paths, gathering herbs for her mother, learning its secrets season by season. But this clearing made her wonder if she knew the forest at all.

    She froze at its edge, her breath catching at the surreal sight. Before her, the full moon hung impossibly low, arching across the clearing like a silver gate. A pool at its base reflected its image so perfectly that it seemed the moon had descended to touch the earth.

    Her thoughts scrambled as the voices in the depths of the Dreadfort echoed in her thoughts: The moon is a lie! The words that had once seemed like the ravings of a broken mind now sent a chill down her spine.

    "What¡­" she stammered, unable to reconcile what she was seeing with everything she had known. "How does this make sense?"

    Thalon turned, his face unreadable but his voice calm. "This is where I will need you to trust me, Amriel." Without waiting for her response, he produced the feather from his cloak and strode toward the moonlit pool.

    Meeko pressed against her leg. The forest cat''s ears were perked forward, fixated on Thalon.

    "It''s all right," she whispered, though she wasn''t sure which of them she was trying to reassure. She stroked Meeko''s head, drawing comfort from his familiar presence as much as offering it.

    Amriel watched as Thalon waded into the pond, the glowing feather held aloft like a torch. The water rippled beneath his steps, but strangely, none of it clung to him. His boots remained dry, his movements unburdened by the liquid that should have soaked him through. It was as if the pond itself resisted his presence, bending to his will.

    Reaching the center of the pool, Thalon stopped, his silhouette stark against the shimmering light of the moon. Slowly, he raised the feather higher, its luminescence intensifying until it seemed to rival the stars above. He began to speak, his voice low and measured, the words both alien and strangely familiar, resonating in the depths of Amriel''s chest. The sounds were soft, almost melodic, like a song hummed by the forest itself.

    Though she strained to catch the meaning, the language eluded her. Yet, somehow, it tugged at her memory, a distant echo of something she had once known¡ªor perhaps dreamed. The cadence of his words seemed to resonate with the world around them, the very air thrumming in time with his voice.

    As the incantation continued, the moon¡¯s reflection began to ripple, its surface wavering like water caught in a breeze. Its pale light shimmered, bending and twisting in impossible patterns. Amriel''s gaze flicked between the moon above and its shifting reflection below, her heart racing as the ripples grew stronger, spreading outward in hypnotic waves.

    Then, without warning, the moon and its mirrored twin fractured, their forms shattering into cascading beams of silver. The shards dissolved into the night, leaving only a gaping void¡ªa deep, black abyss where the celestial light had been moments earlier.

    The darkness was absolute, a void so profound it seemed to swallow the world around it. The air grew still, heavy with an unearthly quiet, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. A chill ran down Amriel''s spine, the emptiness before her unlike anything she had ever encountered.

    Thalon turned his head slightly, his profile illuminated by the faint glow still radiating from the feather. His voice carried across the water, calm yet filled with gravity. "The path is open," he said, his words slicing through the oppressive silence. Then, without hesitation, he stepped toward the abyss.

    "Wait!" Amriel found herself calling out for the second time that night.

    Thalon paused, the water lapping softly around his knees yet his clothes remained dry. The feather''s light cast an ethereal glow over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the resolute glint in his emerald eyes. In that moment, he seemed less a man and more a figure from a tale whispered around fires on winter nights.

    And then, he smiled, and without a word, turned from her and stepped into the darkness that awaited.

 Chapter 33

    The moon gate drew her inwards. Darkness surged forward, enveloping her and consuming everything as the world unraveled around her. Amriel''s breath hitched as she found herself suspended in a vast, endless void. The pond, the moonlit clearing, Thalon¡ªall of it had vanished as if erased by the black sea now enveloping her.

    She wasn''t walking anymore. Her feet no longer touched solid ground, yet she wasn''t falling either. She drifted, her movements fluid, guided by some unseen force that seemed to anticipate her every thought. The air¡ªor what passed for air¡ªwas thick and resonant, vibrating with a low, steady hum that thrummed through her chest.

    The darkness wasn''t empty. It breathed. It pulsed. It was alive.

    Tiny pinpricks of light began to pierce through the black, faint at first, like distant stars winking into existence. They shimmered and swirled in erratic patterns, shifting just beyond her understanding. She reached out instinctively, her fingers grazing the lights. They were warm and electric, slipping through her hands like golden threads, leaving trails of heat that tickled her skin.

    Then, without warning, her mind flooded with visions.

    A night sky ablaze with shooting stars, blanketing a sprawling city bathed in silver light. A mountain veiled in shadow, its jagged peak cutting through dense, ancient forest. A figure standing at the edge of a storm, its silhouette cloaked in swirling darkness. The images flickered, lingering for only moments before dissolving back into the void.

    "Hello, Amriel..."

    The voice was soft yet impossibly vast, as if the darkness itself had spoken. Its power was palpable, vibrating in her very bones. Her heart raced as she spun around, searching for the source, but she was utterly alone.

    "Who''s there?" she called, her voice trembling despite the calm that seemed to emanate from the void. The question echoed, swallowed by the immense quiet.

    Silence followed, but she could feel it¡ªsomething moving around her, its presence brushing against the edges of her awareness like a shadow circling a flame.

    The lights around her began to coalesce, drawn together by some unseen force. Their swirling became faster, tighter, until they wove themselves into a breathtaking tapestry of stars and shapes that grew vivid beneath her.

    Amriel gasped as the scene took form, and suddenly she was soaring. Her perspective shifted, impossibly high, as though she were an eagle gliding silently through the vast night. Below her, a city unfurled¡ªone unlike anything she had ever seen in the Seven Realms.

    Spires of glass and stone rose from the valley floor, glowing with silvery light and etched with pulsing runes. Rooftops gleamed copper beneath an unseen source of light, while streams of liquid silver meandered through emerald meadows surrounding the city. Even the trees seemed alive with inner light, their luminous leaves shimmering at the valley''s edges.

    She was being drawn closer¡ªnot just to the city, but to something at its core. Something waiting.

    The descent quickened, sharp and purposeful. She felt an inexplicable sensation¡ªthe ghost of wings folding tightly against her back. Faster and faster she fell, the city''s brilliance rushing toward her, the hum of the runes resonating with her heartbeat.

    Just as impact seemed inevitable, the vision shattered. It didn''t fade¡ªit broke apart like fragile glass struck by a hammer. Shards of light scattered around her, spinning into countless twinkling stars that spiraled into the void.

    Amriel gasped, suspended once again in the vast black sea. Her body trembled, the pulse of the city still lingering in her veins like an echo. Before she could collect her thoughts, the darkness shifted again.

    "Amriel..." The voice returned, deeper now, resonant and impossibly close. Not just a voice¡ªa presence, vast and all-encompassing, pressing against her very soul.

    "What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice trembling, her fists clenching as she fought to steady herself in the emptiness.

    The darkness didn''t answer in words. Instead, it acted. Amriel''s world lurched as if the void itself had seized her, and suddenly she was hurtling through the starry expanse. The lights streaked past her in a dizzying blur, their shapes bending and twisting. Then, all at once, everything exploded in a blinding flash of white light.

    Amriel gasped as her senses returned, her vision slowly adjusting to the sudden brightness. The first thing she noticed was the air¡ªcool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of moss and rain-soaked wood.

    She was no longer in the void. Or was she?

    Her pulse quickened as she turned in a slow circle, her hand rising to clasp the iron ring about her neck¡ªa nervous habit from childhood. The forest around her thrummed with a vitality that defied explanation, brushing against her skin and filling her lungs with every breath. Grey barked trees that resembled those of the Vhengal forest she''d left behind glowed faintly from within.

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    "Thalon?" she called, her voice small against the vastness of the forest.

    A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree. Relief flooded her chest as Thalon stepped into view, his familiar silhouette grounding her in this unfamiliar place.

    "So, you made it," he said, his voice quiet but carrying an undertone of approval. Something in his emerald eyes suggested he''d been uncertain of the outcome.

    Amriel''s brows knit together as she recoiled slightly. "Wait... what do you mean ''I made it''?" She half asked, half demanded. "What exactly was that?" Her hand gestured back toward where they''d come from, though the moon gate was nowhere to be seen.

    Thalon stepped closer, his presence somehow amplified in this strange place. The faint glow of the moonlight piercing through the canopy caught in his sharp features, giving him an otherworldly appearance as he inspected her.

    "That was the gate," he said evenly. "And yes, you made it through. Not everyone does."

    His words carried weight¡ªan implication that made her stomach tighten. "You''re telling me the Gate to the Vale could have rejected me? And you didn''t think to mention this before I stepped through a magical doorway?" She demanded.

    Thalon''s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered her. "The Vale is more than just a place, Amriel. It''s... selective." He glanced at the glowing forest around them. "It chooses who may enter."

    "And if it hadn''t chosen me?" she pressed, her voice sharpening.

    "The Vale doesn''t reject," Thalon said as he turned from her and slung his pack back over his shoulder. "From what I understand, it erases."

    A chill ran down her spine. "It erases?" she echoed, her voice barely audible, "What does that mean?"

    There was a moment of heavy silence¡ªthen, unexpectedly, the corner of Thalon''s mouth quirked upward. Something gleamed in his eyes that she hadn''t seen before.

    "Well, no one knows for certain," he said, his tone lightening a fraction. "Since the erased can''t exactly report back on the experience."

    Amriel stared at him, dumbfounded. After all the terror of the void, after the sensation of being torn apart and reassembled, he was... joking?

    Seeing her expression, Thalon let out a soft chuckle. "I''m sorry," he said, his smile becoming more pronounced. "If the Vale had rejected you¡ªwhich was unlikely given what I know of you¡ªyou would have simply found yourself back at the pond where we started."

    "You think this is funny?" she demanded, though her anger was already beginning to subside, replaced by something like bewilderment. This was a side of her guide she hadn''t glimpsed before.

    "No?" he said hesitantly, instantly sobering at the look in her cobalt eyes. "I thought the tension needed breaking.

    ¡°And that is how you do it? By telling me I could have been erased?¡± Amriel asked, flabbergasted that he¡¯d thought to joke about something that had been borderline terrifying.

    ¡°Your face when you arrived¡ª" He gestured vaguely at her, but the look in the cobalt eyes that glared back at him stopped Thalon short, ¡°Right, not funny. Forgive me.¡±

    Amriel took a deep breath, trying to process this unexpected shift. ¡°Alright,¡± she sighed softly, ¡°So I¡¯ll take it this is the Vale?¡± She looked to the forest around them.

    Thalon nodded. ¡°Indeed, it is.¡± He gestured toward a faint path winding between the luminous trees. "We should move. The border lands aren''t always stable for newcomers."

    As he turned to lead the way, Amriel caught the ghost of his smile again. There was more to her mysterious guide than she''d initially thought¡ªlayers she hadn''t expected beneath his serious exterior.

    Together, they ventured deeper into the sentient forest that had, for reasons still unknown to Amriel, deemed her worthy of entry.

    After twenty minutes or so of traveling single file through the dense trees and underbrush gave way to a wider, more well travelled path. Here rut lines from the passage of wagons had left their marks in the forest floor.

    "So," she said, falling into step beside, her curiosity temporarily overriding her lingering unease, ¡°Where are we headed?¡±

    Thalon kept his eyes fixed ahead, ¡°This road will eventually lead us to An¡¯Shal, the Great Mountain. But first, we¡¯re going to pay a visit to some,¡± He hesitated a moment, ¡°...friends of mine. They are on the way, about another hour''s journey.¡±

    Amriel studied Thalon''s profile as they walked. The mention of friends had piqued her interest¡ªit was the first hint that her mysterious guide wasn''t completely isolated in this strange realm.

    "Friends?" she echoed, carefully picking her way around a gnarled root that seemed to pulse with a faint blue light. "I didn''t realize you were the type to have those."

    Thalon glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "I suspect there are many things you don''t realize about me," he replied, but there was no edge to his words. Instead, that same hint of amusement lingered in his voice.

    "Clearly," Amriel muttered. "Like your penchant for leading people through reality-bending gateways without proper warning."

    The path widened further as they walked, the forest canopy thinning enough to allow dappled silver light to illuminate their way. Unlike the moonlight of the Vhengal forest, this light seemed to emanate from the sky itself¡ªa luminescence without a visible source.

    "What is An''Shal?" Amriel asked after a comfortable silence had fallen between them. "You called it the Great Mountain."

    Thalon nodded, his steps sure and purposeful on the rutted road. "An''Shal is the heart of the Vale," he explained. "Some say it was the first thing to exist here, before the forest, before the rivers. It''s where the Keepers reside."

    "Keepers?"

    "The Keepers of the three realms," Thalon said, his voice taking on a reverent tone she hadn''t heard from him before. "They maintain the balance.¡±

    Amriel¡¯s mind reeled as she absorbed this information, trying to fit it into the fragmented understanding she was building of this place. ¡°The three realms?¡±

    Thalon nodded, ¡°There are three realms in existence; The Mortal Realm, the Realm of Dreams, and the Realm of Nightmares.¡± He said it so easily, as if it was something she should always have known, ¡°The Vale is where all three realms overlap.¡±

 Chapter 34

    The path through the Vale stretched before them, bathed in silvery light that seemed to emanate not from above but from the very air itself. Each step Amriel took felt weightier than it should, as if the ground beneath her feet was more substantial than the earth she''d known all her life.

    Power thrummed through everything here. It pulsed within the ancient trees that towered overhead, vibrated through the soft forest floor beneath her feet, and even resonated in the strange, fleeting creatures that darted among the branches¡ªbrief flashes of iridescent wings and eyes that held impossible colors. The Vale didn''t just contain magic; it was composed of it, right down to the air that filled her lungs with each breath.

    "These trees...this light," she began, gesturing upward to where silver-edged leaves caught and transformed the ambient glow. Words seemed inadequate to describe what her senses were revealing to her.

    "Everything is older here," Thalon supplied, his voice low and reverent, carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "Of all the realms, the mortal one¡ªyour realm¡ªis the youngest by far. In many ways, it''s merely an echo of what you see around you."

    Amriel''s fingers curled around the iron ring at her throat as she studied their surroundings. The forest around them bore an uncanny resemblance to the Vhengal she''d known since childhood, yet it felt immeasurably older, as if the Vhengal were merely a sapling grown from a seed of this primordial wood. Here, the trees didn''t merely exist¡ªthey observed, they remembered, they knew.

    "It feels like the Vhengal," she said, trailing her fingertips across bark that was warm and almost silken beneath her touch, "but more..."

    "More itself," Thalon finished. "What you''re sensing is the essence of forest without the constraints of your realm. The Sha-Vallard, or what you call the Vhengal Forest, exists in all of the realms. What you see is but a reflection of what truly exists. Everything here is distilled to its purest form."

    A soft breeze caressed Amriel''s face, carrying scents both familiar and alien¡ªrich loam and pine resin mingled with something sweeter, more intoxicating. Each breath felt substantial in her lungs, as if the air contained more essence than mere oxygen.

    "The Power here," she murmured, instinctively reaching for the iron ring at her throat, feeling its comforting weight against her skin. "It''s incredible. I can feel it everywhere, flowing through everything."

    "You can sense Power?" Thalon asked, turning to regard her with newfound interest. His emerald eyes narrowed thoughtfully before his expression shifted to one of realization. "I suppose that makes sense, considering it saw fit to bring you back from death."

    "I suppose," Amriel agreed, her brows drawing together as she considered the implication.

    ¡°Sense it, but not use it, is that correct?¡± Thalon said, as much a statement as it was a question.

    "Yes," Amriel nodded, stepping over a root that seemed to shift subtly to avoid her foot. "I can sense Power, always have, but I can''t channel it. I''m not a Witch."

    ¡°Do you crave it?¡± Thalon asked, his voice remained even. "Do you desire to manipulate the Power yourself?"

    The question caught Amriel off-guard. She''d never framed her relationship with Power in those terms before, but as she searched her heart, she found an uncomfortable truth there.

    "Yes," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I suppose I do sometimes." She gnawed on her lower lip as painful memories surfaced. "I could have saved so many more lives if I could use Power. I could have healed..." The words caught in her throat as her father''s haunted face flickered through her mind.

    Thalon remained silent for several heartbeats, allowing her time with her memories. The only sounds were their footfalls and the subtle rustle of leaves overhead, as if the forest itself were listening to their conversation.

    "Power would not have saved your father, Amriel," he said finally, his tone gentler than she''d heard it before. "Power can do many things, but it cannot heal wounds of the mind. That lies beyond its reach, even here."

    The words struck her with unexpected force¡ªboth the insight and the compassion behind them. She hadn''t realized how deeply she''d buried that belief, that if only she''d had Power, she might have saved her father from his gradual disintegration after the war.

    They walked in contemplative silence as the path narrowed, forcing them into single file. Amriel took the opportunity to absorb the majesty of their surroundings. The trees of the Vhengal forest, which had always impressed her with their ancient dignity, now seemed like saplings in comparison to these titans.

    Here, the trees soared impossibly high, their crowns vanishing into a silver-tinged mist far above. Their massive trunks, wide enough that five people couldn''t join hands around them, were covered in dark bark, threaded with fine veins of silver that pulsed with subtle luminescence¡ªlike blood flowing through a living body. The pattern reminded her of the strange creature they''d encountered before entering the Vale, and she shivered at the memory.

    High in the vaulted canopy, leaves that should have been green shimmered with an opalescent quality, their edges lined with what appeared to be liquid moonlight. Ancient vines, faded to the blue of twilight and adorned with small silver leaves, twisted their way up the trunks and formed living bridges between the arboreal giants.

    The forest floor itself was a tapestry of impossible beauty. Flowers unlike any Amriel had ever cataloged¡ªblossoms with petals that shifted color with each breath of wind, plants with geometric patterns too perfect to be natural, fungi that seemed to communicate through pulses of soft light¡ªdotted the ground between expanses of moss that shimmered like crushed velvet.

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    How can they grow so vibrant in such little light? she wondered, each plant seeming to beckon to her as they passed, calling her to learn their secrets, to discover their medicinal properties and magical uses.

    "If I were to make a healing poultice here," she asked, her healer''s curiosity overcoming her momentary melancholy, "would it be more effective than at home?"

    "Tremendously so," Thalon confirmed, stepping carefully around a cluster of crystalline flowers that chimed softly as they passed. "But be cautious¡ªeverything is amplified here, including consequences. A remedy that might soothe a fever in your world could freeze the blood in this one."

    "I see," Amriel frowned, the implications sinking in. That meant learning all these plants from scratch if she remained here and intended to practice her craft. And that was assuming the inhabitants of this realm would even accept her help. It''s not as if Thalon had been particularly welcoming at first.

    Though he did rescue you from the Dreadfort and that shadow creature, she reminded herself. There was more to her enigmatic guide than his initially cold demeanor suggested.

    "In your realm," Thalon continued, navigating around a patch of luminescent mushrooms that pulsed with quiet greeting as they passed, "Power is channeled by those born with the gift¡ªWitches or Warlocks who can manipulate the Currents. Here, Power isn''t separate from anything; it''s woven into the fabric of existence itself." He gestured broadly at their surroundings. "The very ground we walk on is saturated with it. Though even here, most cannot sense it as you do, even those born in the Vale."

    "So anyone could use magic here?" Amriel asked, trying to understand. She couldn''t deny the prospect excited her¡ªto finally access what she''d always sensed but never touched.

    A half-smile played at the corner of Thalon''s mouth, transforming his severe features momentarily. "Not exactly. Think of it like..." he paused, searching for an analogy. "In your world, Power is like water flowing through specific channels¡ªrivers and streams that only certain people can redirect. Here, Power is like the air itself¡ªeverywhere, touching everything. You don''t channel it so much as participate in it."

    Thalon''s unexpected snort of laughter startled her¡ªshe hadn''t meant to speak aloud.

    After composing himself, he considered her analogy seriously. "Then, if you like tarts, I imagine the Vale will be a very difficult place for you," he said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "To live constantly with something just beyond your reach would be quite vexing."

    The path before them wound upward, ascending a gentle slope covered in silver-blue moss that seemed to cushion their steps. As they climbed, the questions that had been building since their arrival pressed more urgently against Amriel''s mind.

    "That creature back in the forest," she said, recalling the being that had attacked them just before they entered the moon gate. Its unnaturally tall form remained vivid in her memory¡ªelegant yet wrong, with limbs too long and joints that bent at angles that defied natural anatomy. Its skin had gleamed like polished obsidian shot through with veins of starlight, neither fully solid nor entirely ethereal. Most unsettling were its eyes¡ªthose almond-shaped pools of swirling galaxies that had seemed to peer directly into her soul. "Will it come for us here in the Vale once it''s healed?"

    "No," Thalon shook his head definitively as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch. Here, unlike in the Vhengal, the forest did not accommodate his passage. "The Vale''s rules forbid it."

    "The Vale''s rules?" Amriel repeated, intrigued.

    "Yes, they apply to all who wish to enter the Vale," Thalon explained, his voice taking on the cadence of recitation. "To break them is to be brought before the Firstborns for judgment.

    The ominous weight he placed on "judgment" did little to make these Firstborns sound welcoming. But she wanted answers, and with so many questions piling up, she could use a few to even the odds. So she let her mind drift to another.

    "My mother," she said, the words emerging more abruptly than she''d intended. The rhythm of her feet against the path faltered momentarily. "You said she''s one of you. A Guardian."

    Thalon''s pace slowed, though his gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. "Yes," he confirmed simply.

    "Why did she leave?" The question escaped as barely more than a whisper, the pain behind it still raw despite the years that had passed. "Why didn''t she come back?"

    For several moments, only their footsteps broke the forest''s watchful silence. When Thalon finally spoke, his voice carried unexpected gentleness.

    "Those are questions I cannot answer with certainty," he admitted, surprising her with his honesty. "Nythia, your mother¡ªshe was a Guardian, but also something more. What exactly that entailed, none of us ever fully understood. But her difference was recognized by all."

    "I see," Amriel replied, fighting back a crushing wave of disappointment. Even here, among those who knew her mother, answers remained elusive. "Is it normal, then, for Guardians to marry humans and have mortal children?"

    "No!" Thalon exclaimed, his response startlingly emphatic before he quickly moderated his tone. "Truth be told, none of us understood why she married your father, let alone bore him a child. It was... unexpected."

    "I''m trying not to be offended," Amriel said, her voice cooling as she scowled at his back, "but I''m struggling."

    Thalon stopped abruptly and turned to face her, emerald eyes full of unexpected remorse. "Forgive me," he said, meeting her gaze directly. "That would have been easy to misinterpret. My surprise has nothing to do with any belief in our superiority."

    "Oh please, do explain then," Amriel challenged, eyes narrowing in doubt.

    Thalon exhaled slowly, something ancient and weary passing across his features. "You mortals are easy to love," he said plainly. "But your lives are so terribly brief. So fragile. It is as simple and selfish as this: it hurts too much to watch as one of your kind grow old and die, then to endure the same with any children, grandchildren, and onward through generations." His eyes held a pain that suggested personal experience. "Can you understand the weight of such grief?"

    Amriel softened at the unexpected vulnerability in his expression. "Yes," she nodded, thinking of her own losses. "I suppose that explains how my mother was able to marry my father and have me. She wasn''t exactly the loving type."

    Thalon''s eyes narrowed as he studied her, his emerald gaze seeming to pierce through her defenses. Amriel felt her pulse quicken and heat rise to her face as he continued to regard her intently, as if searching for something hidden beneath her words. For a moment, she felt utterly exposed, as if he were reading truths she herself hadn''t fully acknowledged.

    Then, abruptly, he simply shrugged and said, "Perhaps," before turning to continue along the path.

    They walked in companionable silence, the forest around them growing gradually less dense. Shafts of silver light penetrated the canopy more frequently, creating pools of luminescence on the forest floor.

    "The dwellings are near now," Thalon finally announced, his pace quickening slightly. "It shouldn''t be much longer before we can rest and take some refreshment."

    Before Amriel could respond, a sudden rustling in the undergrowth to their right caught her attention. Her hand dropped instinctively to the bone blade at her hip, body tensing as she prepared to face whatever new strangeness the Vale might present.

 Chapter 35

    Before Amriel could respond, a sudden rustling in the undergrowth to their right caught her attention. Her hand dropped instinctively to the bone blade at her hip, body tensing as she prepared to face whatever new strangeness the Vale might present.

    The foliage parted, and a familiar form burst through¡ªMeeko. The massive forest cat moved with fluid grace, his silver-flecked coat shimmering in the Vale''s ethereal light. Between his powerful jaws hung a creature unlike anything Amriel had ever seen.

    It resembled a hare in its general size, but there all similarities ended. Its body was covered not in fur but in something that looked like a blend of grey chitin and brown scales. Six slender legs, delicate as a deer''s but jointed like an insect''s, dangled limply. The head¡ªleft intact, unlike Meeko''s usual hunting trophies¡ªbore several sets of faceted crystalline eyes that glared up at her like a spider.

    "Meeko?" Amriel gasped, her shock at seeing her companion here momentarily overwhelming her fascination with his prey. "How did you¡ªwhen did you¡ªwhat in all the hells is that?"

    The forest cat padded toward them with regal confidence, his silver eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction. He deposited his prize at Thalon''s feet, then sat back on his haunches, tail curled neatly around his large paws as if awaiting approval.

    "Excellent work," Thalon said, kneeling to examine the creature. He ran his fingers lightly over the scales, nodding with approval. "This is a Silfek, and a mature one at that. This will make a perfect offering."

    Meeko''s purr rumbled through the clearing, a sound too deep and resonant to come from an ordinary cat.

    "You''re not surprised to see him here?" Amriel demanded, struggling to process yet another inexplicable development. "I didn¡¯t think Meeko followed us through the gate?"

    ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± Thalon said and glanced up at her, those emerald eyes peered into her own again. "His kind have no need for gates. They can come and go as they please."

    Amriel stared at her feline companion who she thought she knew. The large forest cat moved to her side and gently butted his head against her hand, his familiar gesture of affection unchanged despite these revelations.

    "What do you mean ''his kind''?" she asked as she stroked Meeko''s head and scratched behind his ears. The vibration of his purr traveled up her arm, settling somewhere beneath her ribcage.

    "Those born of the Vale," Thalon replied, carefully lifting the bug-like creature. "They walk between realms as easily as you might cross a stream."

    "Right. Of course he''s not just a normal forest cat," Amriel muttered, "That would be just too mundane." She felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to rise in her throat and swallowed it down.

    Meeko peered up at her with his large silver eyes and chirped softly in agreement, his expression sphinx-like and insufferably smug. For an instant, Amriel would have sworn those eyes held the wisdom of centuries.

    Thalon packed up the dead Silfek, carefully tucking its legs inside his pack, before he gestured toward the path ahead, "Come. We''re nearly there."

    The path widened as they pushed deeper into the Vale, winding through twisted trees whose bark seemed to pulse with veins of silver light. Amriel found herself stepping closer to Meeko, drawing comfort from his familiar presence despite the new mysteries surrounding him. The ground beneath their feet grew increasingly uneven, scattered with white stones that looked disturbingly like fragments of immense bones.

    "So," Amriel began, breaking the oppressive silence that had fallen between them, "these friends of yours¡ªthe ones we''re bringing this... offering to¡ªwho exactly are they?" She tried to keep her tone casual, but the strain in her voice betrayed her unease.

    Thalon walked several paces ahead, his movements fluid despite the difficult terrain. ¡°They are called the Dral¡¯Mi¡ªor Winged Terrors.¡±  he replied, his voice carrying a reverence that made Amriel''s skin prickle. "They were ancient when the first of your kind stumbled upon this realm."

    Winged Terrors? Amriel groaned inwardly, Really?

    Before Amriel could press further, the trees abruptly gave way to a vast circular clearing. She froze at its edge, breath catching in her throat.

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    The clearing was dominated by a pool of liquid that glimmered like molten silver, its surface unnaturally still despite the gentle breeze that rustled through the clearing. Surrounding the pool stood seven stone pillars, each twice as tall as a man and covered in spiraling glyphs that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of the eye.

    Beyond the pool, the hillside rose sharply, its face a weathered canvas of granite and limestone veined with quartz that caught the silver light. Here, carved into the rock face, yawned a series of caves. The largest entrance gaped wide as a cathedral door, its edges unnaturally smooth as if melted rather than hewn. Smaller openings flanked it, some barely visible behind curtains of emerald moss and twisting vines.

    "We''re here," Thalon said, removing the Silfek from his pack and approaching the edge of the silver pool. "Stay close to me. Speak only when spoken to."

    Amriel nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for the reassuring grip of her bone blade until Thalon''s voice cut through her thoughts.

    "And don''t even think about touching that," he warned, his eyes flicking meaningfully to her weapon. "It won''t do you much good anyway."

    Her hand fell away, reluctantly abandoning the weapon. Instead, she sought the familiar comfort of the iron ring hanging from her neck. The metal grew warmer against her skin as they approached the pool.

    Meeko pressed against her leg, his massive body suddenly tense, silver eyes fixed on the caves beyond the pool.

    "They''re watching us, aren''t they?" Amriel whispered, feeling the weight of unseen eyes upon her.

    Thalon''s smile was thin. "They''ve been watching since before we entered the clearing." He knelt at the pool''s edge and carefully placed the Silfek on a flat stone where water met earth. The dead creature''s crystalline eyes seemed to catch the light, glinting with an illusion of life. Then he called out in an unfamiliar language¡ªthe words flowed like liquid music, rising and falling in patterns that made Amriel''s ears ring pleasantly.

    Within the darkness of the caves, beyond the silver pool, something stirred.

    The air in the clearing around them seemed to thicken and grow heavy, as if the very atmosphere sensed what was coming. A profound silence descended upon the clearing¡ªno birds called, no insects chirped, even the gentle rustling of leaves ceased entirely. The silver pool''s surface, previously motionless, now rippled slightly though no wind blew. Tiny concentric circles spread outward from the center, as if responding to vibrations too subtle for human perception.

    Amriel felt her lungs constrict, each breath requiring conscious effort. The iron ring at her throat pulsed with heat that bordered on painful, and the hair along her arms rose like needles. A scent like ozone and ancient stone drifted from the caves'' maw, accompanied by a low, barely audible rumble that she felt more in her bones than heard with her ears.

    "Thalon," she whispered, fighting the urge to back away, "what kind of friends did you say these were again?"

    "The kind it''s better to meet with respect than with fear," he replied without turning.

    Meeko pressed harder against her leg, no longer growling but watching with an alertness that suggested even he was wary of these beings.

    For three heartbeats¡ªeach thundering in her ears like a war drum¡ªnothing emerged. Then a shadow within shadows shifted, deeper than the surrounding darkness.

    "Stand tall," Thalon murmured from the corner of his mouth. "They respect courage."

    "Easy for you to say," Amriel hissed back. "They''re your friends."

    "Friends was perhaps a strong word," he replied, and Amriel couldn''t tell if the quirk of his lips was amusement or anxiety.

    "What?" Her eyes snapped to him before darting back towards the cave.

    "Let''s just say we have an understanding," Thalon continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "They don''t eat me, and I bring them interesting visitors and the occasional Silfek snack. It''s worked out rather well for... oh, four centuries or so."

    "Eat you?" Amriel sputtered, her fear momentarily replaced by indignation. "That''s your definition of friendship?"

    "In certain circles, not being devoured is the very height of cordiality," Thalon replied with a straight face, though his eyes danced with mischief even as tension filled the clearing. "Remind me to tell you about diplomatic relations with the VolBog Trolls sometime."

    Just then, a sound emerged from the cave¡ªlike the sliding of metal against stone, but deeper, more resonant. It echoed around the clearing, seeming to come from all directions at once.

    First came a talon¡ªcurved and gleaming like polished obsidian¡ªgripping the edge of the cave entrance. It was followed by another, then another, until five claws had secured purchase on the stone.

    Amriel swallowed hard, eyes travelling up to where the talons connected to what she assumed would be a foot or paw of some kind. But the appendage remained cloaked in shadow, its true size impossible to determine in the cave''s gloom.

    A warm, sulfurous breath washed over the clearing, carrying with it scents of amber, ancient dust, and something metallic that reminded Amriel of blood. The silver pool''s surface danced with ripples now, responding to the unseen creature''s proximity.

    "Remember," Thalon whispered, leaning slightly toward her without taking his eyes off the cave entrance, "whatever you do, don''t comment on their size. They''re rather sensitive about it."

    Before Amriel could process this bizarre advice¡ªwas he still joking at a time like this?¡ªthe darkness at the cave entrance rippled, preparing to reveal what lay within.