Alina bit her lip, the weight of the decision coiling within her like smoke in her lungs.
‘And her?’ she asked at last, motioning towards the sleeping witch. ‘What would become of her? Would it harm her?’
‘No,’ Mareena said gently, shaking her head. ‘Just a little. Barely enough to notice.’
‘And if a little is not enough?’
Mareena’s hand found Alina’s, her grip firm and warm. ‘Then we shall find a way. You must understand that we’ve never held a witch before, not like this. Surely it was God who placed her in your path for this reason alone. Magic is the only force that can destroy magic. It is the one truth we’ve always known.’
Alina glanced down at their entwined hands, then back tothe sleeping witch.
‘But isn’t it wrong?’ she said. ‘To take from her without her knowing? Shouldn’t we wait until she wakes… and ask her consent?’
Mareena exhaled softly, as though the question pained her.
‘If we do that,’ she said, ‘we risk losing the chance entirely. It would only be a small amount, barely enough to notice. She need never know.’
‘Then why ask me at all?’
‘Because it would be done for you,’ Mareena replied. ‘If you do not wish it, I won’t proceed.’
‘She’s lying,’ came Hessa’s voice, low and certain, like a wind stirring the embers of doubt.
Alina’s eyes dropped once more to the hands still joined. Usually, she would have pulled away by now. Since Hessa’s death, the warmth of another’s touch had become something foreign, unwelcome. And yet… this time, she remained still.
Slowly, she raised her eyes, meeting the phoenixian’s. They were as arresting as ever, eyes the hue of flame and wine, beautiful in a way that defied reason, in a way that made resistance feel like folly.
But then, over her shoulder, she looked just for a heartbeat and found Hessa standing there. Eyes like moonlight, bright and unwavering. Filled with hope. Hope that Alina would choose the honourable path. That she would refuse. That she would not allow another life, no matter how powerful, no matter how potentially dangerous to be used as a tool of war.
At last, Alina looked at Dawn. At the still form lying in quiet slumber, a body that might hold the salvation or destruction, of them all.
‘Well?’ Mareena prompted gently. ‘What do you say?’
And Alina chose.
Once, long ago, before the Great War cleaved the world apart, most kingdoms wrestled with the delicate art of secrecy, their truths half-hidden yet still known, if only in whispers, beyond their borders. Knowledge, though sometimes guarded, flowed like a slow river between lands, meandering from court to court, kingdom to kingdom.
But the war changed everything.
In its wake, the realms turned inward. Walls went up, both seen and unseen. Suspicion took root where curiosity had once bloomed. The bridges of knowledge and shared custom crumbled, and with time, even memory began to erode.
What once had been known; what neighbouring kingdoms ate, what gods they prayed to, what songs they sang beneath moonlight, faded into silence. Traditions were forgotten, festivals unrecognised, and old allies became enigmas.
Soon, all that remained was distance.
And mystery.
And the quiet, creeping sense that everyone beyond one's own border was either a stranger… or an enemy.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kage had been quite certain that death had finally come to claim him, had come to return him to his sister’s embrace. And truth be told, he had not minded the thought in the slightest. Mal and Kai would have each other, and he… he would be with Haven. The thought of her enduring solitude had always gnawed at him.
Yet it seemed the reaper had no intention of embracing him just yet.
A sudden jerk at his arm jolted him back to the realm of the living. His eyes, dark as midnight wells flew open, and there, to his astonishment, was a figure clutching him, anchoring him to life. He was hauled upwards, dragged back onto the wooden platform, gasping as he sat upright, blinking in dazed confusion.
The girl before him was otherworldly in her beauty. Her skin was dark and her hair, a cropped cascade of dreadlocks, barely grazed her shoulders. She looked no older than nineteen, and though her frame was slender, Kage recognised the sinewy grace of strength. He knew well that power needn’t roar, it could whisper through taut muscle and steady hands.
