“It would have made a wonderful dinner.”
As she stood there, her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun sank in its slow, enchanting ballet.
The hum of insects and distant calls of owls had vanished. The smell of burning pine choked her as a sinister mist drifted in.
A sudden gargling snarl ripped through the forest.
Shadows danced across the forest floor, twisting into the illusion of hands reaching from beyond the trees. The mist curled in thicker, blanketing the forest in darkness. Her eyes darted from one obscured corner to the next.
Sorcha backed away slowly as two creatures crept from the shadows. Her heart hammered in her chest as beads of sweatslid down her face. Their movements were jerky and unnatural, like puppets on frayed strings. At first glance, she mistook them for ordinary wolves but as they stepped into the dying light, she saw they were the size of horses. Their heads snapping violently from side to side as they bit at the air, revealing teeth like jagged glass. Deep scarlet hues dripped from their maws, glistening like droplets of dew.
Patches of peeling flesh slid from their frame, their limbs bent at odd angles. The smell of decay hit her hard, sending her stomach lurching. Her fingers curled around the dagger, muscles coiled as she tried to steady her aim. She hesitated though, because they didn’t attack. Instead, they circled her, burning ember eyes tracking her movements. The larger one stepped closer. Its growl softened to almost a whimper as its eyes locked with hers. The smaller one lunged as claws sunk into decaying flesh. Their snarls shattered the stillness as they collided, clawing and snapping in a frenzy that sent blood misting through the air. She watched the two tear into one another, waiting for an opportunity to strike. As soon as the beast exposed its chest, she hurled the dagger at it. A strangled cry tore from its throat as the blade struck hard, sinking in to the hilt.Its howl was almost human as it slumped to the ground. The remaining wolf turned its molten gaze onto her, letting a screeching wail escape its throat before it bolted into the trees. Instinct kicked in as she reached for her bow and fired without hesitation. The twang from the string echoed in her ear before the distant scream told her she’d hit her mark.
She stood steady with her bow still raised, another arrow notched and waiting. At her feet, the beast lay grotesque, twisted in death. Horror churned in her stomach. Its eyes were human.
She never forgot that night; the memory haunted her every time she walked this path. Tonight was no different.
Months had passed, but the overgrowth hadn’t changed, nor had the hush of twilight. Nothing exciting had taken place this evening as she finished up her patrol.
Stepping into the clearing just beyond the forest’s reach, she paused and closed her eyes. The night felt cool against her skin. The crickets chirped softly as the breeze stirred the leaves. Opening her eyes, she looked at the stars above and the moon’s silver glow upon the field. The moment was lost to the crunch of leaves underfoot, jolting her to attention. Sorcha tensed as her hand moved to her bow. Her eyes swept the tree line until she spotted a shadow shifting at the edge of the meadow. It was tall and cloaked in a hood that dipped just above the eyes.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice cutting through the night.“Sorcha.”Whispers filled the air, her name carried on the wind swirling around her. She looked to the hooded shadow, its burning eyes meeting hers.
A wave of heat surged through her chest, crawling beneath her skin. Her runes glowed with flames, dim at the start, then surging with a strength she wasn’t able to restrain. Her knees buckled, and the forest spun violently, her veins boiled and her vision fractured, she dropped to a crouch.
Something inside her was trying to escape.
Everything was so hot it felt like she was bathing in flames. The fire violently rose in her throat; her nails bit into her skin as she tried to fight away the pain. She let out a scream, arching back, clawing at her throat as a stream of swirling light and fire ripped free and into the sky, bursting into small droplets of starlight.
Stardust rained down all around her. As it kissed her pale skin, the runes faintly glowed but the pain and fire had dissipated. Auburn hair clung to her cheeks, as the golden threads stuck to her forehead. She looked to the woods, sweat and hair blurring her vision, but the figure was already long gone. She remembered the symbols’ power, which the Tuatha had once gifted her, as she stared at her runes. The gods had long since abandoned this world, leaving mortals like her to hold the line and keep the balance.
Her birthmarks intertwined with the runes, glistening faintly gold, the magic sending a buzzing sensation through her fingertips. She pushed herself back onto her feet. “What just happened?” she whispered, as if the night might answer.
Standing there, she examined her body and then searched the tree line once more before her eyes fell on the city of Lumora, tucked in the valley below. The lights shimmered in a ripple like a reflection on water, its large golden spires a beacon in the night. Her steps were heavy and weighed down, like she was pulling her feet through mud, her throat still slightly aching as she entered through the city’s gates.
Lumora pulsed beneath the moon’s glow. Lanterns filled with star sap lined the streets, casting golden light across the cobblestones. The scent of spiced ale and warm bread mingled with the sweetness of night-blooming flowers. Laughter drifted through the air, softened by the low voices of merchants closing up their stalls. In the distance, Skyfall Waters roared, a cascade tumbling from the clouds into the great circular fountain below, etched with runes that shimmered faintly. As she passed, the falling spray caught the light, scattering faint rainbows beneath the lanterns.
The townsfolk said Skyfall Waters carried healing magic, a sacred link between Lumora and the Veil itself.They whispered that Undines, the water spirits, moved through its depths, and that on quiet nights, the lucky might glimpse their iridescent forms. Some believed the Fae blessed the falls, their laughter sometimes heard in the mist. As her feet dragged
across the stone, Sorcha could hear the local tavern still alive with music and conversation. The tavern doors burst open, and out spilled a young man and woman laughing. The two stood close, lost to passion, and slipped away into the closest alleyway moments later.
Sorcha shook her head and smirked as the familiar cobblestone streets led her home. It was a stone house in the quieter part of town, tucked between the sloping hills. Bundles of dried herbs hung by the door, their earthy scent blending with the cool night air. As she reached for the handle, her fingers brushed against the carved sigil, a protective rune, ancient and unlike any in Lumora, its edges smoothed by time and touch.
Her parents had vanished nearly four years ago. She was told they were patrolling the forest just outside of Lumora and would be back by nightfall. But they never returned. She’d been twenty then. Old enough to keep their home, old enough to know she was foolish to keep such hopes that they’d return, but her heart was too stubborn to let go. She traced the rune again; it flickered with the faintest whisper of light.Maybe they were still out there.
Pushing the door open, she leaned her bow against the wall and dropped the rest of her gear beside it. Her body ached from the long day and the sudden explosion of light. There were too many questions spinning through her mind, but it was all too much to decipher in one evening.
As she walked past the hallway mirror, her reflection caught her eye, and she winced. Leaves were tangled in her hair, and dirt streaked across her cheeks and forehead. Her skin was slick with sweat, like she’d juststepped from a shower. She looked like she’d fought the forest instead of walking through it. Running her fingers through her hair, she began pulling the leaves free as she made her way to her room.
Inside, she paused to pull her shirt over her head and shake off her pants. Tossing her clothes into the corner, she grabbed an oversized shirt from her bedpost on her way to the bathroom.
The cool water poured into the tub, rippling as faint runes along the stone glowed to life. The enchantment was old, set generations ago to warm and purify the water. Every home in Lumora held such traces of magic, small blessings left behind from the age of Wild Magic. Lanterns of star sap brightened at dusk without a flame, hearths caught with a whispered word, and doors sealed themselves against the wind. Magic was everywhere, woven into the bones of the city and the rhythm of its people.
Sorcha dipped her hands into the rising water, watching the light shimmer across the surface. To most, it was simply another comfort of life in Lumora. For her, itquietly reminded her how deeply the world connected to the Veil.
Emerging from the bath, she pulled the shirt over her head. Her damp curls fell wild around her shoulders like a tangled mane. Collapsing onto the bed, limbs splayed across the blankets, she exhaled loudly. Her body throbbed with a dull ache as she stared at the ceiling and began counting crows, much like she did as a child when sleep evaded her. She had counted to almost a thousand before she tossed and tossed again. Sleep refused to come. She was hot and uncomfortable as she sprang from the bed.
Opening the windows wide, she breathed in the cool night air. Then, turning back to her bed, she slipped beneath the blankets, wrapping them tightly around herself as the steady rhythm of the waterfall outside murmured through the quiet. Its sound, constant and familiar, worked to lull her toward an uneasy sleep.
