"Alright, Riel," Simon said, voice low as he stared at the sleeping stranger. "Who is he?"
The stranger lay motionless on Amriel's floor, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
Simon and Amriel stood nearby, balancing wooden bowls in their palms, eating their breakfasts while it was still lukewarm. The wind had stolen much of the heat on the walk over, but the food was still a welcome comfort.
Amriel swallowed a spoonful of oats and exhaled. "I don't know," she admitted finally, rolling her shoulders to release some of the tension. "I was hoping you might recognize him."
Meeko appeared from wherever he'd been exploring, padding silently toward the stranger. The massive forest cat settled next to the man's head, curling into a vigilant ball, silver eyes gleaming as he watched them.
"Traitor," Amriel muttered to the cat, but there was no heat in the accusation.
"I've never seen him before," Simon said, taking another bite of his breakfast as he studied the man with narrowed eyes. "Looks like you really took in a stray this time, though."
The corner of Amriel's mouth lifted despite herself, though the tight knot of unease in her chest refused to loosen. "He wasn't exactly part of the plan. But here we are."
She glanced toward her workbench, where the arrowheads still lay. She'd cleaned most of the blood away, revealing more clearly the strange blue veins that pulsed within the metal. They glowed faintly even in daylight—a subtle, eerie light that felt wrong.
"Do you think he's dangerous?" Simon asked, his expression turning serious. "Is he a Power wielder?"
She shook her head almost instantly. That much, at least, she was sure of. "No. Not a Power wielder." Her gaze drifted back to the stranger, to the steady rise and fall of his chest. "The arrows, however, now those were enchanted."
Simon's brow furrowed. "Enchanted arrows? May I see them?"
Amriel hesitated. Her instinct was to protect Simon from this strangeness, to keep him safely separate from whatever darkness was unfolding. His family had already lost too much to unexplained magic—his father had never returned from the war against the Fallen.
But keeping secrets from him felt worse somehow.
"Here," she said finally, retrieving the arrowheads from her workbench. She placed them carefully on the table between them, the blue veins pulsing more vibrantly when disturbed.
Simon leaned forward, his expression changing from curiosity to wariness as he examined them without touching. "I've seen something like this before," he said quietly. "When I was young. My father showed me arrowheads similar to these—said they were made to hunt creatures that couldn't be killed by ordinary weapons."
Amriel's heart quickened. "What kind of creatures?"
Simon's jaw tightened. "The kind that don't belong in our world." He looked up at her, his dark eyes serious. "Riel, these aren't just enchanted. They're bound with blood magic. The most dangerous kind."
"I know," she admitted. "I could feel it when I pulled them from him."
Simon's gaze flicked back to the sleeping stranger, reassessing. "So either he's extremely dangerous... or someone dangerous wants him dead."
"Neither option is particularly comforting," Amriel murmured.
Simon shook his head slowly. "Fair enough. Just keep your wits about you." He nodded toward the stranger. "And maybe keep that knife closer than usual."
She smirked. "Do I ever do otherwise?"
He shot her a look that said he knew better. With no siblings of her own, Amriel had always imagined this was what having an older brother might feel like—someone 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 occasionally twitching as though caught in dreams. They stood in silence for a while, finishing their breakfast and contemplating the mysterious figure who had crashed into Amriel's life.
After several spoonfuls, Simon set 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. "Yes," 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 slightly. "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."
The declaration caught her off guard. "Simon, I can't just—"
"Yes, you can," he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Niamh would insist if she were here. We've got the space, and we know nothing about this man, injured or not."
Simon didn't often pull rank as the eldest of their trio, but when he did, it wasn't without reason. It wasn't just concern for her safety—though that was part of it. It was the echo of old wounds, the memory of his father who had gone to fight things that didn't belong in their world and never returned.
Amriel's lips pressed together. She understood his perspective, but she also couldn't leave her unconscious patient alone all night. Not when she had no idea who—or what—might come looking for him.
The other, unspoken truth hung between them: if someone had shot him with blood-bound arrows, they might not have given up the hunt.
"No, Simon," Amriel said with a firm shake of her head, her expression leaving no room for argument. "I'm not leaving him."
Simon studied her face, searching for something in her expression. Whatever he saw there made him sigh deeply, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the motion.
He turned to face her fully now, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine," he conceded. "Then I'm staying, too."
She opened her mouth to object out of habit, to insist she could handle this alone. But the prospect of having Simon's steady presence through another uncertain night was too comforting to reject out of pride.
"Alright," she agreed, if a little begrudgingly. "But you'll have to explain to Niamh."
"Already planned to," Simon replied with a nod. "Niamh will understand. But we will have dinner over there," he added, the concession softened by this condition. "The girls will want to see their Auntie Riel, and you need a proper meal."
Amriel shook her head, but a small smile found its way onto her face. The compromise was fair, and the thought of the twins' chatter, of Niamh's cooking, of an hour or two of normality amid the strangeness that had engulfed her life—it was more tempting than she cared to admit.
"Thank you," she said quietly, meaning it more deeply than the simple words could convey.
He nodded once, then clapped his hands together, the sound abrupt in the quiet cottage. "Alright, let's get to it then. He's not going to lift himself."
Several hours after Simon had left for the forge, a familiar yowl sounded from outside, muffled through the thick wooden door. Amriel looked up from the herbal tincture she'd been half-heartedly preparing, her fingers stained green from crushing feverfew leaves.
She barely had time to unlatch the door before Meeko strode in, his tail held high, a distinct air of triumph in his measured steps. Between his sharp teeth, he carried the limp, headless body of a rabbit.
"Oh, lovely," Amriel muttered, half amused, half exasperated. The sight was familiar—Meeko had been bringing her such "gifts" since he was a half-grown kitten, convinced his human needed feeding. This one was decent-sized, though lean from the end of winter.
Meeko dropped his prize at her feet with a soft thud, then let out a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated against her legs as he twined around her thighs. His warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her trousers, and Amriel found herself exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The simple act of touch grounded her more than she expected.
"Yes, you did great. Thank you," she said, crouching to scratch behind his tufted ears, just where the silver-gray fur gave way to black.
Satisfied with his welcome home, Meeko stretched luxuriously—front paws extending, back arching—and padded off toward the sunbeam filtering through the window, curling up without another glance.
Amriel couldn't help but smile at her companion's typical self-satisfaction. She'd found Meeko four springs ago, still a young kitten, half-starved and bearing wounds that suggested he'd tangled with something larger than himself. He'd healed under her care and simply never left.
From the cot near the fireplace, the stranger made a sound—not quite a word, more of a quiet groan. Amriel tensed, but his eyes remained closed.
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. The stranger had remained mostly unconscious during the transfer, save for a few mumbled words that had slipped from his lips as they lifted him—something that sounded like "Fha'lear," though Amriel couldn't be certain.
Amriel let out a breath, rubbing her arms as if to dispel a chill that wasn't really there. The fire burned steadily, keeping the cottage warm despite the morning damp, but the cold she felt came from within, from the growing certainty that whatever—whoever—lay on her cot was not entirely human.
As if she didn't already have enough on her plate.
The prophecy. The Khasta Vhar. And now this.
Her mind drifted back to the arrowheads, to the blue veins of magic that pulsed within the metal. The enchantments bound there were powerful—and specific. Simon's words echoed in her thoughts: "My father showed me arrowheads like these—said they were made to hunt creatures that couldn't be killed by ordinary weapons."
Shaking the thought away, she turned her attention back to Meeko's gift. The rabbit was still warm, its death recent. Working with Meeko's "presents" had become second nature over the years, though she never failed to silently thank the creature for its unwilling sacrifice.
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, leaving behind a washed-clean world that sparkled in the mid-morning sun. The ground still bore signs of the night's fury—mud 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."
The words had haunted her dreams ever since that strange moment in the Illumination Tower, when the symbols of the ancient Lygeness Tome had suddenly resolved themselves into perfect clarity, as if she'd always known their meaning.
She had spent years studying at the Lyceum, which shared grounds with the Coven Tower, and that meant being surrounded by witches, learning their histories and their ways. But never—not once—had she heard of a Starlight Witch.
Yet the prophecy spoke of them as if they were central to everything. Their fall marked the opening of some door—a threshold that shouldn't be crossed. And beyond it waited... what? "Those who have kept endless vigil." Waiting for what?
She needed answers, and there was only one place she might find them.
Amriel wiped her knife clean against her apron and exhaled, her decision made.
Tomorrow, after class, she would go to the Coven Tower, home of Khymarh's witches. She would speak with Kortana, the Coven Leader—a woman who had known her mother and might recognize the term "Starlight Witch," even if no one else did.
After cutting off a choice portion for Meeko—his hunter's share—she wrapped the rest of the rabbit in cloth and stored it in the cool storage beneath the cottage, accessed through a trapdoor just outside. The small cellar remained cold even in summer, one of the few magical enhancements her mother had invested in when establishing the cottage. Perhaps she would take the rabbit with her to the Leodris' tonight.
Making her way back around to the front of the cottage, she heard a cheerful knock at her door. The sound was distinct—three rapid taps followed by two slower ones, a rhythm she recognized immediately.
Rounding the corner, she came face to face with Niamh, whose bright smile seemed to capture the morning sunlight itself. Dressed in a flowing skirt the color of moss after rain and a light wool jacket embroidered with northern symbols of protection, Niamh carried an empty basket in her hands, with a leather backpack slung casually across her back. Her deep-red hair was braided in a crown around her head, emphasizing the elegant lines of her neck and the smattering of freckles across her sun-kissed skin.
Holding up her wicker basket, Niamh's green eyes danced with a familiar mischief. "Fancy a trip to the market? I've got Simon's mom over as a babysitter for the afternoon, and I'm in need of some girl time