The days grew quieter as seasons turned. She knew the shape of every tree near her cottage, the rhythm of wind through the branches, and the names she had given to herbs and mushrooms. Her hands had become steady with power. She brewed teas with instinct and precision, blending dreamleaf with golden bark, mixing warmth into healing. It felt like she was growing roots here-quiet, deep, and invisible.
But still, she was alone.
Her brother hadn't come for months. No messages, no footfalls in the distance. She told herself not to worry, yet she found herself listening too long to the silence.
One morning, while picking mushrooms among moss-covered roots, the air changed. A sound-a scream-shattered the stillness. She turned, heart thudding. From the north path, the one her brother always took, came crashing and chaos.
He appeared from the undergrowth, torn and panicked, running hard. Behind him came figures-like men, but not quite. Some bore horns curling from their heads. Others looked human but wild in the eyes, their mouths shouting in a language she didn't understand.
"Run!" her brother cried, just before they caught him. She screamed and stumbled back, tears already welling.
They threw him aside like a doll. His body tumbled down the slope, out of sight.
She barely had time to call his name before they turned their gaze on her.
There was no question. She ran.
Her heart pounded, her hands shaking as she reached the cottage and slammed the wooden door shut. She pressed her back against it, breath ragged, the herbal smoke still lingering in the air.
"What is this? Why?" she whispered, tears falling. "Why now?"
The door burst inward.
Rough hands dragged her from her sanctuary. She screamed, kicked, but it didn't matter. Her herbs scattered. The cauldron fell. Dried petals fluttered to the floor like dying butterflies.
They took her through the woods, down paths she never dared to walk. The forest grew thinner, the trees sparser, the soil grey. Finally, a village appeared-if it could be called that. No birds sang here. The air was foul with smoke and something more ancient and cruel.
People stared from behind cracked shutters. Or were they people? Some had horns, others strange marks on their skin, their eyes glinting like stone under moonlight.
She was shoved along a broken path of stone, toward a hulking building with a strange silence to it. When the doors opened, a dark stairway led her downward into candlelight and stone.
There, in the belly of the place, something waited.
She didn't understand what it was. Only that it was old. Wrong. Bigger than the room itself. A figure stepped forward-horned, red-skinned, eyes like fire without warmth.
The room spun.
Fear clutched her throat. Her body trembled, her breath shallow. The world became muffled. Cold sweat on her skin. A pressure on her mind, like something trying to erase her.
And then-
Stillness.
Fog.
A voice.
Not hers. Not his. Something older, inside her bones.
Her body stilled. In that breathless moment, she saw herself from above-young, small, but surrounded by a glow of green light, faint yet defiant.
The power within her stirred, unseen by all but the watching stars.
The silence broke with a gasp.
She jolted upright, breath ragged, heart pounding like drums in her chest. Light slanted through a broken section of the roof, dust swirling in the golden beam. Around her, the air was thick with a strange, heavy scent-earthy, damp, and electric.
The walls of the chamber were cracked, bleeding green vines that pulsed as if alive. Thorned tendrils wrapped the stone columns, crept along the floor, and pierced through windows and walls. Some glowed faintly, as though feeding on something ancient.
All around her, bodies lay still-slumped against walls, draped over staircases, unmoving.
Creatures-those beings with horns, grey eyes, twisted mouths-lay scattered like puppets discarded by a child too rough in play. Some breathed shallowly, others not at all. One had a vine wrapped around his chest so tightly his ribs had cracked.
She scrambled to her feet, swaying. Her knees buckled and she gripped the nearest vine-covered wall, trying not to vomit. Her hands shook.
What happened? she thought. Her mind was a fog. She remembered the demon. The voice. The crushing pressure.
And then nothing.
Fear surged through her, and she turned, stumbling up the cracked stairs and bursting into daylight.
The street outside was eerily quiet, as if holding its breath. The foul air still lingered, but something new rode the wind-fear.
She ran, barefoot on cold stones, her breath coming in sharp gasps. A few villagers stood in silence, watching. One woman clutched her child and stepped back. Another, a man with jagged horns and yellow eyes, took one look and turned to flee.
She looked behind.
The building she had just escaped-if it could still be called a building-was nearly gone. Swallowed by green. Thorned vines had erupted from every crevice, curling up the walls like angry serpents. The roof sagged under the weight. Windows shattered. The very stones wept sap.
It looked like nature had declared war on whatever evil had nested inside.
She panicked. Her mind screamed to run, to flee into the forest, to go home.
But which way was home?
She spun in place, eyes darting for the path she knew. Her heart thundered louder than her thoughts.
Then-a streak of silver across the sky.
Wind howled.
She gasped as something fast and shining swooped down above the crooked rooftops. A blur. Then-stillness again.
Floating before her, above the cracked road, stood a man.
No, not a man. Not exactly.
He hovered calmly, standing with perfect balance atop a long, slender bamboo stick. His robes were simple, pale blue with silver thread. His long hair moved as if underwater, untouched by gravity or wind. In his hand, he held a fan.
She stared, wide-eyed, too shocked to speak. In her world, no human could fly. No human could command silence like that. She trembled where she stood, tears still clinging to her lashes.
The figure said nothing at first. He simply looked around with the steady eyes of someone who had seen many strange things-and judged this one not unfamiliar.
Then she turned to run.
She didn't know where. Anywhere.
But with a flick of his wrist, the fan opened, and with it came a shimmer-a whisper of air, gentle and firm. Her body halted. She floated just above the ground, legs kicking helplessly in the air.
He floated closer. Calm. Gentle. Observing her like one might observe a strange flower blooming out of season.
Behind her, a few of the demon-eyed villagers hadn't fled yet. They stood, eyes wary, but still curious or foolish enough to linger.
He turned his head, sharp and precise, and waved the fan once more.
Like birds startled by a storm, they scattered in every direction.
The air settled again.
Then finally, he looked at her-not through her, not above her, but directly at her, and asked, softly, "Where do you live?"
Her lips trembled. Her voice came like wind through dry leaves. "In the hidden forest."
He nodded once. No more words were needed.
The fan folded. He tucked it away.
Then, with a flick of his hand, the world shifted again.
She felt it before she saw it-her body rising. Not lifted by arms, not held by ropes. Just-rising. The wind was quiet. The world below faded into a blur of smoke and stone and green-covered ruin.
She didn't scream. She couldn't. Her mind had left the place of screaming.
Next to her, the man stood upright, balanced in the air as if the sky were solid ground.
They soared-over roofs, over trees, over the breaking edge of the cursed village. Toward home.
She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.
And let the wind carry her away.