Marked

“Did we... Did we win?” Katsuro managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to sit up, wincing with every movement.

Roderick was by his side in an instant, helping him to his feet. “I think so,” I replied, still watching the lifeless body of Lavael on the floor, half-expecting her to leap up at any moment. I could feel the lingering tension, the sense that this was only a temporary reprieve.

Roderick gave a low chuckle, glancing at the massive axe still clenched in his hand. “Didn’t think I’d end my night by hacking myself to bits, courtesy of my lovely sister.”

“Just trying to keep things interesting for you,” I shot back with a grin, catching my breath.

Katsuro grinned despite his injuries, his face etched with exhaustion but his spirit unbroken. “You sure did, Thalia,” he said, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. “Though next time, maybe warn me before letting the demon wear your brother’s face.”

“Hey, you were holding your own, too,” I said, giving him a nod of respect. “Even if you did let her toss you around like a rag doll.”

Katsuro winced with a dry smile. “It was a strategy. Just a… painful one.” Roderick laughed, clapping Katsuro on the back.

We shared a collective sigh of relief, the tension draining from the room. But just as I turned my back to the remains of Lavael’s body, a low, rasping whisper echoed from the other side of the room.

“Thalia...”

We all froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I turned to see the impossible. Lavael’s head, severed and lying detached from her body, stared up at me, her hollow, dark eyes gleaming with a faint, unearthly light.

“You killed me,” she rasped, her voice as cold as death itself, cutting through the room like a blade. “My kind will not let you live in peace. You are now... marked.”

With that, her eyes dimmed, and her head crumbled into dust, her body following suit, disintegrating into nothingness until the floor lay bare.

“Marked?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, still staring at the empty space where Lavael’s body had crumbled to dust. Her final words echoed in my mind, unsettling in a way that even her borrowed strength hadn’t been.

“What does that even mean?” Roderick asked, frowning. “I’ve heard of curses, hexes… but this?”

Katsuro looked pensive, his brow furrowing as he seemed to piece something together. “In my clan,” he began, his voice low, “there is a tradition, a vow of vengeance. If one of us is killed unjustly, our kin will take up the fight. They won’t stop until the one responsible is gone or… avenged.”

“So… it’s like a blood feud,” I murmured, realization sinking in. “But with demons.”

Katsuro nodded. “Something like that. Except this isn’t just any clan seeking revenge. These are demons—Lavael’s kin. And if she’s marked you… they won’t stop coming until they’ve settled the score.”

Roderick snorted, though his attempt at humor was strained. “So, what, now you’ve got a whole demon clan aiming to put you six feet under?”

“Not just her,” Katsuro corrected, his tone somber. “All of us were involved in her death. They’ll come after any one of us, but it’s Thalia they’ll want most.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine, but I pushed it aside, trying to focus. If I was marked, there had to be some kind of sign—some trace of the curse left behind. I ran my hands over my arms, my neck, even tugging at my collar to look down, checking for anything unusual, but my skin was unmarked, no strange feelings, no lingering aches. Just the usual bruises and scrapes from the fight.

“Nothing,” I said, frustrated. “I don’t feel any different.”

Roderick frowned, tilting his head. “Hold on a sec,” he said, moving closer. He leaned in, peering at the skin behind my ear, then his eyes widened. “Thalia… there’s something here. Right behind your ear.”

My hand flew up to the spot, but I couldn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. “What does it look like?”

“It’s… a mark,” Roderick replied, his voice hesitant. “Like… two intersecting lines, with a small circle in the middle.”

Katsuro’s gaze darkened as he studied it. “This must be the mark Lavael spoke of,” he said. “A brand, left behind by her curse.”

I ran my fingers over the spot, feeling nothing unusual, but the weight of their words settled over me like a stone. This wasn’t just a physical mark—it was something that went deeper, something intangible. And it was more than enough to draw every demon with a grudge out of the shadows.

“Well, isn’t that lovely,” I muttered, a pit forming in my stomach. “Seems I’ll be making new friends soon enough.”

A raspy voice broke the silence, and we all turned to see the kid’s father watching us from his place in the corner, his face pale, hollow, his eyes rimmed with the grief he’d brought upon himself.

“It’s the Marked,” he said, his voice rough, trembling. “They call it… the seal of vengeance. Your fate’s already been sealed, whether you know it or not.” He swallowed hard, his gaze darkening. “Once it’s placed, there’s nowhere you can run. No one who can help you.”

I scoffed, giving him a pointed look. “Good thing I don’t plan on running, then,” I replied.

The man’s eyes widened, his voice urgent, almost pleading. “No, you don’t understand. This is serious. The ones who’ll come for you aren’t like anything you’ve faced before. They’re demons—real demons. Lavael was only the weakest of them all. More will come for you, and they’re far more dangerous.”

I shrugged, crossing my arms as if his words were just a gust of wind passing by. What could I do about it? If the demons wanted to come marching out of whatever hellish pit they crawled from, they could have at it.

“So they’re coming,” I replied evenly, keeping my voice steady. “Let them. I’ll be ready to greet them.”

We made our way out of the mansion, stepping over shattered remnants of furniture and splintered wood. The first rays of dawn were just beginning to creep across the horizon, painting the empty streets in a pale, eerie light. I scanned the area, looking for the kid, the one who’d led us here, but there was no sign of her. The air felt hollow, empty.

Katsuro glanced around, his eyes narrowing. “Where’s your child?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with suspicion.

The father looked at him, genuinely bewildered. “My child?” he echoed, his voice hollow. “I… I have no child.”

Katsuro and I exchanged a glance, a chill creeping down my spine as I replayed the night in my head. The kid’s haunted eyes, her quiet, desperate voice, her insistence that we come to the basement. Had she ever even been real?

Roderick, meanwhile, let out a loud yawn, scratching his head. “Are we done here?” he muttered. “If demons are lining up to greet us, I’d rather get in a nap first.”

Sleep didn’t come easy. The bed beneath me felt more like stone than fabric, every shift reminding me of the exhaustion weighing down my body. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, I slipped into a restless sleep.

At first, it was the usual—fragments of past battles, shadowy memories flashing in and out of focus. But then, the dream shifted, took on a weight that felt like iron pressing against my chest. Everything faded to black, a void so deep it seemed to swallow sound, light, everything. And in the center of that darkness stood a figure, massive and ominous, a creature darker than the void itself.

It didn’t move, didn’t speak—just loomed there in absolute silence, watching me with an intensity that was almost physical, like a crushing weight bearing down on my bones. My breath caught, my heart pounding as I realized this wasn’t an ordinary nightmare. It felt… real. Too real. Its presence alone was enough to make me feel small, fragile, like I was barely a flicker of a candle flame in its shadow.

And then, without warning, I was jerked awake, my heart racing as I shot upright. Sunlight flooded the room, painfully bright, and I winced, shielding my eyes.

“Finally!” Roderick’s voice broke through the haze, exasperated. He stood by the window, one hand rubbing a faint bruise on his jaw. “And here I thought you’d sleep until next week.”

I blinked, disoriented, still feeling the shadow of that creature looming over me. “What time is it?” I croaked, my voice rough.

“Midday, or close enough.” He smirked, stepping aside to let the full force of the sun hit my face. “By the way, I’m adding this to my list of reasons you owe me—I had to wake you up after you punched me in the face. First time that’s ever happened.”

I frowned, a flash of confusion crossing my mind. “I… punched you?”

“Oh yeah. Full-on jab,” he said, grinning. “Never seen you thrash like that. Must’ve been some dream.”

I let out a shaky breath, sinking back against the pillows, but the image of that towering silhouette lingered, carved into the back of my mind. This wasn’t just any nightmare. It was something else, something deeper.

And somehow, I knew… that was just the beginning.

But there was no time to dwell on strange dreams or looming shadows. Roderick gave me a pointed look, crossing his arms. “Get up, Thalia. We’re heading out today. It’s time to go home.”

Home. The thought was like a warm, distant echo. After all this, the idea of returning, even for a short while, seemed like the best cure for the darkness settling over me. It was only a half day’s journey from Caerwyn to Hollowbrook, the small, quiet village where Roderick’s family lived. Nearly a week had passed since Roderick last saw them, and I could imagine how his wife and son must be waiting, watching the road for his return.

Ilsa, the innkeeper, took our payment with a curt nod and an approving smile, her gaze lingering on Roderick, as it often did. “Be safe out there, both of you,” she said, her voice rough but laced with warmth. “And don’t be strangers, now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Roderick replied with a grin, nodding as he shouldered his pack.

Katsuro was waiting for us near the door, his face calm but his eyes sharp as he looked me over. For a moment, he just stood there, studying me in that way he did before a fight, as though assessing whether I was ready.

Then, before I could say anything, he pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and steady. “Be careful, Thalia,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’m worried about you.” He pulled back, his gaze serious. “This is… different.”

I managed a small smile, feeling the weight of his concern but not wanting him to carry it. “Thanks, Katsuro. But you know me—I can handle my own.”

He nodded, though his worry lingered. “If anything happens, you know where to find me.”

Roderick clapped him on the back, his usual grin breaking through the more serious moment. “Come on, Katsuro, if anyone’s tough enough to survive this mess, it’s my sister.”

Katsuro’s lips quirked into a faint smile as he looked between us, but he said nothing more, simply watching as we turned toward the door and headed out.

As we left Caerwyn’s gates behind us, the weight of the last few days began to lift, replaced by the familiar comfort of home on the horizon.

The walk back to Hollowbrook was, thankfully, uneventful. Besides Roderick’s grumbling about his aching stomach and the pit stop he had to make in the woods, the day passed in peaceful silence. A quiet journey was a relief, after everything.

As night fell, we finally reached Hollowbrook. The village was small, a handful of houses nestled close together, with only a few lanterns lining the path. Warm light spilled from windows, casting a gentle glow over the road, and smoke curled up from chimneys into the cool evening air. You could count every house here on your fingers—a close-knit place, quiet and tucked away from the world.

But as we approached, the stillness was interrupted by the unmistakable crackle of magic. Bright flashes of light lit up the village green, sparks flying in controlled bursts. Roderick glanced over at me, an amused grin on his face. “Looks like they’re at it again.”

I just nodded, recognizing those sounds well. Sure enough, even from a distance, we could make out two figures in the thick of a training duel: one small and determined, the other tall and controlled. It was Roderick’s son, Breon, deep in practice with his mentor, Sihir.

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Breon was a natural, practically born with magic running through his veins. He was already casting spells most adults struggled with, and he hadn’t even reached his teens yet. I had to admit, it irked me a little. Here he was, so young and barely up to my waist, yet already wielding more raw power than I’d had at his age. And if there was anyone who could help him hone that potential, it was Sihir.

Sihir was widely regarded as the greatest mage on the continent, and she knew it. She was Roderick’s sister-in-law and had taken Breon on as her only apprentice—though it had cost Roderick a small fortune to secure her services. While I had no complaints about her abilities, her personality was… prickly, to say the least. Sihir took her role seriously, but with an arrogance that made her insufferable at times. She wasn’t just teaching Breon magic; she was teaching him pride.

We drew closer, and as Roderick’s voice called out a greeting, the training paused. The last sparks of Breon’s spell faded into the night as he turned, grinning at the sight of his father.

“Dad!” he shouted, excitement lighting up his face as he ran over, his steps full of energy.

Sihir straightened, her expression impassive as she took us in. Despite her usual demeanor, I could see a faint approval in her gaze—Breon was making progress, after all. She inclined her head at us, acknowledging our return.

In that moment, surrounded by the familiar faces of my family, I felt something settle in me. A rare sense of ease, like the troubles we’d left behind could stay there, even if just for a night.

“So you’re back, then?” Sihir’s voice cut through the air as soon as we stepped into her line of sight, her gaze fixed on me. She was barely making an effort to mask her disdain, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, like she’d been waiting all day just to pick this fight.

I smirked, meeting her gaze head-on. “Missed me already, Sihir?”

She scoffed, then spat on the ground, her expression twisting with disgust. “All that talent, all that mana, and you waste it slaying monsters.”

I smiled and gave her a slight bow. “Thank you, then. Appreciate the compliment.”

I could see the flicker of irritation in her eyes, but she said nothing more, turning her attention away from me. Which was fine by me—I’d just returned, and sparring with her ego wasn’t on my to-do list.

“Thalia, look what I can do!” Breon bounded up to me, his face lit with pride. “I can conjure a whirlwind now!”

I blinked, surprised but proud, and couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. A whirlwind spell? It was notoriously difficult, demanding an insane level of focus and control—control that I hadn’t even fully grasped until a few years ago. And here was Breon, not even fully grown, casually boasting about it.

“That’s incredible, Breon,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to leave us all in the dust at this rate.”

Breon grinned wider, his eyes shining, clearly pleased to impress me. Sihir, meanwhile, had redirected her attention to Roderick, finally moving on from me.

“He’s progressing well,” she said to Roderick in that smooth, matter-of-fact tone she used whenever she discussed her own achievements. “In addition to the whirlwind spell, he’s mastered a basic elemental barrier, several incantations for binding, and he’s already showing signs of mana recovery far beyond his age. At this rate, he could be your partner in battle by the time he reaches adulthood.”

Roderick beamed, pride practically radiating from him as he looked down at Breon. “You hear that, kiddo?” he said, giving him a proud pat on the back. “Out here making me look like the lazy one.”

Sihir’s gaze shifted between Roderick and Breon, her mouth curling slightly into a small smirk. “Only thing that could hold him back is too much time around certain influences.”

I ignored the jab, instead watching Breon’s face light up with pride, feeling a fierce warmth for him that even Sihir couldn’t darken. The shadows of the last few days receded a bit, replaced with a rare sense of peace.

From the doorway, Roderick’s wife, Elara, appeared, her face warm and welcoming as she spotted us. She brushed her hands on her apron and stepped down from the porch, her gaze softening as she looked at her husband and me.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called, smiling as she approached. But instead of greeting Roderick first, she came straight to me, pulling me into a warm hug. “Thank you for keeping an eye on him, Thalia. You know he wouldn’t come back in one piece if it weren’t for you.”

Roderick let out a dramatic sigh, folding his arms. “Hey now, I was the one who did all the heavy lifting. I should get a hug first!” He feigned offense, but I could see the grin fighting its way onto his face.

Elara just laughed, rolling her eyes as she pulled him in, too. “Oh, come here, you big oaf.” She wrapped her arms around him, and the two of them shared a laugh, the kind of laugh that made you forget every rough night and dangerous mission, if only for a moment.

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them, a quiet contentment settling over me. This was the part of life I loved seeing—the calm moments that followed the storms.

We were about to head inside, the warm glow of dinner and family calling us, but then I noticed Sihir lingering off to the side, gathering her things. She slung her bag over her shoulder, straightening up with a sigh.

“Leaving already?” Roderick asked, eyebrow raised. “Dinner’s just started.”

Sihir waved a dismissive hand, her face a cool mask of indifference. “I have other matters to attend to. Important things.” Her tone carried that usual edge, as though we should be grateful for the time she’d given us at all.

I seized the chance to cut things short. “Well then, bye, Sihir,” I said, my voice light, almost too cheerful.

She gave me a flat look, muttering something under her breath, before nodding to Breon and disappearing down the road.

The warmth of the kitchen enveloped us as we all sat down to dinner. Elara had outdone herself, as always. The table was covered in steaming dishes—roasted root vegetables glistening with herbs, buttery rolls still warm from the oven, and a thick stew filled with chunks of tender meat, carrots, and potatoes. The scent was rich, earthy, and comforting, filling the room with a hominess that melted away every rough edge of the past week.

Roderick wasted no time, immediately reaching for a ladle of stew. “This,” he declared with a grin, “is what I’ve been dreaming of for days.” He piled his bowl high, inhaling the steam with a contented sigh before digging in.

Elara laughed softly. “And here I thought you’d missed me, not just my cooking.”

Breon leaned forward, a cheeky grin on his face. “Dad probably talks about your cooking on every job. It’s all he thinks about half the time.”

Roderick didn’t even look embarrassed, just shrugged with a smile. “A man has to have his priorities, right?” He gave Breon a wink, which only made the boy grin wider.

I chuckled, reaching for a roll and breaking it open, the soft warmth of it hitting me like a memory. “I have to say, Elara, it’s hard to find food like this anywhere else,” I admitted, savoring the first bite. The bread was pillowy, buttery, just a hint of rosemary baked in. “You could open a tavern, make a fortune.”

“Oh, no, I’ll leave the adventuring and fortunes to the two of you,” she said with a smile, passing a bowl of roasted squash my way. “Besides, you wouldn’t come visit if you had to pay for my cooking.”

“That’s not true!” Roderick protested, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. “She can have family discount!”

Elara raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Maybe I’ll just let Thalia eat for free, then,” she teased, nudging me playfully.

“Oh, definitely,” I said, laughing. “She has the right idea.”

Breon chimed in, grinning as he looked between us. “How about me? I don’t get charged, right?”

“Of course not,” Elara replied, patting his shoulder. “As long as you keep impressing Sihir.” She gave him a proud smile. “That whirlwind spell is no small feat, Breon.”

He beamed, looking down at his plate, and even I felt a pang of pride for him. We all fell silent for a moment, each of us absorbed in the food, the warmth of the fire, and the quiet comfort of family gathered around a table.

As the dinner wound down, Roderick leaned back in his chair, casting a sidelong glance at Breon with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You know, it’s been a long time since you and I had a proper practice fight, don’t you think?”

Breon perked up immediately, the challenge sparking in his eyes. “I’m game if you are,” he said, setting his fork down with a grin. “Think you can keep up?”

Roderick chuckled, pushing back his chair. “You’re getting cocky, kid.” He polished off the last bite of his stew, tossed me a wink, and clapped Breon on the back as they both stood up.

As they left, Elara and I exchanged a look, eyebrows raised in shared exasperation. “Boys,” we said at the same time, shaking our heads with a smile.

They were out the door before we knew it, leaving us to finish the last few bites in a peaceful silence. After a while, I cleared my plate, thanked Elara, and decided to see what kind of show those two were putting on out in the yard.

When I stepped outside, the night was crisp, and the yard was illuminated by the soft glow of torches they’d lit around. Roderick and Breon stood in the center, facing off, both with wide grins. They looked like mirror images—one big and solid, the other lean and quick, but both with the same confident stance, the same steady gaze.

Roderick rolled his shoulders, flexing his grip on a sturdy training staff. “Alright, Breon, let’s see what Sihir’s been teaching you. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Hope you’re ready,” Breon shot back, a hint of playfulness lacing his serious tone

Roderick, fully armored save for his helmet, wielding a wooden sword and shield that looked almost comical against the force Breon was about to unleash. Across from him, Breon stood barehanded, the air around him already crackling with latent energy, his fingers flexing as he summoned his magic with the kind of ease that would make even the best mages envious. No staff, no conduit—he didn’t need one. Breon’s magical power was pure, unfiltered, and potent enough to resonate all on its own.

I leaned back, watching with a mix of pride and wonder as Breon began.

With a slight shift of his stance, he raised one hand and sent a shimmering wave of energy streaking toward Roderick. The air rippled as the spell charged forward, a burst of pure force that could have knocked a lesser fighter off their feet. But Roderick moved like he’d seen it coming a mile away, sidestepping in one smooth motion, his shield coming up in an almost lazy deflection.

Breon grinned, undeterred. He thrust his hands forward, summoning a torrent of wind that whipped up leaves and dust, the gale intensifying until it was practically a whirlwind. He spun his hands in a fluid motion, and the cyclone obeyed, spiraling into a concentrated column that rushed straight for Roderick.

To his credit, Roderick didn’t flinch. He planted his feet, gripping his shield with calm focus, waiting until the last second to pivot out of the cyclone’s path. The wind roared past him, and he shifted back with a steady, controlled grace, keeping just out of reach. Both of us could see it—Breon wasn’t trying to hurt him; he was showing off, every spell flashier and more powerful than the last.

“Is that all you’ve got, son?” Roderick taunted, a grin spreading across his face as he straightened, barely ruffled.

Breon’s eyes gleamed with a playful challenge. He clenched his fists, and in a heartbeat, his hands erupted in flames. With a sharp thrust, he sent a line of fire racing across the ground, splitting the night with a blaze so bright it cast flickering shadows across the yard. The flames spiraled and morphed, shaping themselves into a figure—an enormous, flaming serpent that writhed and twisted as it advanced on Roderick.

I raised an eyebrow, watching in surprise. A controlled fire manifestation—that was high-level magic, something only the most disciplined mages could pull off, and here Breon was doing it like it was child’s play. I couldn’t help the spark of pride that warmed me.

But Roderick just rolled his eyes, lifting his wooden shield in mock seriousness. “You’re getting flashier by the minute, kid.”

As the flaming serpent lunged, he stepped aside, letting it dissipate as it struck the earth. Breon pulled back, breathing heavily but exhilarated, clearly proud of himself, though Roderick looked unbothered. He didn’t counterattack; he didn’t need to. He was watching Breon with the same fond, amused expression he always had, waiting for the boy to throw his next spell.

Breon frowned, taking the hint. This time, he swept his hand in a wide arc, conjuring a shimmering barrier of swirling water in mid-air. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the water crashing toward Roderick, droplets scattering as it twisted and spun, forming an encircling wave. The sheer control Breon had over each movement, each pulse of magic, was astounding. It was like watching a symphony, every note perfectly timed.

But Roderick stayed calm, stepping to the side and letting the water wash past him, his movements simple, steady. He lifted his shield, deflecting a spray of water, his expression never changing.

As Breon’s assault slowed, his breaths coming harder, Roderick lowered his shield and took a step forward, his face softening.

Roderick moved in close, taking advantage of Breon’s faltering pace. With a sudden, swift motion, he brought his wooden sword down hard, slamming it squarely into Breon’s side. The crack echoed across the yard, and Breon let out a yelp, stumbling back and clutching his ribs as pain flickered across his face.

“Keep it simple, Breon,” Roderick said, laughing as he straightened. “Flashy spells are great for show, but they’ll leave you wide open in a duel.” He nudged his son playfully with the tip of his wooden sword, his grin wide and unbothered. Breon just nodded, wincing as he held his side.

Seeing him in pain, I got up from my seat and crossed the yard, raising my staff to murmur a quick healing spell. Healing wasn’t my strong suit, but the warmth of magic trickled from my fingertips to Breon’s side, enough to dull the worst of it.

“There,” I said, giving Breon a reassuring pat. “That should help. Next time, maybe cast a shield first to keep yourself in one piece. Remember, mages are usually backliners. We’re good at range, but close up, it’s a different story.”

“Listen to her,” Roderick added, steadying Breon with a firm hand on his shoulder. “A well-timed shield will do you more good than half the spells you’ve been slinging around tonight.”

With a nod, I raised my staff and cast a simple shielding charm, letting the protective aura settle around Breon. “Here,” I said, “just like this. Try it.”

Roderick grinned, raising his wooden sword again. “Let’s test it, shall we?” Before Breon could protest, he swung, aiming for the same spot as before. This time, the blade met the shield with a satisfying thud and was deflected, leaving Breon standing unharmed, wide-eyed and steady.

He turned to me, a look of admiration in his eyes. “Teach me that.”

I frowned, slightly taken aback. “Sihir didn’t teach you shielding spells?”

Breon shook his head, shrugging. “She only focused on offensive spells. Said I wouldn’t need a defense if I could kill my enemy in a single spell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough, but there’s more to survival than raw offense. Balance, Breon. I’ll make sure you learn both.”

“And you can learn it tomorrow,” Elara’s voice called from the doorway, warm and firm. She crossed her arms, a gentle smile on her face that softened her tone. “Time for bed, all of you.”

Roderick sighed, lowering his wooden sword with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Just when I was getting warmed up.”

Breon shot his father an amused grin, still brimming with energy. “Same here.”

Roderick chuckled, nudging Breon’s shoulder. “Keep dreaming, kid.”

Elara shook her head, laughing softly. “Yes, yes, you’re all very impressive. Now inside, all of you.”

With that, we headed into the house, one last wave of warmth from the night’s practice settling over us. A quiet, steady peace.

Perhaps it was the comfort of being home or the soft warmth of Elara’s cooking, but my sleep was blissfully empty, free from dreams and nightmares alike. I woke up feeling... refreshed. The kind of rested that goes right down to the bones. No lingering shadows, no strange visions—just peace. I liked it.

As I stretched and made my way downstairs, the house was still quiet. Everyone else was asleep, and I took my chance to brew myself a pot of tea in the early morning light. I’d barely taken a few sips, savoring the warmth, when a sudden knock at the door broke the stillness. I sighed, glancing toward the door, half-tempted to ignore it. But the knocking continued, insistent, almost rhythmic.

Reluctantly, I set down my cup, braced myself, and opened the door.

Standing there was a man so unnervingly perfect, so ethereal in his presence, that I felt a moment’s hesitation, as if my eyes couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing. His features were almost otherworldly—high, chiseled cheekbones, a jawline as precise as a sculpture, and piercing eyes that held a faint, almost unnatural light. His skin was flawless, like polished marble, and his hair, a soft, golden blond, was styled immaculately, not a single strand out of place.

He wore a crisp, tailored suit, perfectly pressed and pristine, the kind Roderick only dusted off for special occasions. The fabric seemed to catch the morning light, the kind of garment so fine it was out of place here in this modest village. He stood tall, straight-backed, with an air of pride about him, like he was used to people standing in awe.

But what struck me most was the smile that stretched across his face as he took me in. It was wide and bright, almost too familiar, like he knew everything about me. He looked pleased with himself, as though he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Hello, Thalia,” he said, his voice rich and warm, like he was greeting an old friend.

I blinked, taken aback. I’d never seen this man before in my life.

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To be continued