Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Chapter 10

An hour and a half later the transport slowed without a sound.

Outside the windows, a modest two-story farmhouse came into view—stone walls, a dark-shingled roof, and a wide front yard lined with chalky soil. A windmill creaked lazily in the distance. A single path led up from the road to the porch, where four people were already standing.

Waiting.

Emily frowned. “Did they… know we were coming?”

Varis leaned forward slightly, her expression unreadable. But Emily caught the flicker of something in her eyes—something curious, maybe even concerned.

“I didn’t send notice,” Varis said.

Emily turned back to the window, narrowing her gaze at the family.

At first glance, they looked normal. Maybe even ideal.

A well-groomed mother and father, two children—teenagers, maybe. Everyone clean, standing in a neat line, dressed in clothes that looked freshly laundered. The house behind them was quiet, tidy. Picture-perfect.

But when the transport doors slid open and Emily stepped out into the sun—

Her stomach turned.

Up close, the cracks showed.

The mother had dark circles under her eyes. Deep, sunken ones that makeup tried to hide but failed to soften. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun that looked rushed, loose strands slipping free in the wind. Her skin had a strange pallor—too pale for someone living in a sun-beaten region like this. It had that dull look. Like it hadn’t felt warmth in a long time.

She smiled. Tight. Not quite reaching her eyes.

The father’s grin was broader—too broad. All teeth and tension. His eyes were wide, almost comically round, like he was trying to hold them open on purpose. They twitched slightly as he stared—not at Emily. Not at Varis.

At Tess.

He hadn’t stopped looking at her once.

Emily’s pulse ticked up.

Then there were the children—or what she thought were children. From the carriage, they’d looked maybe thirteen, eighteen at most. But standing here now… no.

No, something was wrong.

Their posture was too still. Their faces worn down. And they wouldn’t look up. Heads down, eyes averted, not in shyness but in practiced deference.

Emily didn’t move. She just stood there, watching.

Everything was clean. Quiet. Perfect.

And completely wrong.

Varis stepped forward without hesitation, robes catching the breeze.

“Good morning,” she said warmly, her tone the practiced kindness of someone used to putting others at ease. “Thank you for receiving us on such short notice. I’m Varis Elowen, healer of Viremoor. This is Emily Carter, and the child is Tess.”

The mother nodded quickly, her smile flickering tighter.

“Of course. We’re honored to be considered.” Her voice was too sweet, almost rehearsed.

The father bowed, a little too low, and didn’t blink as he straightened—his eyes still locked on Tess.

Emily hesitated.

She glanced at the guards flanking her, wondering if they’d picked up on anything—but no. Their faces remained passive. Professional. Not a single twitch of concern.

She looked at Varis. The healer was already exchanging pleasantries, asking about the home, the land, the crops. Varis didn’t seem to notice the daughter’s refusal to lift her eyes. Or the way the son’s fingers twitched nervously at his sides. Or how the mother kept shifting subtly in place, like standing still was just a little too hard.

Emily pasted on a polite smile.

“Thank you for having us,” she said, trying not to sound flat.

She couldn’t shake the weight pressing against her ribs. Something about the father’s eyes… the stillness of the kids… the way this whole place looked fine until you looked too close.

But no one else seemed bothered.

So she stepped forward slowly, heart beating a little too fast, and kept playing along.

They began making their way toward the house.

The father led them up the short path, his gait a little too eager, his grin still stretched too wide. Emily followed behind Varis, her eyes darting to the two silent children, then to the guards trailing them at a calm distance.

Just as they reached the front door, the man turned, still smiling.

“Oh—would the guards mind waiting outside? It’s such a small home. No need to crowd.”

Emily opened her mouth to say something, anything—but Varis beat her to it.

“Oh, yes, that’s perfectly fine,” she said easily, glancing at the guards. “We shouldn’t be long.”

The guards gave a small nod and stepped back.

Emily hesitated, unease scraping against her ribs, but she followed the others inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, she knew something was wrong.

Everything was spotless.

Not just clean—sterile. The stone floor gleamed. The shelves were perfectly dusted. Even the throw blankets were folded with military precision. No shoes by the door. No clutter. No smell of food or fire or life. Just polished surfaces and faintly perfumed air.

Like a model home.

Like no one actually lived here.

She swallowed her discomfort and kept walking.

“I’m Talbeth,” the father said with a proud little puff of his chest. “This is my wife, Mora. Our son, Ralen. And our daughter, Kira.”

The kids didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch when their names were said. Their heads stayed bowed, their hands folded in their laps like they’d been posed that way.

“We’re so grateful for the opportunity,” Mora added, voice light and high. “Truly honored.”

She gestured to the living room.

“Please—have a seat.”

The room was just as staged as the entryway. Two long couches faced each other across a low table with a perfectly arranged bowl of fake fruit. On one couch, the entire family sat in a neat row—the parents in the middle, the children on either end, all posture and stillness.

Still no eye contact from the kids.

On the other couch, Tess sat first, quiet but alert. Varis settled beside her. Emily took the end seat, closest to the hallway and angled slightly toward the others.

The silence stretched.

Varis offered a warm smile. “Thank you again for having us. I just want to ask a few questions, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Mora said quickly.

“Absolutely,” Talbeth echoed. “Anything.”

Varis glanced down at her tablet. “You have space for another child?”

“Oh yes,” Mora said at once. “We have a lovely extra room. Plenty of light.”

“And you’re able to provide for her comfortably?”

“Yes,” Talbeth said, nodding enthusiastically. “We grow all our own food and sell at market. Good margins, even in drought years.”

Varis looked up. “And what about her schooling?”

“We believe in structured learning,” Mora answered smoothly. “We already have scrolls prepared and can connect to the village archive when needed.”

Emily sat still, watching them.

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The words were all… right. Too right. The pacing, the tone, the perfect division between the mother and father’s replies. Like they were reading from a memorized script.

And the children still hadn’t looked up.

Mora’s voice came light and pleasant, too smooth.

“Why don’t you two show Tess the room she’d be staying in?” she said, turning her smile toward the motionless children. “Give her a little tour—if she’s alright with it, of course.”

Varis looked down at Tess, then offered a soft smile. “That’s not a bad idea.”

The children moved—slowly, as if waking from sleep. They rose in sync, stiff and silent. Tess stood too, blinking, her hand slipping from Varis’s robe.

Emily’s heart dropped.

Her pulse spiked as Tess stepped in front of her, and before the girl could move any farther, Emily reached out and gently pulled her back.

She settled Tess between herself and Varis, keeping one hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder.

“Oh, maybe later actually,” Emily said, forcing a smile. “That way we can all go. It’ll be fun for everyone.”

She turned her head just enough to meet Varis’s eyes—and stared.

Varis blinked, confused at first. Then her gaze shifted to the family—and for the first time, she seemed to really see them.

Mora was still smiling.

But her eyes—

Her eyes were full of fury.

Just for a second. Just a flash of pure, burning anger before the mask slid back into place.

Emily caught it. So did Varis.

Varis’s face stilled. Fear flickered there—briefly. Then it was gone, buried under years of practiced composure.

She cleared her throat. “You know… actually, it’s getting a bit late. And we still have quite a trip ahead of us.”

She stood slowly, lifting Tess’s hand in her own.

“Thank you for answering my questions. Someone will contact you in the next few days to let you know if you’ll be receiving her.”

Emily rose with her, taking Tess’s other hand. She didn’t look back at the couch.

Talbeth and Mora didn’t move.

And then—two loud thuds echoed from just outside the front door.

The sound was sharp, solid—like something heavy striking stone.

Emily’s heart kicked up, thudding in her ribs as her gaze snapped to the door.

Talbeth stood slowly from the couch, his wide smile still stretched across his face like wax softening in heat.

“You can leave now,” he said. Calm. Too calm. “We only need the girl.”

Emily pulled Tess closer, her voice low and sharp. “Not happening.”

Mora rose next. Her sweet tone vanished, replaced with something colder.

“She will be our queen,” Mora added, her voice calm and glassy. “Chosen by blood.”

“Like hell she will,” Emily snapped.

Behind her, Varis had already moved—positioning herself in front of Tess, whispering a protection incantation under her breath. Her hands were glowing faintly, a healer’s shield wrapping around the child like a thin golden veil.

The two “children” finally looked up.

And Emily felt her stomach twist.

They weren’t children. They weren’t even pretending anymore. These were full-grown cultists in the bodies of young adults—faces blank, eyes bloodshot, and veins crawling with something dark and moving.

The front door creaked open.

One of the guards—what was left of him—slumped inward.

Throat torn out. Eyes glassy. Blood smeared across the doorway.

The other fell with a wet thump just behind him.

Tess screamed.

And then someone else stepped through the door.

He was taller with more muscles. Dressed in black robes unlike the others, stained dark at the cuffs. His eyes burned red—not bloodshot. Glowing.

The moment he entered, Emily felt it—like a cold hand gripping her spine.

Varis whispered, “Blood cult mage,” under her breath.

And then all hell broke loose.

The two fake children lunged first. Emily flung both hands out on instinct—basic magic surged from her core, a blast of telekinetic force so strong it flung a chair across the room and shattered the table between them.

The boy cultist was slammed against the wall.

The girl dodged and tackled Emily mid-cast.

They went down hard.

Emily’s head cracked the floor and stars burst behind her eyes. She rolled, using a pulse of force to fling the woman off her, but pain radiated through her ribs—Her lungs barely worked.

She reached for a bookshelf—pushed.

The entire thing launched across the room like it weighed nothing.

It hit the mother cultist and sent her sprawling. That bought Emily seconds. She staggered upright, blood dripping down her temple.

Varis had dropped to one knee, arms outstretched in a gold-lit barrier as Tess cried behind her. The shield was holding, but it flickered under pressure.

Then the father came at Emily.

She hurled a stone stool at him without thinking—it smashed into him at full force and he kept coming. Staggered, but not stopped.

“Emily!” Varis shouted. “Behind—!”

Too late.

The fifth cultist—the mage—was already lifting a hand.

A red rune flared in the air, twisting mid-air like a living snake. It snapped toward Emily like a whip.

She dove, barely avoiding it.

It struck the floor, cutting a deep line through the stone.

Emily landed hard and screamed as her already bruised side hit the ground again. Her vision swam.

She forced herself up, breathing ragged.

Think. Move. Throw something.

Her eyes locked on the fire brazier in the corner—massive, iron, heavy as hell.

She focused, drew power in her chest, and pushed.

It launched across the room and slammed into the boy cultist mid-charge, knocking him flat.

The girl came next—Emily caught her with a flung table leg that cracked loudly against her shoulder.

But the mage was still coming.

Emily didn’t know how many she’d hit—just that her body ached and her breath came in ragged bursts.

The boy cultist was down. So was the mother. Maybe dead, maybe not.

She didn’t have time to check.

“Upstairs!” she shouted. “Now!”

Varis didn’t hesitate—she scooped up Tess, still shielding her with one glowing hand, and darted for the narrow staircase at the back of the hall.

Emily followed, limping, bloody, her shoulder screaming and ribs grinding with every step. She grabbed a vase with her telekinesis and hurled it at the father-cultist as he lunged forward. It shattered across his chest, buying them another breath.

The three of them burst into a bedroom at the top of the stairs.

Emily slammed the door shut just as something slammed into it from the other side.

She backed away, chest heaving.

Varis had already dropped to her knees and pulled Emily down beside her, hands glowing gold.

“Hold still,” she whispered. “I need to stop the bleeding.”

Emily flinched but didn’t argue. The warm rush of healing magic closed the worst of the cuts. Not enough to fix her ribs. Not enough to make the bruising stop. But enough to keep her upright.

“We can’t win this,” Varis said, voice trembling. “They’re too strong. We’re just stalling.”

Emily looked at her—sweaty, battered, blood streaked down her cheek—and still standing.

“It’s either win,” she said, “or die.”

She clenched her fists, stood up.

“I don’t plan on dying today.”

Varis stared up at her, wide-eyed.

Emily turned toward the door.

“Caelan knows something’s wrong. He has to. Hopefully he gets here before we do something heroic and stupid.”

As if summoned by the word, the door exploded inward.

Splinters flew.

The fifth cultist stepped through, robes torn, blood smeared across his mouth. Behind him, the girl cultist crawled over the threshold, face twisted with fury. The father was limping in the hallway beyond, one eye swollen shut.

Emily had just enough time to throw her hand out—catch the dresser with her telekinesis—and launch it across the room.

It slammed into the girl, pinning her to the wall with a crack of bone and plaster.

The mage snarled, raised another blood-forged rune—

Emily charged.

She didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

She tackled him bodily, the force of her movement amplified by a blast of soul-raw telekinesis. They crashed into the wall behind him then fell into the next room, red runes flashing wildly across his arms.

One of them struck her leg and pain erupted, hot and sharp but she didn’t stop.

She grabbed the nightstand and flung it at the father, who’d just reached the doorway.

It hit him right in the temple and dropped him.

The blood cult mage staggered, red runes flaring across his arms like molten chains, and Emily barely got a lamp up in time.

Crack.

The head of it shattered against his jaw. He dropped twitching.

Not dead.

Emily didn’t wait. She turned and sprinted into the adjoining room—a small washroom lined in pale stone, a cracked mirror above the basin.

She slammed the door shut behind her, bracing it with one hand, gasping for breath.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back, barely recognizable.

Her face was smeared in blood, some hers, some not. A cut on her forehead had leaked down her cheek like warpaint. Her hair was wild, plastered to her neck with sweat. One eye was starting to swell. Her ribs screamed with every breath, and her robes were torn across the side from where a rune had struck.

Then the cult mage charged, shoulder-first through the door and it exploded around her.

Emily was thrown back into the counter. Pain tore through her ribs, but she didn’t stop—she lunged, throwing a punch that missed entirely and almost spun her off balance.

He grabbed her arm, threw her into the wall.

Stone. Unforgiving. Her head snapped back against it and she saw stars.

Her training kicked in—useless instincts and half-remembered moves. She ducked under his next swing, grabbed for something, anything, and kicked out.

He caught her leg, twisted.

She hit the floor again.

“Shit—” she spat, rolling away, barely dodging his stomp.

She surged upright, tackled him low—somehow managing to clamber onto his back, legs around his waist, arms locking under his throat.

He roared, clawing at her, staggering into the counter.

“Let—go—of—me!”

“No!” she screamed, every muscle screaming with her.

He slammed her into the wall.

Then again.

Then into the edge of the basin.

She screamed. Her back arched in pain—but she held on, arms like iron, teeth clenched.

He stumbled again, weaker.

Then—finally—collapsed.

Emily tumbled off, gasping.

But she couldn't stop.

With a scream, she flung a bar of soap at him. Then the broken basin. Then the lid from the toilet tank. Anything she could grab with her magic—anything—she hurled it at his body.

She didn’t stop not until he wasn’t moving. Until the walls were cracked, the mirror shattered, and the mage was buried in debris.

Only then did she collapse to her knees in the rubble, shaking.

Bloodied. Exhausted. Alive.

Emily kneeled in the wreckage, every breath sharp and ragged. Her limbs trembled. Blood trickled down her arm. Dust floated in the air like ash after a fire.

And then—

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy. Coming straight for her.

She flinched, tried to rise, but her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed back to her knees, arms shaking too hard to hold her up.

The footsteps skidded to a stop just outside the shattered bathroom.

Then Caelan appeared.

He rounded the corner like a storm, eyes wild, robes trailing smoke and wind. His gaze swept the room—smashed walls, broken stone, the blood-slick floor—until it landed on her.

She was curled half against the basin, bruised and bleeding, face pale, one trembling hand braced against the wall.

Emily looked up at him. She hadn’t noticed at first—too relieved to see him standing there—but Caelan had dried blood along his jaw and a dark bruise blooming beneath one eye.

A crooked, faint smile tugged at her lips—barely there, exhausted and cracked.

“You made it,” she breathed.

Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed forward into the rubble.

Caelan caught her before she hit the ground.