Page 4

The path curves around a bend, revealing a small plateau that transitions into dense forest. The air grows warmer as I descend, the smell of moss and pine thickening. My pack bounces against my hip, the dagger’s hilt reassuring against my thigh. I scan the trail ahead, looking for any sign of travelers.

I manage another half mile before the rustle of leaves alerts me to a presence. My heart lurches, and I slip quietly behind a boulder, instincts from years of training kicking in. Pressing against the cold stone, I peek around to see a figure standing in the clearing. A man, by the build—tall, cloaked, and scanning the area like he’s searching for something.

He shifts, and a faint glimmer of sunlight catches metal. A weapon? I can’t see his face beneath the hood, but dread clamps my lungs. Could he be a Dark Elf scout? Unlikely this far up in the mountains, but not impossible. If so, I can’t risk direct confrontation. Another option crosses my mind: a human traveler, maybe, or a mercenary. This pass is dangerous, though, so I can’t trust appearances.

I steady my breathing, chanting a silent incantation under my breath. My illusions are subtle enough that if he’s not looking for me, he might overlook me entirely. A gentle distortion of light around my body makes me blend into the rocky terrain. I move carefully, step by step, trying not to dislodge any pebbles. My pulse rages in my ears.

Just then, the figure steps forward, revealing a glimpse of his face. Human, I think. He looks haggard, with stubble across his jaw and a bandage wrapped around one forearm. His stance is tense, scanning the path like someone fleeing or hunting. A battered sword hangs at his side.

Suddenly, he curses under his breath and limps toward a nearby rock. He collapses against it, clutching his arm. A pang of sympathy cuts through my caution—he seems injured, definitely not a graceful Dark Elf or a monstrous gargoyle. Beneath that hood, I catch sight of eyes that are wide with pain.

Gritting my teeth, I weigh my options. The Matriarch always taught us to help humans where we can, though exposing ourselves is risky. But this man might have information. He might also need urgent care. If he’s being pursued by Dark Elves, I can’t in good conscience leave him to die. My illusions are strong enough to keep me safe for a few moments, at least.

Quiet as a breeze, I approach. My heart hammers. Closer now, I see his wound is a mess of dried blood. He’s trembling, face pale.

I let the illusion fade, stepping into the clearing. He jerks upright, eyes widening with alarm. His hand fumbles for the sword hilt, but it slips from his weak grasp.

“Stay back!” he croaks.

I hold my hands up, palms forward. “I won’t hurt you,” I say calmly. “You’re injured. Let me help.”

He blinks, confusion warring with suspicion. His gaze darts around, as if expecting hidden allies. I keep my voice gentle. “I’m alone. My name is Elira.”

He hesitates. “I… I’m Jonas,” he manages, labored breath shaking his chest. “Caught my arm on a beast’s claws. Lost my friends. I’ve been stumbling through this forest for two days.”

A sharp pang of sympathy lances me. “Let me see your wound,” I urge.

He lifts his arm slowly. The bandage is soaked, the edges crusted with dark blood. Biting back a grimace, I kneel beside him and gingerly unwrap the bandage. The gash is deep, possibly infected. My mind races through the small collection of healing spells I’ve practiced. I’m no master of Life Magic, but I know enough to cleanse and seal minor wounds.

“Hold still,” I murmur, placing a hand just above the torn flesh. Jonas flinches, but doesn’t pull away. “This will sting a bit.”

I summon a thread of healing energy, the incantation forming in my mind. A soft glow emanates from my palm, sinking into his arm. He hisses, sweat beading on his brow. As gently as I can, I weave the magic, coaxing new flesh to grow, forcing out infection. It’s not perfect—my healing abilities are limited—but I at least manage to close the worst of the tear and reduce the risk of further contamination.

When I finish, he exhales a ragged breath, awe flickering in his eyes. “You… You’re a witch?”

The term stings, but I swallow my annoyance. “Purna,” I correct quietly. “I live in the mountains.”

“Purna,” he echoes, recognition dawning. “I’ve heard rumors… They say your kind can do impossible things.” His voice cracks. “Thank you.”

I offer a small nod. “Do you know if any Dark Elves are nearby? Or… anything else?”

He shakes his head, slowly flexing his healed arm. “I saw some Dark Elf soldiers days ago, patrolling near the base of the range. They’re always about, rounding up humans they catch outside the villages. But I kept my distance.” A haunted look crosses his face. “As for other things… I heard rumors in the last town of gargoyles stirring, but that’s madness. Everyone knows they’ve been asleep for an age.”

My heart clenches. So it’s not just our coven hearing these rumors. “Sometimes rumors carry a grain of truth,” I say softly.

He grimaces. “Then Protheka’s about to get a lot deadlier.” He glances at me, a glimmer of hope in his gaze. “Are you… Are you going to a human village? I might find help there.”

I hesitate. If he accompanies me, I’ll have to be extra cautious using magic. But leaving him alone could spell disaster for him. “I can guide you part of the way,” I decide. “But first, we have to get down this mountain safely. And we must avoid the Dark Elf patrols.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. “Thank you.”

Standing, I shoulder my pack. The morning sun is well past its peak, meaning we’ve lost hours. My plan to slip through unnoticed just got more complicated, but perhaps Jonas can tell me more about the rumors once he’s rested.

I hold out a hand to help him up. He grips it, unsteady but determined. Beneath my stoic exterior, nerves flutter in my stomach. Everything the Matriarch warned us about might already be unfolding. Gargoyles, Dark Elves, possibly even the Red Purnas. And here I am, standing on a lonely trail in the wilderness, fulfilling a destiny I never asked for.

Clutching my cloak against a sudden brisk wind, I guide Jonas toward the winding path that continues downward. My thoughts swirl with questions about the gargoyles, about who I might be in the grand scheme of Purna prophecy. But for now, I place one foot in front of the other, determined to uncover the truth—and protect the innocent from whatever dark forces prowl these lands.

As we descend the mountainside, a final glance over my shoulder reveals a fleeting glimpse of the Purna stronghold. The morning light glimmers on the rocky slopes, and for an instant, I imagine I see the silhouette of Matriarch Lumeria watching from high above. Perhaps it’s only in my mind. Still, I can almost feel her gentle reassurance urging me onward.