Page 6

Chapter 5

Selestina

R afael.

I have never felt alive like that before. This feeling is immediately hit with a gut-wrenching twist in my stomach, knowing I most likely will never see him again. The kingdoms of Tonalli are vast. People here rarely see each other again without intention.

I take a deep breath and allow the crisp morning air to ground me. Then I begin walking.

The streets are quiet, except for the occasional fluttering of wings from a fire sprite or the low hum of conversation drifting from the vendors setting up for the day. The city is starting to wake with people slowly emerging from their homes.

Fine silks, intricate jewelry, the latest spell charms for protection and luck, things that only the wealthy could afford, and that others can only eye with longing.

Merchants are already shouting, trying to draw attention to their stalls. A woman selling flowers from her cart adjusts the bright blooms meticulously, brushing her fingers over each petal with a reverence that suggests they mean something more to her than the coin they’ll bring. A few feet away, a blacksmith hammers away at a piece of metal, his face streaked with soot and determination. His children hover nearby, the older ones trying to help as they can, while the youngest sits with a curious gleam in her eyes, watching her father work.

As I walk, I watch the people, some moving with purpose, others wandering aimlessly. It’s always been this way here—those who have enough to keep busy and those who are just… surviving. The wealthy pass by in their carriages, wheels rattling on the stones, barely sparing a glance at the people around them. Most likely only passing through the outer city on their way to another kingdom. But the others, the ones with nothing to spare, hustle and barter, every transaction a matter of survival. They carry their burdens in silence, their eyes trained downward or set forward, determined.

The road begins to change the farther I go, as does the landscape. The storefronts and bustling stalls fade into simpler structures, the cobblestone street giving way to dirt paths that seem to carry the weight of countless footsteps and struggles. Buildings grow smaller, older, their facades worn and cracked, covered in a layer of dust and grit that speaks of years without maintenance. The roofs sag, shutters hang crookedly, and paint peels from the walls in faded, uneven patches. I see children playing barefoot in the street, their clothes patched and threadbare, their laughter a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings.

Here, people’s faces are harder, more guarded. This part of the city edges closer to the Dark Forest, and everyone here knows it. Its looming presence is like an unspoken threat, a silent understanding that danger is never far.

The houses here, if you can even call them that, are barely standing. Some are just patched together shelters, leaning precariously on what remains of a foundation.

People here know that the guards rarely venture this close to the forest, leaving them to fend for themselves against the strange creatures that sometimes emerge from its depths. Death is a constant presence here.

I stop in front of the last shop before the forest’s edge, a rickety little shack barely holding itself together. The sign above the door, worn by years of weather and neglect, reads Mara’s Apothecary , the paint so faded it’s a wonder the letters are still legible. The building leans slightly to one side; the wood cracked and weathered, and the scent of herbs and something sharper, magic, probably, drifts delicately on the breeze.

Sitting just outside the doorway is a woman. At first glance, she’s unremarkable, small, hunched, with a tattered headscarf covering most of her head. A few silver wisps of hair escape the fabric, curling stubbornly in the wind. But as I step closer, there’s nothing ordinary about her. Her frame is slight, even shorter than mine, which is surprising considering I barely stand above five feet tall. Yet despite her small stature, there’s an undeniable presence about her.

Her hands are knotted and calloused but move with the steady precision of someone who has been working them for centuries.

She’s most likely a witch. There’s no other explanation for the raw power radiating from her, a current that brushes against my senses and sets me on edge. We have never discussed it, though.

She glances up as I approach, her dark eyes locking onto mine. They’re sharp, startlingly so, and they hold a depth that makes my skin prickle. There’s wisdom there, as if she’s seen the rise and fall of empires and remembers every detail. Her gaze lingers on me a fraction too long and I resist the urge to shift under the weight of her gaze.

“Forest bound, are ya?” She raises an eyebrow.

I nod, not trusting my own voice. She watches me for a moment before she sighs low and pulls a small vial from her apron and holds it out to me. The liquid inside glows, a soft blue light pulsing like a heartbeat.

“For luck,” she says, nodding. “Take it.”

I hesitate but accept it, slipping it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

She nods, her gaze lingering on me for a second longer before turning back to her mending, as though she’s already said goodbye.

I glance back at Mara’s shop, her small figure a shadow against the doorframe as she watches me walk away. Even though she doesn’t wave, there’s a warmth in her gaze that I can feel all the way down the path. It’s a rare feeling, a kind of comfort that only she’s ever given me, though it’s been silent between us, understood rather than spoken.

It’s been that way since I was twelve. I don’t remember much about that night, ten years ago, except for the pain. The memory blurs into vague shapes and colors, but I remember the blood, so incredibly hot and sticky, running down my leg, and my limp as I struggled to keep moving. Tepetl’s streets had been quieter than usual, the noise and hustle of the market fading as I slipped into the back alleys to avoid being seen. Alexander’s instructions were always clear: don’t talk to anyone, don’t draw attention, and never, under any circumstances, reveal where I come from. His eyes are everywhere, he told me, and I learned early on not to question it. The few times I’d slipped up, his punishment was enough to remind me of the rules.

That night, I didn’t care. The pain had overwhelmed every other thought, pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake off. I wasn’t supposed to feel pain, at least, that’s what Alexander told me every time he drove his lessons into me. But I was only twelve, and I’d just barely finished a mission that, in truth, I hadn’t been ready for. My leg throbbed, and I could feel every single cut and bruise as if they were burning brands on my skin. All I wanted was to make it back to the Citadel without anyone noticing.

That’s when I stumbled into Mara’s path. She was standing by her shop door, adjusting a few crates stacked outside, when she caught sight of me. I don’t know what made her pause, but she did, her eyes narrowing as she took me in, lingering on the blood smeared across my leg and the way I favored my left side. For just a heartbeat, I froze. Torn on what to do.

She took a step toward me as if she’d made a decision she wasn’t going to second guess.

“You’re hurt,” she gruffly responds. It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t wait for me to confirm it. Before I could think of an excuse to get out of it, she started pushing my shoulders towards her shop.

The shop was small and cluttered, with shelves lined with jars of powders and potions, and tables covered in scattered vials, cloths, and other herbs. She led me to a chair in the corner. Her movements were quick and precise, as if she knew exactly what I needed and she had been doing this sort of thing for years. And at that moment, I didn’t have the strength to refuse or argue.

She never asked me anything as she cleaned my wounds and she never tried to get me to explain myself. Her hands were gentle but firm as she dabbed ointment over the cuts, and she worked in silence, her face set in a concentration that made me feel strangely safe. I hadn’t felt that in a long time, and part of me wanted to pull away, to hold on to the detachment Alexander had drilled into me. But I didn’t.

“Hold still, child,” she murmured when I winced, her tone more kind than I was used to. “This will help.”

Her words, simple as they were, stayed with me long after I left that night, the ointments she’d given me stashed carefully in my bag. I hadn’t told Alexander about her, hadn’t dared to. I knew he’d be furious if he found out. But something about her kindness, her quiet care, made it feel like a secret worth keeping.

Since that night, I visited Mara whenever I had a mission in Tepetl. It became almost routine—she’d look me over when I arrived, taking in whatever fresh scrapes or bruises I’d gathered, her sharp eyes assessing without judgment. She’d fuss, but in her way, a mixture of chiding and comfort. Each time, she never asked questions, never demanded explanations. She’d simply press a vial or an herb bundle into my hand, a wordless reassurance that made the weight of Alexander’s demands feel a little lighter, if only for a while.

I didn’t speak much to her either, not at first. Over the years, though, words slipped into our visits, simple things, questions about the day’s weather or how her plants were faring. It felt normal, somehow, these conversations that skirted around the chaos of my life and focused on little things that didn’t seem to matter. They grounded me, made me feel, if only for a moment, like I was just a girl.

Even now, as I look back, I wonder if Mara ever suspected the truth of what I was, of the things I’d done. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but she never treated me differently. She’d make small talk, tell me about her son who had left for the noble district years ago, or grumble about the rising price of lavender oil, her voice laced with a warmth that made the shop feel like a different world altogether. Though I rarely responded, her stories filled a quiet space within me, I didn’t even know was empty.

On my fifteenth birthday, though, something in me shifted. I remember stepping into her shop, feeling the familiar ache of fresh bruises, my ribs tender from a recent fight. Mara took one look at me and sighed, as if she’d seen this a thousand times before. She didn’t say anything as she pulled out her usual ointments, her movements steady and practiced.

But that day, she reached for something else, a small, worn bracelet made of rough cord, a simple charm tied to its center. She held it out to me, her expression softer than usual.

“For protection,” she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant. “I made it years ago, for my son. But I think… maybe you need it more.”

I wanted to refuse, to tell her I didn’t need anyone’s protection, that Alexander had trained me to survive without such things. But the words stuck in my throat, and before I knew it, I’d taken the bracelet from her hand, my fingers closing around it tightly. The only birthday present I ever received.

I wear it still, hidden under the sleeve of my leathers. It’s fraying now, the cord worn from years of wear, but it’s one of the few things I have that’s just mine, untouched by Alexander’s reach.

I take one last look at Mara. She gives me a sharp nod. She knows I have no choice; I don’t know how, but she does. I place a fist over my heart and nod back at her. Knowing I will see her again, just not when.

The air shifts as I take my first step beyond the edge of the city, a strange weight settling on my shoulders. The world here is different, quieter, yet full of a life that feels ancient, untouched by the structures and order of the city. The forest looms ahead, its trees stretching up like skeletal fingers reaching for the clouds. Branches twist and curve in impossible shapes, forming a tangled web that blocks most of the light, casting the ground in perpetual twilight.

The path narrows as I approach the outskirts, the city behind me growing smaller, less distinct. I feel the first stirrings of unease as I cross an invisible threshold. The sounds of the city fade, replaced by a silence that feels oppressive, as though the forest itself is watching, waiting. Even the air seems heavier, thick with the scent of moss and damp earth.

I took most of the day gathering supplies for my journey, even though I really should’ve left this morning after my encounter at the tavern. I grabbed a fresh waterskin, since my old one had started to leak. A bundle of dried meat and fruit, enough to last several days if I ration properly. A small pouch of healing salves and bandages, just in case the forest’s dangers are exactly what I’m expecting them to be. A new flint for starting a fire, tucked carefully beside the small knife at my belt. Even a handful of iron shavings, a precaution against creatures that lurk where the light does not reach.

In all my years of service to Alexander, he never once paid me. Over the years, I realized I needed to do odd jobs or trading what I’ve collected from missions. Nothing to get me noticed, but enough to give me a small sense of security in times exactly like this.

I walk forward, my heart hammering in my chest, the weight of the journey pressing down on me. The forest lies ahead, its secrets hidden behind walls of twisted branches and shadows. I tighten my grip on my bag, the weight of Mara’s vial pressing reassuringly against my leg.

I take a deep breath, taking the vial out of my pocket, and down the vial of liquid luck. Who knows if it’ll work or if it’s straight bullshit, but as I look at what’s to come, I’m going to need anything I can get.

I don’t know if even luck will save me.

I take a step forward, the darkness of the trees swallowing me whole. The path to Obsidian Academy awaits, somewhere beyond the depths of the Dark Forest.