───────────────⋆˖☽ 𝑺𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔 ☾˖⋆──────────────

The forest’s deep exhale stole the warmth from my cloak. Here, sheltered beneath a dense canopy that shredded the wind to whispers, the world smelled of damp earth and crushed wildflowers—a wild perfume that had finally scrubbed the ghost of fresh-baked bread from the air. A persistent chill clung to the shadows, but the deadliest creatures rarely hunted this deep. Still, my senses remained honed to a razor’s edge. You can never be too careful. 

My boots made little sound on the loam-covered path. Above, the rhythmic chittering of Chitterwings was a familiar, comforting metronome to my journey. Then, it stopped.

All of it.

The sudden, absolute silence was a living thing. I froze, my hand hovering over the grip of my bow. The air grew heavy, crackling with an unseen energy before a violent gust of wind tore through the canopy, ripping leaves from their branches. My gaze snapped skyward just in time to see them—two dragons, tearing a wound across the sliver of open sky, their forms a brutal blur of scale and shadow.

A glacial cold that had nothing to do with the wind flooded my veins. Where are they going? The question was a frantic pulse in my mind. My fingers curled instinctively around the worn leather of my bow, but I forced them to release. Suicide. That’s what facing one would be. Facing two was an invitation for the crows to pick my bones clean. Fear, raw and sharp, became my spur. I broke into a half-run, branches whipping at my face, until I burst from the treeline into a wide clearing.

Before me, the valley of Stonehollow spilled down the gorge like a stone waterfall. Cradled between two colossal mountains, the town was carved directly into the rock face, a dizzying web of staircases and rope bridges connecting homes that clung to the cliffs. The valley hummed with life, the lively din of commerce and conversation echoing from the stone walls. The air tasted of coal fire and hot metal, a familiar, industrious scent that finally began to soothe the frantic hammering in my chest. Yet, a question lingered, sharp as a shard of ice. I’d seen no scorched earth on my approach, and the town stood unblemished. So what was the fire I saw last night?

The great stone gates stood open. I gave the guard a silent nod, which he returned with equal disinterest, and pulled my hood lower, letting my hair shadow my face. It was a practiced art, being unseen. I was weaving through the throng when two children darted past in a game of chase, nearly sending me sprawling. I righted myself and glanced after them, my gaze accidentally snagging on an older man leaning against a stall.

His eyes met mine. His breath hitched. The market-day chatter on his face froze, melting into a mask of primal fear, his features twisting as if he’d just seen a ghost.

My gaze snapped back to the dusty ground, my heart frantic against my ribs. He didn’t scream. He didn’t call the guards. He just stood there, paralyzed by the sight of my red irises. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, I told myself, the words a familiar, bitter litany. I forced my feet to move.

Up ahead, three mercenaries lounged against the rock wall, their scarred leather armor marking them as professionals. Their voices were low, conspiratorial.

“Hear the latest?” the first one muttered, his hand resting on the pommel of a cruel-looking blade. “Skulking pack, northeast of here. Moving towards Verdeith.”

The second man, older and more cautious, scanned the crowd. “Aye, and keep it down. That’s a bounty we don’t need the whole valley chasing.”

A third, younger man, barely more than a boy, shifted eagerly. “We head out tomorrow, then? After the job here is done?”

The other two shared a weary look that spoke volumes about youthful recklessness.

I pushed past them, their hushed plotting swallowed by the general din: the chatter of vendors, the bleating of goats, and the steady, rhythmic clink of pickaxes echoing from the mines deep within the mountain. And then I saw it, a beacon in the chaos: the familiar wooden staircase. I began the climb, my eyes fixed on the sign hanging from a wrought-iron bracket, its black, carved letters spelling a name that meant sanctuary: Elisheva’s Shop.

The sharp, clean scent of hot steel and quenching oil spilled from the open door. I slipped inside, closing it gently behind me. The space was humble but meticulously ordered. Racks of freshly fletched arrows and shelves of gleaming daggers lined the walls—the twin passions of its owner. A forge glowed with a steady, orange heart in the corner, bathing the room in a comforting warmth.

Elisheva was bent over her smithing table, her focus absolute. Strands of silver threaded the long black ponytail that fell over her shoulder as she poured a shimmering stream of molten metal into an arrowhead mold.

“Be with you in a moment,” she said without looking up, her voice a soft timbre that carried easily over the forge’s hiss. Her hands were impossibly steady.

After setting the mold aside to cool, she wiped her hands on a leather apron and finally turned. Her gaze found me by the door, and a brilliant, genuine smile broke across her face. “Alanah!”

Her deep brown eyes radiated a warmth I encountered nowhere else. Even with the faint, black miasma that dance at the edges of her form, her kindness shone through it, completely untouched.She’s one of the few, I thought, a slight, unbidden smile touching my own lips.

Elisheva’s eyes sparkled. “Is that a smile I see?” she teased gently. “It suits you. You should wear it more often.”

Heat crept up my neck. “Good morning, Elisheva.”

“Come here, child.” She gestured with a soot-stained hand. “Let me look at you. And take that hood off. You’re safe here.”

The familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach, but I obeyed, my fingers finding the worn fabric. I pulled it back, letting the forge’s warmth wash over my hair.

“Much better,” she said, her smile never faltering. “Now I can see your beautiful eyes.”

“You’re the only one who calls them that,” I mumbled, my gaze finding a sudden, intense interest in the floorboards. “To everyone else, they’re a curse.”

“Oh, hush with that.” Elisheva’s voice became slightly muffled as she ducked behind the counter to gather a bundle of arrows. “Don’t you mind them. Your eyes are remarkable—unique, just like you are.”

“They’re cursed,” I whispered, just for myself.

She popped back up, her expression firm. “They are not. One day, you’ll see. Someone will help you understand.” Her voice softened. “For now, I just want to thank you for keeping the forests clear. You do this town a great service.”

“It’s nothing,” I replied. 

“Hmmm.” She tapped a thoughtful finger on the wooden counter. “Don’t move.”

She disappeared into a back room, returning a moment later with a new quiver filled with at least thirty arrows, their fletching a stark, unfamiliar white. “I’ve been working on a new design,” she explained, holding them out to me. “Barbed heads, balanced for a flatter trajectory. I need a real archer to test them. Tell me how they fly.”

“Elisheva… this is too much,” I said, shaking my head. “I only have one loaf of bread to trade.”

“Alanah,” she insisted, her smile unwavering. It was the look that meant she would not be refused. “Think of it as a professional expense. I need your expert feedback.”

I relented with a quiet, “…Okay.”

“Excellent!”

I placed the small, cloth-wrapped loaf on the counter. She picked it up, broke off a corner, and held it out to me. “You should have some.”

“No, it’s for you.”

She watched me for a moment, then popped the piece into her mouth, a thoughtful expression on her face as she chewed. “Barely any taste,” she sighed, though not unkindly. “Still, it’s bread. Better than anything we can grow in this rock.”

She carefully re-wrapped the remaining loaf as I slung the new quiver over my shoulder and took my usual order of twenty standard arrows from her, slotting them into my old quiver on my belt. The unfamiliar weight of the second quiver was a solid, reassuring presence.

“Thank you, Elisheva,” I said, the words feeling small but holding the weight of my gratitude.

She gave me a warm smile. “Now you look ready. Be safe out there, Alanah.”

“I will be,” I promised. “You too.” I pulled my hood back up, letting the shadows reclaim my face. As I turned for the door, I caught her whisper, so quiet I almost missed it, a prayer to the hot, still air of the forge.

“…please let her be safe.”

The words struck a painful, dissonant chord. 

The valley air felt sharp and cold after the warmth of the shop. I moved quickly, my eyes scanning the path ahead. The three mercenaries were gone. They’d already left on their commission.

My pace quickened, breaking into a light jog as I cleared the gates. I’m sorry, I thought, a silent apology to the men whose bounty I was about to steal. 

The name was a fire in my belly, a purpose that overshadowed shame.

For Caelfall.

──────────────────◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯──────────────────

𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓼. 𝓐𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!