#adannar

“Not tonight,” Serahlin tries to explain, “they’re watching us, da’len.” The Templars. Damned witch hunters have infested the town after Serahlin’s not so subtle performance at the police station (after they went to Ileth’s school and interviewed him without her permission, Serahlin tore into the department, her own magic cackling as she wore enchanted lipstick to make them obey her). She feels their eyes watching her house, and while they remain safe within its walls due to her wards, outside is another story. Ileth wants to dance and bask in the glow of the moon, which would only invite the hunters.

They can’t go outside, but they can't stay inside either. 

A quick online search later and Serahlin has her solution. 

“Get dressed, da’len, nice and warm,” she tells Ileth and he beams, relief clear on his little face. Ten minutes later, they are all in the car, including the familiars. Serahlin opens the sunroof, allowing the moonlight to fill the car. Ileth gasps and reaches up, mismatched eyes wide with happiness. 

It’s a thirty minute drive, but for once, Ileth doesn’t complain. He hums a song Serahlin cannot place and stares at the moon. The cool night air fills the car and Serahlin feels some of the tension in her shoulders release as they speed down the roads, alone and quiet. It’s the nicest car ride they’ve had in a while.

Eventually, Serahlin makes a turn onto a dirt path, following signs for Bright Lights Drive-In Movies! Five minutes down the road and the light from the drive-in beckons them forward. Ileth shifts in his seat but doesn’t say anything, still watching the moon. 

Serahlin pulls up to the box office and smiles at the teen working inside.

“One adult and one child for-

“Price is per car, ma’am. That’d be fifteen for one show, thirty for the night pass.” Serahlin hands over thirty in cash, fully aware they were not going home anytime soon. The gravel crunches under the wheels as she pulls into the drive-in theatre. The path angles down, following the gentle contour of a hill, leading to the flat open space before the towering screen. The open space allows for an unobstructed view of the moon, making Ileth gasp and strain against his seatbelt. 

She glances in the rearview and worries her lip, “Wait just a little longer and I’ll unbuckle you.” Serahlin pulls into a space a little farther back and closer to the forest edge. Not an ideal spot for movie watching, but a better one for allowing her son some enjoyment of the moonlight. 

She turns the radio to the station for the movie, some older black-and-white film that was rated to be child appropriate by the internet, then undoes her seatbelt. Ileth follows suit and immediately reaches up into the moon-roof. 

“It’s so pretty, Memae.”

“It is, isn’t?” Serahlin answers as she directs her attention to drawing wards on the car’s dashboard. 

“Ileth, come here, please. Good, now place your hand on top of mine. I want you to pay attention to my words and the magic in them - feel them deep inside you and make them heavy with importance. 

Guard within from harm,

Locked and stocked,

Against those with arms.”

The wards flare to life under their hands and Ileth gasps as he feels the spill of magic from both of their hands. By lending his energized magic to the spell, it is stronger and will recognize him as a caster, thereby neutralizing any effect the ward would have against him. 

“I liked that!” Ileth giggles and runs his hand across the ward, feeling the residual prickles of the casting.

Serahlin smiles. Despite Darris, despite the Templars, despite the shit that seems to pile up at their door, Ileth is coming into his own. The magic is part of him, within him, wanting to be used and embodied. He feels the moon in his soul and the magic in his heart. She is raising a witch and it brings her joy.

They spend over an hour in the car, moving every now and then to compensate for the restlessness. Ileth hops around and they play short games of I Spy and sing songs together. Serahlin tells him an old Dalish tale and despite the threat that lurks back home and the creeping exhaustion, she finds herself having a good time. When was the last time she got to just enjoy being a mother? To just be Ileth’s mom and to see him in his element? She isn’t sure, but she knows that her son will make a fine man some day.

Around midnight, Ileth sighs, “I’m hungry, Memae.” 

Serahlin rummages throughout the car but alas, she forgot to bring snacks. She glances out a side window and sees a small concession stand at the base of the hill. Ileth’s stomach rumbles. 

“I will go get snacks, you are to stay in the car no matter what, you understand?” Ileth nods at her instruction. She takes a deep breath and grabs her purse before leaving the car. Her familiar, Risin, jumps out to follow her but she shakes her head at him.

Stay with the car, alert me if anyone comes close to it.

Risin nods at her commands and slinks under the car. 

The walk to the concession stand is not long, but the distance feels interminable. Each step ratchets up Serahlin’s anxiety, and she continually glances back to the car. She reaches the stand and picks out several snacks she and Ileth enjoy, as well as a couple of waters. They will have to figure out the bathroom situation, but that is a bridge they will cross when necessary. 

She finishes paying the cashier when a tall, human man approaches the counter. He puts down a few bags of chips and looks at her from the corner of his eye. 

“Can I get one of those ice-creams from the back?” He asks and the cashier nods before heading to the back. The man turns to Serahlin as she packs up her food and drinks.

“Better watch yourself. Your kind ain’t welcome here, this is a decent town.” 

Serahlin freezes, her lips thinning into a staunch line as everything in her tenses. She wants to feel out with her magic if this man means her elven blood is not welcome or if he is truly a witch hunter, but she doesn’t dare. A witch hunter would feel her probe and potentially incite an incident. She can’t take the risk. 

Instead, Serahlin finishes packing her things and heads out of the stand without a word. She is halfway to the car when a sapping feeling hits her. She stumbles as the magic inside of her feels temporarily drained. Her heart begins to race, she turns around trying to see who could be responsible for the attack. It’s useless, any of the cars here could be holding a Templar who could have sapped her magic. The man from the stand could have followed her, but she doesn’t see him. With her magic feeling low and the car still half a soccer field away, Serahlin braces grinds her teeth and straightens her shoulders. 

She will make it. She has to. 

Serahlin resumes her trek, walking straight to her car. She doesn’t make it two yards before a searing pain flares across her nerves where her magic ought to be. 

“Ah!” She cries, tripping to the gravel. She looks up quickly and sees them this time, four burly looking men walking towards her, menacing in their gait and eyes. 

Risin, to me, NOW. She mentally commands to her familiar before slowly rising. The men increase their pace. She turns and bolts for the woods. Her magic is distant, reminding her entirely too much of when Darris had kept her powerless all those years.

But she has Risin, she has her book, she has her coven.

Sorry Selene, she thinks before reaching through the bond that connects them. She yanks moon blessed magic into her, and it burns dark and deep into her soul. It is totally unlike her and Ileth’s magicks. It is heavy and fiery, and it knows it is not in its rightful host. She reaches the edge of the woods and lets the magic out:

“Silent steps unfollowable, 

Form unsighted, unknowable.” She casts upon her person, Selene’s magic coursing over her in a fiery shadow turning her as silent and invisible as long as she draws no attention to herself. She disappears into the shadows of the woods, tucking herself against the closeness of the trees. 

The men crash into the brush, “Find the witch!” They take out flashlights and she could very well let them pass by and return to her car. But that would leave them out there to hunt her and her own. She’s had enough of just hiding, just getting by. The hunters have threatened her child, her coven.

These men will die. 

She watches them closely as they pass by her hiding spot. The man from the concession stand is there, taller than the rest, now wearing an obvious toolbelt with the old insignia. A sword’s scabbard rests on the belt, aside a pistol holster. He came prepared. The second man wears a similar toolbelt, but he has a dagger in his and a pump-action shotgun in hands. The third doesn’t wear a toolbelt, but gloves that send a chill down Serahlin’s spine. Those gloves are designed to hold a witch, somehow enchanted to neutralize any magic it touches. He could get into the car. He dies first. The fourth man isn’t really a man so much as a tall, gangly youth with a flashlight in his hand and sweat on his brow.

Creators, he’s just a kid. A kid who hunts witches. 

Serahlin allows them to get slightly ahead of her before following. Risin finally catches up to her, silently stalking alongside her.

I need that man’s shotgun, she thinks.

I will distract them, Risin answers before disappearing into the brush. Serahlin quietly positions herself to be walking at the second man’s pace. 

A branch breaks, the men freeze and turn away from Serahlin.

Now or never.

She runs forward and before they can react, she reaches up to the second man’s head and gives a hard twist. 

Snap. Neck broken, the man falls to the ground and she grabs his shotgun. The first man shouts as she turns and fires a shot at the third man, but the shot goes wide. 

The first man utters a quick chant and searing pain fills her again. She yells in pain and the gun drops from her hands. 

Shit. 

Her mind is a mess of pain and anger, her body doesn’t obey her. The man with the gloves grabs her and a wretched sob escapes her. These bastards will not see her cry, not matter how much it hurts. Her book is in her purse, strapped against her body, and there is enough magic in her to send out a message to Selene if needed. 

“Your kind brings evil and disease to our communities, the Maker will cleanse our community of this filth,” First Man says. Serahlin glares at him but does not give him the satisfaction of a response. Her right to exist isn’t a debate, it is a fact that none of the men here will acknowledge.

Instead, she juts out her chin in defiance. 

Another branch breaks. Risin, go, protect Ileth. It’s a useless command, her familiar dies with her. 

That was not me.

She barely has time to register the information before a low growl rumbles through the night air. The first man turns around, pistol raised. 

“What foul demon have you summoned, witch?” Gloved Man asks. She says nothing, only raises an eyebrow. 

The first man takes a step forward. He flashes his light to the dark to see two large, golden eyes peering back at him. He fires a shot just as the creature’s mouth opens, revealing sharp, canine teeth. 

Someone screams as the creature lunges forward, long claws and sharp teeth tearing into the first man. The gloved man lets go of Serahlin and reaches for the shotgun. He lifts it just in time for the creature to leap upon him with bloody jaws and claws. 

Serahlin, still on her knees and dazed from the pain of having all of her magic stripped from her, watches in a daze as the creature, no, werewolf eviscerates the men who would have killed her. She turns from the gruesome sight, looking for the younger one - but all that is left is a fourth flashlight, abandoned in his flight. 

She turns her gaze to the werewolf once more, astonished. Such rare creatures, werewolves are, and not native to this part of Orlais. Yet, here one is. 

The werewolf, apparently satisfied with the deadness of the gloves man, lifts their head and looks straight at Serahlin. Their snout is long like a wolf’s, full of wonderful teeth that just saved her. Their eyes are a golden yellow, glowing brightly in the moon-light dark. Long arms and legs still in its humanoid - no, elfish shape but covered in brown fur. Long ears speaking of their elven heritage still curve back from their head. 

Serahlin swallows, “Thank you.” 

The werewolf tilts their head and takes a step forward, using all four limbs to slowly maneuver towards her. Their movements are smooth and purposeful, eyes fixed on her but there is no snarl or growl. Instead, they are incredibly quiet as they approach. 

Serahlin leans instinctually back, her eyes taking in their form before catching on the red staining the fur at their shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” she breathes. The wolf sniffs but does not change course.

“This is the police!” 

The wolf’s head snaps up at attention at the call before looking at her.

“Go,” they snarl before leaping away and taking off into the night. 

Not one to wait, Serahlin rises and runs through the woods to wind around to her car. She hears the police exclaim at finding a body just as she reaches the parking lot. She slows her steps to a walk so as to not attract attention to herself.

At long last, Serahlin reaches her car. 

“Memae, are you okay?” Ileth asks as she settles into the driver’s seat. 

“Yes, baby, I’m okay.”

“Okay…did you get snacks?”

**

The next morning brings with it aches and what feels like the worst hangover ever. Serahlin’s phone is full of texts and voice messages from Selene and Thenvunin.

You okay??

What happened?

I’m coming over!!

Felasel says you’re ok a wolf helped?? What? 

Right. After leaving the drive-in, she locked herself and Ileth in his room before passing out from exhaustion without thinking to call her coven to tell them what happened. She doesn’t know how Felasel knows what happened - those twins have far too many blessings to fully understand.

Still not entirely able to hold a conversation, Serahlin sends a group text.

We’re ok. Went to the drive-in theatre last night, encountered some hunters but am ok. Will explain more later.

She doesn’t read the follow up texts and instead focuses on getting Ileth ready for school. 

She is looking raggedy when she pulls through the drop-off line. A teacher she does not recognize opens the door and she frowns.

“Where is Mr. Adannar?” Ileth asks and the teacher smiles.

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so he is staying home. It will just be Ms. Fleur today.”

“Oh, okay. I hope he feels better soon.” Ileth hops out of the car and Serahlin waves goodbye.

As she drives home, Serahlin’s tired brain comes to an odd realization that may not be accurate. But it is a feeling, and she has learned to not ignore those. 

First, she heads home and puts all the ingredients needed for making chicken noodle soup into a pot. She uncorks a small healing tincture and pours it in as well, giving it a good stir to incorporate it. Then, she heads upstairs and gets ready properly with a quick shower and dressing in a warm dress. 

When the soup is ready and Serahlin is looking like her regular self, she puts the soup into a safe container and heads back out to her car. A simple scrying spell later, and she has the address she needs. Thirty minutes following that, she arrives at a small, but charming home on the outskirts of town. A picket fence surrounds the front yard, while tall trees and hedges bracket the sides, obscuring the view of the backyard. 

Serahlin turns off the car, grabs the tupperware full of soup, then walks down the stone path to the front door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again. No answer. 

“Mr. Adannar, I brought you soup to help you feel better,” she calls. A long pause stretches before her before she hears the telltale sound of locks releasing.

The door cracks open, “I appreciate the gesture, but I am really in no shape to see anyone. Good day.” He moves to close the door, but she wedges her foot between it and the jam.

“Mr. Adannar, I came all this way to give you soup. Please, at least take it.” Another long pause stretches between them before the door opens to reveal a rumpled, tired looking Adannar with a a bandage clearly wrapped around his shoulder - exactly where the bullet hit the werewolf from last night.

“As I said, I am in no state to-

“Thank you,” she breathes, meeting his lovely yellow eyes. He swallows.

“I…you’re welcome.”

Serahlin takes a step inside but he doesn’t protest. After she sets the soup down on a table next to the door, she reaches up to his bandaged shoulder. He winces but does not move away.

“Broken flesh and bone mend,

Be as you were before blood was shed.”

The magic slips past her fingers and sinks into his skin. His grimace of pain soon eases into one of relief. He takes the hand she had rested upon him into his own, much larger hand.

“I believe it is my turn to thank you.” He maintains eye contact as he leans down and brushes his lips against the back of her hand.

“There is no need, this was me thanking you.”

“So the soup was…?”

“An excuse, though it does have a healing tincture in it, just in case you wouldn’t open the door for me. You saved not only my life, but my son’s, last night. That…there is not enough thanks in the world that will ever be enough.”

“I could never let them harm you or Ileth,” he whispers. 

“No?” She says quietly. He takes a step forward, leaning down.

Serahlin sighs, “They are blessed, Selene, I am sure that comes with oddities such as flocking ravens. Perhaps this is a reward for freeing them of Haleir! You already have your magic, a blessing couldn’t take root in you, but your boys….” As much as Serahlin knows the boys are better off without their fathers, there are still bits and pieces of guilt that rack her. Ileth won’t receive closure with his father, but then again, she doesn’t think ever would have. And while it was certainly justified for both men to die, she still worries that they have done more harm than good. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Selene whispers so faint that Serahlin almost doesn’t hear it. Her brow furrows and she is about to ask what Selene means when Selene quickly excuses herself, “I have to go, their parent-teacher conference is in twenty and I still need to find suitable pants.”

“Good luck!” Serahlin says before the line clicks off. Really, she worries too much. She worries about the detectives (Templars), she worries about the blessings. Serahlin gets the paranoia in a way, Darris certainly instilled in her a level of constant observation that left her exhausted and immensely resentful, but she worries about Selene. The only place she lets the boys be without her is school. When the boys have a sleepover at Serahlin’s house, Selene comes too, which is not an issue at all with Serahlin - but what if the boys make mortal friends? She can’t just sleep over at some random mortal’s house.

Selene will heal and process things in her own time, Serahlin supposes. In the meanwhile, they’ll look after the boys and make their small coven as resilient as possible. Ideally covens range between eight and ten adult people, covens much bigger tend to run into issues. Being a coven with two can be risky since other covens could war, or other magical beings could prey on them. Still, it’s better than being a solitary witch.

Serahlin finishes prepping the casserole and pops it into the refrigerator. With that done, she starts making a new batch of candles. Selene could use some that are enchanted for both warding and serenity.

She is finishing up the incantation over the beeswax when -

CRASH! Glass shatters in the conservatory - only one room over from the playroom where Ileth is coloring!

Serahlin runs out of the kitchen, grabbing a knife and readying a spell in hand to cast out the intruder. It could be a witch or a Templar, or a malicious spirit -

It is the world’s ugliest bird, flapping and squawking about. No, not a bird - a familiar. She shifts the energy in her hand to an immobilization spell. Crossing her fingers she recites -

“Flap and caw no more, you are still, rooted to the floor.” She casts the energy to the familiar and all at once it ceases movement. After a moment it makes a bird noise that she can only guess is frustration.

“Risin!” She calls. Familiars can communicate with each other even if witches can’t exactly communicate directly with familiars that are not their own. Her familiar trots into the conservatory and jumps up next to the bird and begin to speak. Risin’s ears go back and he hisses before leaping back over to Serahlin.

“His name is Screecher. His witch is being held by The Dark One on the edge of town. Dark magicks are preventing him from reuniting with the witch.”

“And what is this witch’s name?” It’s not surprising by any stretch of the imagination that there are more witches in the area. But it is surprising that the familiar would come here for help - question is, did the familiar come on his own or did his witch send it?

“Who is this Dark One?” Familiars tend to have their own code for these sorts of things but the code isn’t readily translatable to witches much of the time. Risin growls and the bird, if that’s even what it is, makes a distressed warbling noise.

Ileth of course chooses that moment to walk in, “What’s going on, Memae?”

“I will explain later, right now you need to go to your room and light the special candle - can you do that?” To light the candle, he just needs to swipe his thumb over a little rune at the base of the candle. He nods and dashes out of the room and up the back staircase.

“The Dark One steals power and is hurting that one’s witch. He wants help.”

Stealing power? Serahlin hisses in a breath. A warlock, but so close to home? That is...that is not good.

“That is a very serious accusation, Risin.”

“The Dark One is serious.” A glow overtakes Risin’s eyes, turning a bright blue that sends a chill down Serahlin’s spine.

Warlocks are rare for good reason. One, it’s difficult to become one. Where a witch gains power through familiar, book, and coven, a warlock sublimates the need for a coven by acquiring the power from other witches. To be a fully realized warlock is to have at least one book dedicated to each of the gods, nine in total. The witches’ entirety of power is cast into the book, caging the witch, and then binding the witch and their power to the warlock.

When Darris had first trapped Serahlin in this marriage, she had worried she was his first victim, but he had only wanted her.

Second, witches who suspect other witches of becoming a warlock, or are leaning towards that path, said witch is often removed from society one way or another. 

If a warlock has truly taken up residence in the town, he must be dealt with, and quickly. He is a threat to her, Selene, and their boys. She will need to confirm this information, though. To ready for a warlock on the assurance of a familiar she does not know is poor planning.

Serahlin steps to the bird and looks down at him, “We will go to this house tomorrow while my son is in school, and I will be back home in time for the parent teacher conference - I absolutely cannot miss that. If your witch is truly in trouble, I will do what I can to help. Agreed?” She looks over at Risin who watches the bird for a long moment.

“He is agreed.”

Serahlin waves off the paralysis spell and the bird promptly falls to the floor with an indignant squawk.

“If so much as squawk at my son, I will show you how good I am with the rotisserie,” she threatens. Screecher squawks but then makes a cooing noise.

“He gets it. He’s...a bit odd, I don’t understand much of his thoughts.” Risin follows Serahlin out of the conservatory and back into the kitchen. She has to restart with the candles, which is fine. If she’s going to fight a warlock, she is going to need very specific spelled candles to deal with him.

**

Screecher tries to preen Ileth before he heads to school. Risin says something about Screeching calling Ileth a hatchling, which she supposes makes sense. Risin referred to Ileth as kitten for awhile. Ileth laughs and pats Screecher on the head, calling him a good bird before she ushers him into the car. After dropping Ileth off at school, she calls Selene over and explains the situation.

“A warlock. Shit,” Selene says.

“My exact sentiments. But we need to confirm that he’s a warlock and not just a nefarious witch.” Hence why Serahlin had changed into a pink tweed suit to pose as an AVON saleswoman. She adjusts the pillbox hat on her head as Selene simmers the concealing potion on the stove. She adds a single lyrium salt crystal to the mixture, causing it to POOF into the air. Selene waves at the air, switches the heat off with the snap of her fingers and transfer the potion into an emptied hairspray bottle. She screws the top back onto the bottle and shakes it thoroughly.

“Twirl.” Serahlin does as she instructs and spins slowly while Selene sprays the potion all over her. It’s scentless and invisible and will completely disguise her magic to any other witch that she doesn’t have a blood pact with.

“How do I look?” Serahlin asks, striking a pose with her hands on her hips with her best sales smile. She is a vision of pink upscale stay-at-home mom who sells AVON while her husband is at The Office. Her stilettos are sharp and she’s got a couple of hidden knives on her, plus a recorder in her little cap.

The bird familiar informed Risin that his witch, a man by the name of Thenvunin, is a fan of nice lotions and perfumes. Serahlin raided her stash of samples from the salespeople who still liked to stop by because she bought a few lipsticks once. Each sample was then infused with magical nourishing serums Selene had the kindness to brew. Warlock or not, there is clearly something bad happening and it sounds like Thenvunin could use all the help he can get to break away.

“Perfect, like one of those snowballs you can buy at the store.” Just the look she was going for. She grabs a matching purse as they go through the plan.

“I’ll go in while you wait in the car, you should hear everything in the pin,” Serahlin flashes the small pin they enchanted to funnel all audio to Selene’s cuff earring. “I’ll set the case down and activate the spell to sense all types of magicks in the house. That should be enough.”

“What if he doesn’t let you in?” Selene asks and Serahlin purses her lips.

“Then I’ll have to somehow sneak in as a cat and place the spell to sense the magicks. It just needs to be planted and then six hours later - we have a full report of what kind of magic is in the house.” They could just break in like this, but it’s rude to break into a fellow witch’s home, even with a warlock on the loose. She also wants to speak with Thenvunin, see what the damage is and help him in any way she can.

They have spent most of the day preparing, and they only have an hour and half before she has to get over to the school for Ileth’s parent teacher conference. She can do this, in and out.

Selene takes a seat on the passenger side of Serahlin’s car. Screecher, Risin, and Des sit in the backseat and direct Serahlin to a neighborhood thirty minutes away. It’s a neighborhood full of those new construction houses with the beige colored brick and tacky front-facing garages. It’s devoid of character and the only prestige that comes with the houses are the gargantuan sizes. Serahlin’s home may be a spacious six bedroom, but at least it has some personality to it. These homes are just...plain.

She’s surprised that a witch chose to hole up in an area like this. They’re naturally drawn to more historical places that have character and time to attract spirits and other energies. For a moment, she worries that it is not a warlock or even a nefarious witch “imprisoning” Thenvunin, but a mortal with their mortal expectations.

Thenvunin’s house is one of the smaller builds, a more modest one-story with a long driveway and a stone path leading to the white front door. There is a bird house and bird bath out front and a wind chime hanging from another tree by the front door, but other than that, there isn’t much personality. Serahlin parks the car.

“What a stifling place to live,” Serahlin comments as she rights her cap and grabs her case.

“Remember, in and out. Set the absorber, and get out!” Selene reminds her as Serahlin steps out of the car.

“Screecher does not feel the Dark One’s presence. His car is absent - a rare event,” Risin mews from the backseat. Excellent, she would just bop in, place the absorber and speak a little with Thenvunin then bop right back out.

She heads up the stone walkway and rings the doorbell. A few moments later, the door cracks open.

“Hello?” A tall man asks. She can see the faint wisps of magic floating around him, dimmer and fewer in number than they ought to be. His hair is long and fair blonde, his eyes a lovely shade of green. He is a beautiful man, turned gaunt and weak.

“Hello! My name is Serah and I wanted to give you a few Avon samples!” She gives him a bright smile and tilts her head somewhat as the small enchantment spell she’d cast over her clothes begins to take effect.

“What sort of samples?” He asks and she displays the case.

“We just got new rejuvenating and hydrating lotions as well as some truly lovely perfumes.”

He hesitates for a moment before opening the door, “Come in, it’s been awhile since I purchased new products.” She follows him into the house, the door clicking shut behind her. 

“Sometimes it is just so difficult to get to the store,” she says, keeping the bubbly personality charade, “I have a son and getting to the store with all of his activities and my life - well, it just doesn’t happen much. Oh what a lovely living room!” It is in fact, not a lovely living room. The drapes are dull, the couch is brown, and the carpet is a beige color trying to be white. This is not the home of a witch, this is a mortal’s home.

“Yes...I haven’t managed to get to a store in awhile. My name is Thenvunin by the way.”

“What a pleasure, Thenvunin,” she says, shaking his hand. His magic has been nearly drained, and what remains is the barest amount tied to Screecher. It certainly feels like the work of a warlock, but the house says mortal.

Serahlin sets the case down on the coffee table and pops it open. She takes out the lotion sample with the strongest concentration of serum.

“This is our best seller. It is super hydrating, rejuvenating, and smells wonderful.” She hands the bottle over to him and “knocks over” another sample bottle. “Oops!” She ducks under to grab the bottle with the small absorber bag. She attaches it to the underside of the coffee table and rises back up with the fallen bottle.

Thenvunin rubs a little of the lotion onto his hands and he sighs, “This feels heavenly.”

“That is wonderful to hear! Here is a catalogue to order it from at your own time. And now this is good for someone special in your life. Are you married, Mr. Thenvunin?” She asks, her voice saccharine sweet. Thenvunin’s eyes grow shadowed and his lips thin.

“I...was. I live with someone else now, and he’ll be back soon. I don’t think he would care for someone being here. Thank you for the catalogue, Miss Serah, but I must ask you to leave.” He ushers her out the door and locks it behind her.

Well then. She did what she could and ultimately fulfilled the mission. Still, she cannot help but feel there is something decidedly wrong happening here. He was married? Yet he lives with someone else. It’s all very curious.Witches have long mourning periods as is custom, and remarried witches are seldom heard of, except in cases like Serhlin's or Selene's.

Serahlin gets back into the car and pulls away from the curb.

“Well? What did you find?” Selene asks.

Serahlin purses her lips, “There could be a warlock. There is definitely something going on in that house.” Thenvunin's aura had definitely been dimmed similarly to Selene's when Haleir had her book. It stands to reason then that Thenvunin's book is definitely not in his rightful possession and control.

“The absorber should be finished by the time we get the boys to bed. Why don't I bring Ileth over after the conference and we can brainstorm.”

“Sounds good. I really hope it's not a warlock. The boys…” Selene trails off but Serahlin knows her worry. With the twins being so young and to apparently be blessed, they are exceptionally encticing targets, and with each day that that brings them close to their sixth birthday, the more enticing they become. As much as the sixth birthday is beloved and celebrated, it is also when a young witch is most vulnerable to the attacks of other witches. It is forbidden by common witch law to prey upon children, but warlocks have already forsaken witch law - there is no telling what they will or won't do.

“Whatever comes, we will handle. Our boys will be kept safe.” Serahlin tries to reassure Selene, but it's difficult when she holds similar worries for Illeth. He is only three weeks away from his birthday. Can they dispatch a warlock before then? If there is one...they will have to.

But now that she has fulfilled this part of the day, it is time to put on her mom hat and head over to the school for the parent-teacher conference. There is no time to change so she heads directly to the school. Selene thankfully understands and agrees to simply wait with the twins on the playground while Serahlin sits in with Mr. Paenir.

There is scarcely any time left when she pulls into the school’s parking lot. She barely has the mind to take off the pillbox hat before dashing into the school. Her hair is still pulled into a formal bun and her face is painted to sell makeup, so it is...more than she normally wears. For once, she feels the slightest bit self conscious as she walks through the halls as other wealthy mothers waiting for their own conferences to begin watch her.

She can feel the whispers as they take in her pink tweed glory. It’s too soon, they say, to be wearing such a bright color after her husband’s death. She should still be shrouded in black and it should be clear she is sad, but not so clear that her face is puffy.

Sometimes she quite loathes the rich’s social expectations and constraints.

The kindergarten hallway is bright and the walls are decorated with art and projects each of the classes have done. Ileth and the twins’ class is the last door on the right, surrounded by a large caterpillar created by construction paper and little stripes that have barely legible facts about caterpillars and butterflies on them. Ileth is sitting outside of the room with a few of the other students, coloring what looks to be a scene of playing puppies.

“Memae!” Ileth shouts when he sees her, scrambling to his feet to run over to her. She cannot help the smile that spreads across her face as she dips down and wraps her arms around him in a hug.

“There’s my baby! How was your day?” She kisses the top of his head before he begins to wriggle, eager to tell her everything.

“We went on a bug hunt!” He announces, “And I found the grasshopper!”

“You did? That’s wonderful! Okay, I’m going to go talk to Mr. P now, and then we’re going over to Darevas and Felasel’s house.”

“Is it a sleepover?” Ileth asks excitedly. Serahlin nods and he pumps his fist in the air.

“Yes!”

She laughs, any discomfort over the other mothers forgotten as she steps into the classroom.

She knocks on the door jam, making the young teacher jolt in his seat before lifting his head to her.

A wide smile lights up his face and he bustles out of his seat, “Mrs. Elethari! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Oh, I couldn’t miss this. Ileth’s education is a big priority.” She takes a seat in one of the small chairs at an equally small table. Mr. Paenir plops into the seat next to hers after grabbing a file off his desk.

He’s a tall man, handsome with his golden hair pulled into a loose bun and his button-up shirt’s sleeves folded up to his elbows, revealing shapely forearms. 

She may be a widow, but she’s not dead. Besides, it wasn’t like her sex life was exactly active for the last few years. Darris may have been an ass, but she also had her ways of making sure he never turned into that. Such ways included being exceptionally good with knives, guns, and self-defense. 

“That is great to hear! Ileth is doing well overall. He has made some really pretty things in art - and he’s getting better about coloring inside the lines.” He hands over several lovely pictures her son has made, along with little projects that have lots of cutouts and glitter sprinkled over everything. Her heart warms at them all and a proud smile spreads across her face as she flips through them. Mr. Paenir also shows her his work with writing, practicing letters and putting them together to form sight words.

“He’s doing great with the technical aspects of school - the projects and listening and reading - but I’ve noticed he has been a bit...down lately. He said his father recently passed away?” His voice turns soft and concerned. While he doesn’t know that Darris was horrendous person and she’s glad to be rid of him, the sympathy is appreciated, particularly as it applies to her son.

Serahlin plays the part, allowing her face to fall slightly and to perhaps feel a little sadness at the lack of a father figure in Ileth’s life.

“Thank you. It happened so suddenly. I’m doing the best I can to help ileth adjust, but...he’s just a baby still, really.” Her poor baby, feeling so down and sad about the loss. She supposes she hasn’t paid enough attention to it recently with everything that happened with Selene and the twins.

“Of course. I’ve brought him to the school counselor a few times. Have you thought about taking him to see a therapist? Just to help him work through all the emotions he must be feeling right now.” The man certainly is sweet, keeping his voice low and understanding even as he tells her thing she does not want to hear.

“I hadn’t but that is a good thought. I want to do everything I can to make sure he’s okay.”

“Of course!” He says, “and I am not saying you’re not, by no means - Ileth is a good kid and very bright. This is just something where a professional may help.” She agrees with him. It is something she will need to investigate. She can’t stand the thought that Ileth is hurting or confused or needs help and isn’t getting the support he needs. Perhaps she should suggest it to Selene as well. The boys may be better off, but that doesn’t mean they’re not confused or missing someone who has always been there.

Serahlin leaves the conference feeling concerned but also so proud of her young son. He is smart and clever and truly has been incredible in adapting to everything that has been thrown at him. Losing a parent is not easy, least of all for the young, even if the parent was awful. Perhaps it’s even more difficult, the guilt at feeling relieved that they’re gone.

Ileth skips over to her after she leaves the room, smiling brightly up at her. The light catches his multi-colored eyes and his hair has a shine to it that makes him look shrouded in moonlight.

“What did he say?”

“He said you are doing great! You are one smart kid.” She takes his hand and they start to walk down the hall to where Selene and the twins are playing.

The rest of the evening is spent in domestic bliss with the kids. Except for the part on getting the boys to eat their vegetables. For some reason, green beans are suddenly the most intolerable things in the world. Towards the end of the stand-off, Serahlin wonders if it is unethical to ensorcel your kids to eat their damn veggies. They eventually negotiate that each boy is to eat three green beans each, which is at least something.

Selene and Serahlin put the boys to bed in one room then return to the parlor to review whatever the absorber has revealed. Serahlin empties the bag connected to the absorber onto a small tray. The small bundles of herbs fall, sizzle, then catch fire - except the flames are black.

“Shit,” Selene says at the site of the black flames. Serahlin’s heart falls and a more intense worry blooms in its place.

There is definitely a warlock in Thenvunin’s home, and judging by Thenvunin’s low energy and demeanor - he’s not the warlock, but the victim, just as Screecher said.

“Now what do we do?” She asks, staring at the black smoke in despair. She wants to help Thenvunin, she does, but her and Selene have kids. But they can’t just stand by and do nothing, the longer the warlock drains Thenvunin, the powerful they become, and the greater threat they’ll pose to Serahlin, Selene, and the boys. It leaves them with one course of action.

They have to fight.

Serahlin and Selene stay up later into the wee hours of the morning, pouring over their Books of Spells as well as the libraries both Haleir and Darris had locked away. By the time they need to take the boys to school, they’ve formulated a plan.

They nap for a couple hours after dropping the boys off at school, then set to work. Serahlin grabs the shotgun out of Darris’s study and rolls the shells in a spell-bath of dispel and destroy. Selene made the mixture.

“Where did you learn to shoot a gun?” Selene asks while Serahlin cleans and loads the shotgun. She smiles and shrugs slightly.

“Memae always believed in knowing how to defend yourself in all manners of ways, not just magically.” She slides the shells into the barrel and closes it. With a little murmured spell over the barrel for accuracy, she feels like this not-so-little weapon is ready.

After setting the gun aside, Serahlin starts working on the silencer barrier. It’s an herb pack that will seal off any noises encircled within it. 

The boys have an after-school program today, so they don’t need to worry about them until five. Around one, they’re finally prepared to go see Thenvunin and his warlock.

The SUV gets loaded with all sorts of magical equipment and they suit up themselves. Serahlin opts for some hefty work-out leggings, the new kind with the mesh pockets, and some good sneakers that give her arch support. Her hair goes up into a tight bun with lots of hairspray to prevent any of that unfortunate slippage always seen in movies. Sure, it looks good, but long hair can reduce visibility and she is taking no chances with a warlock.

Selene is dressed similarly, though there is a bigger sense of unease around her. On the way to Thenvunin’s, Serahlin takes Selene’s hand.

“It’s going to be okay.” She has to believe that.

Before long, they’re parked a block away. Des and Risin hop out with the noise barrier pouches. They’re to carry the herbs around the house so no unsuspecting mortal hears the goings on in that house. That horrible, horrible house.

Really, how did Thenvunin end up in this house anyways? Warlocks were once witches, their tastes veer towards closer to witches. But this house has mortal written all over it.

Perhaps...perhaps Thenvunin’s husband was mortal? It would certainly potentially weaken him, making him an excellent target for a warlock. Not all mortal partners are bad, Serahlin has heard of a few who were able to adapt to the life. But there is a danger to being with one - they can have expectations, inflexibilities that are incompatible with magical practices. When a witch stops practicing, they make themselves vulnerable, their magic slowly becoming more distant.

“Alright, I get him with the shotgun, which has enough magic poured into it to stun him, hopefully drain some magic from him. While I shoot him, you get out the potions to strip him further of magic. After the third bomb, we recite the banishing spell.” Serahlin reviews and Selene nods. It’s a guns blazing approach, which she’s torn on. They could try and sneak into the house, but that risks getting caught and split apart. They can’t afford that risk.

“Warlock black magic here, purify purify magic instill, so warlock may wither, warlock we kill. Three times should do, right?” Selene asks, going over the bombs in her pack. Serahlin nods, checking to make sure the shotgun is loaded properly. The pump-action has five shells before needing to be reloaded, so she will just need to be as accurate as she can. The tight confines of the house will help with that. 

Just have to remember all the shooting practice Memae had me do.

They send the familiars off to create the sound barrier and to find the warlock’s familiar. That creature, whatever it may be needs to be waylaid to not interfere. 

Everything in place, they leave the car and head over to Thenvunin’s house. 

The shotgun’s glamored to look like she’s simply carrying a large scroll case and it lets her walk right up to Thenvunin’s door with Selene. Serahlin knocks on the door and waits.

It is not Thenvunin who opens the door, but a tall man with cruel eyes.

“Why, what do we have here?” He asks.

Serahlin does not hesitate to raise her hand, “Get thee away from me!” She flicks her wrist and he goes flying into the house, crashing into the coffee table.

“Quickly now!” She says, following him into the room, shifting the shotgun into her grip. Selene tosses a weakening bomb at the Warlock. Purple smoke explodes all over him even as he gathers energies to himself.

“Stalking?!” Thenvunin calls from somewhere else in the house.

“We are being attacked! Come to me!” The man calls.

“Stay away, Thenvunin!” Serahlin says before firing a round into the warlock’s arm.

“AH!” He screams but the shot doesn’t seem to otherwise phase him as he leaps from the smoke. Serahlin fires off another shot before he tackles her to the ground, snatching her gun away. Long, gnarled fingers closer around her neck as his facade falls away to reveal his new bestial nature.

Long, yellowed fangs bared from hissing mouth, cracked lips and saliva drip down. Serahlin struggles against his hold, remembering her self-defense. Aim for the eyes! Knee up to groin! But this creature does not respond like a man.

“Get off her!” Selene screams, “Go far, off of her!” Serahlin feels the tickle of magic but he counters it, sending Selene careening into the foyer.

“Selene!”

“Ah, Sylaise, I feel it on you,” he hisses, dragging claws down her throat, drawing blood. She screams, thrashing at the pain. Her magic! She can feel it being pulled! Even Ileth’s!

“NO!” She shoves at him, pulling at her magic to throw him, dispel him, weaken him - something! He forces her down, fingers encircling her throat.

“Stalking!” Thenvunin shouts again. She thinks he’s at the foot of the stairs? “What are you doing?!”

“They attacked our home!” He wails.

“He’s a warlock, Thenvunin! He’s been draining you!”

“SHUT UP!” The warlock, Stalking apparently, sends a bolt of magical pain through her body. A scream wrenches itself from her throat and she flails against it, against him.

“No…”

**

This was a bad idea. Selene knew it was bad idea to come here and challenge a warlock in his territory, but she also knew it was a worse idea to let him drain this Thenvunin and then come for her newly formed coven. Her babies.

When he countered her spell, throwing her back, she thinks she landed poorly on the console table. Her legs tingle and her head feels light. Her magic feels different too - while it used to lurk deep inside her, ready for her to harness, it feels like it is just underneath her skin, moving like her blood. Now, her magic seems to run along her skin. But it doesn’t quite feel like her own either.

She can feel the air - that warlock is trying to quickly drain Serahlin, he hasn’t harvested a witch dedicated to Sylaise. Or maybe he has and just likes the taste.

She blinks and everything seems to slow down -

There is Serahlin on the floor with the warlock on top of her. To Selene’s left is who she presumes is Thenvunin, white-blonde hair flying around him as he runs. There are dark circles under his eyes and he is skinny for his form, his clothes seeming to hang on him more than they should.

This warlock has taken much.

Her magic, now coursing so fast and strong, surrounds her back, sinking deep to the bones and nerves. The tingling disappears and she rises from her prone position. Why is everything so slow? There is so much magic in the air, it begins to color the actual room. Pink and white surround Serahlin, slowly being swallowed up by the festering mustard yellow of the warlock. It’s sickening.

But what can she do? She can’t throw an alchemical bomb without catching Serahlinin in the blast. And what will Thenvunin do? Will he come to the warlock’s aid? Does he even have enough strength to do anything?

Selene blinks and turns her head just enough to catch herself in a mirror across the room. Shock, and no small amount of horror, takes hold of her. Her hair is glowing white, the strands from her pony-tail waving with fictitious wind. But it’s her eyes that are the most startling - once green now glow bright blue.

“What is this?” She whispers.

Her magic swells as if in answer. Two other fonts are at the fore, moreso than her own magic and she knows - these magicks are her sons’. And she can use them.

The dark being she made a deal with comes back to mind as she pulls deep within herself, at the magic swirling around her now. The warlock dies now.

When she speaks, it is in a tongue older than even the old tongue they know. It is ancient and powerful and it sinks claws deep into the warlock’s form. She moves her hand back and he moves with the gesture.

Feeling the magic, his attention snaps to her.

“Dirthamen?”

“Shut up,” she says. Not the most eloquent, no, but she’s had enough of all this talk of Dirthamen and her babies. She has power enough to kill this asshole. So that’s what she does.

She commands the magic to sink deep inside of him, to loose all the magic he has stolen. He screams, writhing as she flails him from the inside out.

Loose all of your secrets,

Tell no more lies,

Return what you stole,

Then die.

The words fill her mind, power exploding from her as if shot through a cannon. The magic rips the warlock apart from the inside out, unraveling stolen magic, and tearing him into pieces in the process.

The warlock explodes in a flurry of light and magic, filling the room with a riot of colors that move in every which way. Time reverts to normal as do her eyes and hair. All the magic in her body seems to give way.

One moment it’s there, the next, gone. With her magic, go her legs, collapsing to the floor in a huff.

What. The. Fuck. Was that.

She is almost too scared or too pissed to dwell too much on it. The boys are blessed, the dark pact she made - it’s too much to think about and yet it seems imperative that she has to now.

Well, shit.

She can just hear Des’s I told you so.

“Wha - Selene!” Serahlin cries, crawling over to Selene. There are claw marks all over her neck, blood staining her shirt, but still she crawls to Selene to see how she is.

“Serahlin, you’re hurt.” Selene reaches into her fanny pack - an exceptionally convenient invention for witches everywhere - and pulls out an elfroot poultice. She pulls Serahlin down to sit, who is quick to go.

“What’s going on, I-I, what happened to Stalking?!” Thenvunin sputters, stumbling into the room. He gapes in horror at the dark mark covering the wall in a way that can only be described as an oversized splat. Selene glances over at him as she opens the poultice.

“Long story short, the man living with you was a warlock. Your familiar brought us to you to help. He was stealing your power, your very soul. We had to kill him.” She turns back to Serahlin and begins to apply generous amounts of the poultice to the slash marks. Serahlin hisses at the contact, even as Selene whispers little soothing spells. The wounds are mostly superficial, and the warlock thankfully missed the jugular.

“You’re wrong! He was helping me! Making me strong so I could - well that’s none of your business!” He shouts and Selene winces at the noise.

“Think, Thenvunin, did he ever actually make you feel stronger? Or did he just seem stronger?” Serahlin asks softly, wincing still..

He shakes his head, “You don’t know what was happening. You - you’re the Avon saleswoman!” He shouts, “You lied! You infiltrated my home!”

“He was a warlock. Here, I’ll show you.” Serahlin reaches under the now broken coffee table and reveals the small absorber she placed yesterday. She squeezes the bag and black smoke rises. “Did you not see how he turned into his true form when he attacked me? Witches do not do that. But you know that.”

He stares at the smoke for a long moment before a broken, warbling sound escapes him. He falls back against the wall, hand rising to his lips in horror.

“No,” he protests even as he begins to accept the truth. Selene’s heart hurts for him. She and Serahlin always knew their husbands were horrible, abusive monsters. But realizing the abuses heaped upon you suddenly like this?

“You’re free now. We will ask nothing of you,” Serahlin says, turning from Selene and the poultice to crawl over to Thenvunin.

“Why would anyone do this?” He whispers as Serahlin reaches him.

“Some people are just evil and awful, only interested in power,” Selene says as Serahlin takes his hand. He swallows and begins to cry.

“He...he said Seth died because I wasn’t strong enough and that he would make me stronger,” he whispers. Rage fills Selene and she almost wishes she could kill the warlock all over again.

“Was Seth your husband?” Serahlin asks softly. He nods and cries harder, burying his face into his hands.

“Oh, sweet Thenvunin, it wasn’t your fault!” Serahlin insists even though she does not know what caused this Seth to die. Serahlin had been convinced there was a mortal involved with Thenvunin somehow and this just may be it. The house is certainly an indicator with its monotonous look and lack of history.

“I could have warded his car or something, but he...he didn’t like magic,” Thenvunin continues, “I should have done it anyway.”

“That would have violated his desires. You did nothing wrong, you are not responsible for other people’s actions.”

And despite the turmoil now with him, Thenvunin looks better. Less sallow. The motes of light and magic around him are brighter, his aura is shifting from a pale, sickly yellow back to what she suspects is his normal purple.

“Warlocks are nearly impossible to defend against without a coven. I don’t sense any other witches, are you alone?” Selene asks softly and he nods,

“Seth wanted a normal life.”

Selene catches Serahlin’s frown, but it’s replaced with concern quickly enough. The more she hears about this Seth, the less Selene likes him. Everyone is taught the dangers of shacking up with the wrong mortal. There will always be more of them than witches and it does not take much to get a mortal to remember pitchforks and Templars after all. The thought makes her worry for the boys at the school, surrounded by mortals.

“Do you still have your book, or…?” Serahlin trails off but they can all finish the sentence - or did Stalking take that too?

Thenvunin shakes his head and curls away from them in embarrassment.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll find it. That’s what we do you know, we find books. My husband, may he rot, stole my book to force me to marry him. I had a baby with him, and after many years I found my book again.”

“And then she helped me find mine. My father bartered it away to my now dead husband as some sort of debt repayment,” Selene continues and Thenvunin peaks through his fingers.

“Really? You...lost your books too?”

“Yes. And it wasn’t our faults, just like it wasn’t yours. Abusers know how to take things and make it seem like you did it, but it was all them. It was always all them.” Serahlin smooths his hair down and Selene thinks that perhaps some tension in him has eased.

“I don’t know where he kept it,” he whispers.

“That’s okay. Screecher can help us too.”

“Screecher’s here?” He asks, interest piquing.

“Yes, we had him accompany our own familiars to keep Stalking’s at bay.” Selene waves her hand and summons Des. Serahlin follows suit for Risin. Soon enough the two cats accompanied by a bird of unknown origin arrive in the house. Screecher makes a loud noise and swoops down to Thenvunin.

“Screecher!” He exclaims while the bird preens and covers Thenvunin with his wings. Des mrows, running quickly to Selene himself. He rubs against her and begins to purr loudly - his own spell in a way. Familiars can calm their witches, one of the perks of being connected to so much of their magic.

“What happened? There was something, I felt it.”

“I’ll explain later, Des,” she whispers, running her hand through his soft fur.

**

Serahlin has no idea how Stalking suddenly just died, but she isn’t arguing with it either. One moment he was clawing at her neck, the next he was wrenched off her, exploding in a flurry of light and shadows. A foul stench now fills the space, and she feels filthy, and not just from being covered in blood. All she wants is to go home and take a long, hot shower.

She looks over at Thenvunin, who is being greeted by his very enthusiastic familiar. The poor thing needs more help than she could have predicted. He was harmed by both a mortal and by a warlock. The mortal must have weakened him by expectation of the “normal life” giving no thought that a normal life for a witch involves magic and ritual. It primed him for the warlock to come in. Isolated and vulnerable, he never stood a chance.

“We need to find your book, he likely has others’ books too,” she says wondering what happens to the witches who has already drained. It’s not ever something she thought she had to worry about before, warlocks were little more than stories told to children to warn them of the dangers of being alone in this world.

Thenvunin nods and slowly rises to his feet.

“He spent a lot of time in the shed,” he says and so they follow him outside to a small shed in the horribly overgrown unattended garden. Serahlin frowns at the amount of concrete off the back of the house. She is getting this man out of this depressing place as soon as she can. Either she’ll convince him to go home to his birth coven or...or maybe he’ll join Serahlin and Selene’s. They could use another member, and it’s not like they don’t have room in either of the houses for him. Serahlin would even be happy to help him find an appropriate house full of color and history with a proper garden.

The shed is locked when they reach it, the lingering effects of a locking spell. It opens easily with an unlocking charm, the locks sputters then gives out. The door swings open revealing more magicks. They cross the threshold to feel a sudden vertigo, the inside of the shed lightens and stretches before them to morph into a decadent hall with large stone pillars wrapped in ivy. The floor is marble and between the pillars are pedestals, nine in total, four of whom have books sitting atop them.

Thenvunin gasps at the reveal, turning around in disbelief.

“He was capable of creating a portal?” He whispers. Portals are higher level spells that typically require the focus and ability of a coven - but he was a warlock, and there are four books. Stalking was packing the power of four witches, plenty of power to create a long-standing portal if he wished.

They walk through the hall slowly, wary of any traps. But if there were, they’ve all died with his life force. If they’re all disabled, how did the portal still work? Perhaps the portal was tied more to the books themselves than to Stalking’s life force.

Thenvunin moves to a pedestal with a small book that resembles a popular romance novel from about ten years ago. He reaches for it -

“Thenvunin, wait!”

- he touches it. All around them the room begins to shake. The pillars begin to crack and large stone chunks fall from the ceiling.

“What?!” Thenvunin shouts.

“This entire place was tied to the books! Now that it’s reunited with you, it can’t sustain itself!” Serahlin shouts in turn, “we have to get out of here!”

“What about the other books?!” Selene yells and dammit. She’s right. They can’t just leave the books. Serahlin runs and grabs the one closest to her just as Selene grabs the one closest to her. The entire structure shudders and heaves. The pillars do not merely crack, but they begin to give way.

Thenvunin grabs the last book they all run towards the portal, only to find that it too has collapsed without the support of the books.

“Oh shit!” Selene yells.

Thinking fast, Serahlin places her hand on the mysterious book dedicated to June and pulls at the magic inside.

“Help me! Visualize Thenvunin’s foyer!” She calls as the floor begins to crack and groan as well. Selene curses but grabs hold of Serahlin’s arm. Thenvunin takes hold of the other and Serahlin inhales deeply.

“Portal open here to there,

Here we stand,

There we go,

We command,

From crumbling tomb

To Thenvunin’s front room!”

They scream as the magic burns from within them all, wrenching them from the collapsing hall through space to Thenvunin’s home. The magic claws into them and for a few confusing moment, Serahlin feels them both - the strengths, the weaknesses, the drugging weight of power, their power, bending to her spell.

Is this what Stalking felt all the time? Is this what it’s like to be a warlock? Addictive. But also horrifically overwhelming and terrifying.

All at once, the swirling mass of energies ceases. The world snaps into place as they arrive in Thenvunin’s foyer.

Serahlin drops the book, turns, and promptly vomits. Her head pounds with the sudden influx and subsequent lack of power. Dizzying, maddening, not right. Knees give out and she is vaguely aware of Selene calling her name.

She doesn’t know how long she stays on the floor, waiting for her hearing to return to normal, for her magic to make sense to her once more. She thinks Risin comes and curls up next to her, vibrating with warmth and focus. Yes, focus.

Bit by bit, her vision clears, her hearing returns, and her stomach ceases to roil.

Serahlin realizes that Selene’s hand is upon her back and she is whispering small healing spells all over her.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, still not quite able to sit up.

“Oh thank the gods,” Thenvunin says.

“Yes, thank the gods. Serahlin, how did you know you could do that?” Selene asks.

“I didn’t. I just knew I had to. Ileth can’t lose both of his parents.” Selene makes a noise of agreement as she takes in just how close they came to orphaning their boys.

When she sits back up, Thenvunin hands her a glass of water and offers her an aspirin. She snorts at the idea. Aspirin! For a witch! He blushes in embarrassment and fusses that it has benefits even to witches. He’s learned a lot from living a magic-less existence these last few years, after all. There are ways to cure ailments that do not involve magic or herbalism.

But he forgets that they’re not mortal. Their systems work differently, they’re meant to connect with magic in all ways - particularly for healing. She doesn’t remind him of this, though. Today has had enough in it without adding in an argument about such things. Instead, Selen takes away the aspirin, mentioning something about potential interactions between the elfroot and the aspirin.

When Serahlin can stand, she looks to the door, eager to get home to her son. Coming close to death makes her eager to be reassured that her baby is okay. Selene seems to be in agreement and they both move to leave, but Thenvunin remains in the foyer, staring at the ruined interior of his house.

“Come home with us, Thenvunin,” Serahlin says, “I have plenty of room and it looks like you could use some...distance from all this.” And to get him away from this awful house. She can still feel the oppression and the bad history.

Despite what they all just collectively went through, Thenvunin looks surprised,”You don’t even know me.”

She smiles and stifles a chuckle, “We know you well enough to brave a warlock for you.” He opens his mouth as if to argue then shuts it again.

“I suppose you’re right. Who knows what kind of maleficence Stalking put in the home.” Still, he looks sad enough that it makes Serahlin sigh.

“We’ll come back after we’re rested. This place needs a good exorcist style cleaning,” as evidence, the dark splotch where Stalking was starts to give off a slight stench that has everyone wrinkling their nose.

Thenvunin nods and heads upstairs to gather his things while Serahlin and Selene get the car.

“Are you sure about this?” Selene asks.

“We can’t just leave him out here. If it were me, or worse, if it was Ileth, I would want someone to help. Two people preyed upon him, first that mortal husband and then Stalking. What if it were Darevas or Felasel?” She asks in turn. Selene falls against the passenger seat, hand against her forehead.

“Shit. You’re right.”

“He can stay with me, there’s plenty of room to spare.” He can have the guest room that Selene has not claimed as her own when she’s over. And it’ll be good to have another man around for Ileth and the twins that isn’t an abusive asshole.

Back at the house, they help Thenvunin load his things, of which there are surprisingly few. They lock up and ward the house as an extra precaution. Thenvunin slides into the backseat and Screecher follows suit. Des and Risin sit in Selene’s lap, purring loudly.

All set, Serahlin pulls out of the driveway and sets the course for home.

She must remain strong. Adannar is hidden away here, somewhere, and he could need her. This is a terrible place to go missing, deep in the dark part of the forest with no one but peeping spirits to watch the tragedy. She cannot just leave him be, not while she can ride after him and help him. It is the least she can do after he has done so much for her.

“How much farther, Huirin?” She asks. The mechanical deer turns its head to her. Its usual whirring noise pauses to click twice, two metal eyelids roll over reflective eye sockets. It is some sort of communication, but not one she can discern. It turns its attention back to whatever trail it’s following to Adannar, the whirring kicking up once again.

Velini snorts but follows the strange deer. It is not long until they start to noticeably ascend what must be a small mountain. The path is surprisingly sure, however, and Velini does not struggle with his footing. The trees curve over the path, only a few having roots that disrupt the packed earth and…stones? Who would lay a stone path this deep in the woods?

They come to a fork in the path, one leading up, another down. Sunlight spills down, illuminating the path that leads up, while casting the path leading down in dark shadow. Huirin, of course, heads down. Serahlin swallows and steels herself before urging Velini to continue to follow Huirin.

Thick shadows envelope them as they descend, and the forest visibly changes. She is reminded of the great tree Adannar showed her, the one housing a spirit of Content. These trees feel…they feel like that. Magical. Aware. Watching.

The leaves begin to take on iridescent and glowing hues, mushrooms even appear to be larger and brighter. And an air of tingling magic surrounds them all. The little hairs on Serahlin’s arms and the back of her neck rise at the magic. Her concern morphs into a near panic. Adannar likes to harvest alchemical ingredients – they’re for his creatures and for potions he likes to dabble in. He laughed once, saying he was no alchemist, but he can concoct some poultices and potions that are helpful. He gave her one, once, to help sore muscles. She cannot be certain, but she suspects these mushrooms and other plants are likely subjects for alchemical harvesting. He could have fallen, hit his head! Or twisted his ankle, broken his leg, his arm…the list goes on.

She keeps fighting the urge to ask Huirin if it knows anything. It could, it very well could, but that doesn’t mean she will understand what it says. Or blinks, or whirrs. She should have asked Adannar to teach her how to communicate with his creatures, that way in case something like this happened she would be able to find him more quickly. It’s no matter now, but when she finds him, she is going to sit him down and have him teach her. After he gets better, of course. If she doesn’t kill him herself, after scaring her like this.

Huirin keeps the same walking pace, and it feels terribly slow. They started the search hours ago! And still no sign of Adannar. Where is he? Heavens, she hopes he isn’t dead, that…that would be the worst.In the short amount of time they have spent together, she has come to care for him, more than she ever thought possible. Before, she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage – to a good man, but still loveless. She never dreamed that when she ran she would ever find someone like Adannar. She did not know that such kindness could lurk in such unexpected places.

Now she must return the favor. It’s the right thing to do and besides she…cares for him. Deeply. So much so that the thought of fulfilling her duty to marry Dirthamen or someone else fills her with a sour taste in her mouth and dread in her heart.

She cannot in good conscious marry someone while she feels this way for Adannar. It isn’t right. Even if it is simply political, a marriage is a marriage. She would still be connected to Dirthamen and longing for someone else.

At least hiding out in the woods means she doesn’t have to marry anyone she does not desire.

Feeling like for Adannar is exactly why she needs to find him. And why if he turns up dead or hurt, she’ll kill him for scaring her so. She’ll kiss him, then kill him. Or maybe she’ll just kiss him. Really, she just needs to find him.

They descend ever further into the darkened forest, now illuminated by glowing mushrooms and other plants she doesn’t know. Adannar had been teaching her some of the more mundane plants, focusing on the herbs and foliage that could help her. None of the plants here could be defined as mundane. Some of them even come across as hostile. Before, she would never have believed a plant could be hostile, but nothing makes as much sense as it did. Or perhaps she just sees more.

Huirin makes a clicking noise and Velini stops, dragging Serahlin out of her thoughts. The air is colder and the glow from the mushrooms darken. Some of the mushrooms even shrink back as a shadow slinks through the trees.

Velini shakes and steps back. She tries to comfort him but he is inconsolable as the shadow draws nearer. Huirin’s clicking noise grows louder before it leaps at the shadow, a light emanating from its head. The shadow shrinks back in haste, and the mushrooms grow back, lighting the pathway once more.

“What was that?” She asks, breathless and more than a little disturbed. Huirin turns to her, plates on its head reforming to the face she is familiar with. It makes a low whining noise then shakes. Right. It’s…whatever that was.

Serahlin reaches down and pats Velini’s neck, reassuring the horse even while she needs reassuring herself. That shadow is only one beast that occupies this forest, she reminds herself. Just because she has been fortunate in the forest does not mean that her experience is representative of the nature of the forest. A dragon lurks here, as do many other creatures that would see her harmed. Or worse.

Huirin chirps at them and Serahlin encourages her horse to follow it. Remember Adannar, remember that he could need her and Velini.

The path winds down but it remains a path. To where, she can only guess a terrible pit filled with bodies. Maybe this path was made by beasts that would haul their kills off to a deep part of the forest and perform dark rituals furthering their beastliness.

She has got to find Adannar if only to stop these ridiculous thoughts from polluting her mind.

Huirin turns around a bend and Serahlin follows – to see the mouth of a large cave. Long dark moss dangles, nearly obscuring the soft light emanating from the cave. Light, from a cave. It is a magical forest, she reminds herself. Huirin ducks into the cave, the moss trailing over its smooth metal body. Its pace remains that same, undeterred by the cave and moss. It is likely safe, then, or as safe as it can be.

Deep breaths, she can do this. Be brave, be brave.

She urges Velini forward and braces herself for the moss. It is soft, but in her face and not unlike unwanted touches in a ballroom. Thankfully, it is over in a heartbeat and she is free to ride tall and unhindered after Huirin.

As she crosses the threshold, a wave of magic comes over her and she gasps at the rush of it. Magic back home always felt cool and powerful, and tame compared to the wild swirling gusts of it in the forest. Here, magic is like its own entity, moving and shifting. And powerful.

It makes sense that the magic in the forest, and so deep into it, would have a lot of magic. Spirits form out of massive emotion and magic, if one is not present, then the spirit cannot form. Its why spirits are not common back home, and why they almost take on bodies as soon as they can. Without a well of magic present, maintaining their spirit forms is not only difficult, it’s risky. Spirits who do not wish to take on bodies back home risk shrinking into nothing or shattering from the strain to stay alive.

She knew that it wasn’t like that everywhere, but it was shocking to see so many spirits in the wood. Adannar had explained that he was the rarity. Most spirits in the wood opt to refrain from a corporeal form.

If that is so, she wonders why Adannar took on a body.

Her thoughts settle as the magic flurries away from her, allowing her to gaze in stunned awe at the cave around her. No, not a cave, a…she has no proper word for this! The walls are shined stone, swirling with blues, greens, greys, and browns. Just past the mouth of the cave, the walls turn from rounded to actual walls. The ceiling is high, and not just palace high but so high that she cannot quite make out where the ceiling is. Only that it is there.

Huirin is undeterred, but perhaps it cannot experience the incredible magnitude of this place. The magic, the obvious care that has been taken to create a palatial home…cave. Enchanted sconces light up as they walk by, blue tinted light illuminating the smooth walls.

Velini’s hoofbeats echo in the hallway, filling the otherwise silent room with a steady beat.

What is this place? Who made this?

Is this some entrance to the dwarven empire? She thought those were heavily guarded and sealed off while the surface nations battled the dragons. Perhaps they forgot about this entrance? Or maybe the age of the place marks it as different? Maybe it was abandoned ages ago due to the magical fluctuations in the forest.

Huirin stops at the end of the hallway and turns to her, its eyes mimic blinking and it makes a whistling noise at her.

“I am still following,” she asserts. It would make some sense if this was an entrance to the dwarven empire. They have crafting abilities that would fascinate Adannar considering his hobby of creating these automatons.

Huirin turns to the right, down a set of stairs, activating more lights with its descent. Serahlin dismounts and hitches Velini to a sconce holding a stone. She follows Huirin on foot, down the stairs, feeling dread creep into her. She is not that strong, if she needs to pick him up…how will she?

The stairs end and another hallway stretches before the, but now piled with stuff. There are boxes upon boxes upon dresses and cabinets and satchels…just so much stuff.

“What is all of this?!” She says, mostly to herself but Huirin takes it upon itself to make a few chirps then a low honking noise, not unlike a goose.

“Don’t take that tone with me, this is a lot of stuff…and why is fine tableware next to not so fine linens? And is that a…lamp? That’s from Veharan, across the gulf, isn’t it? Oh, and those are silks from Pah’naar! What in the world was Adannar doing down here?” She’s beginning to suspect he found this place and has gotten enveloped in snooping through all of this stuff! Where did it come from? Who collected all this?

Some of these things are seriously beautiful, and they are just…wasting away in this cave. As nice as cave it is, it is still sequestered away from everything.

Huirin chirps at her, making her realize she has stopped moving. Serahlin snaps out of her awe for everything around her and steps quickly after the mechanical deer.

The hallway curves and there are gaps in the piles of stuff. In those gaps are gigantic doors – one set of doors is open and inside is just another pile of things. Light reflects off the shinier and more valuable items, while others remain in crates and satchels. She pauses when her eye catches the light glinting off what must be a cascade of golden coins. Or a mountain of them.

All this wealth, all these things, stored away. What is this place?

Serahlin resumes following Huirin, coming to another large door that is cracked open. Huirin nods its head toward the door, then moves behind Serahlin and all but shoves her through the door.

“Excuse me!” She says, but follows his instructions and goes inside. Huirin does not follow and a heavy dread worms its way through Serahlin’s body. Whatever is in here is deterring even Huirin. Should she even be in here? The lights are dimmer and the stones in the sconces are not lighting as she walks carefully through the room.

The piles in here are much more specific, either pillows or blankets or other soft creations, making the space almost like a large bed.

A gigantic bed. For something as equally massive.

No, no, no. She has to get out of here, if Adannar truly wandered down here…he is not getting back out. A broken sob leaves her, the sound filling the space. She clamps a hand over her mouth in horror just as something massive moves in the shadows. A low rumbling echoes from the shadows making her eyes widen in terror.

Adannar deserves to be buried, deserves better than to die at the jaws of a cruel beast. And there is nothing she can do. She is unarmed, unarmored, and it has been more than a century since she has lifted a sword. And if she is not quick, she will only join her darling Adannar in his demise.

Oh Adannar, Serahlin mourns for a second before turning on her heel and running. She runs from the room and back down the hallway, past all the piles of stuff. Behind her, she hears the beast moving after her. Its breathing is loud, filling the hallway with a rumbling timbre that spurs her to go faster.

“Serahlin?” Her voice echoes through the space and horror fills her. It knows her name? How?! Heavens above, let her escape this treacherous place!

She runs up the stairs, her legs burning with protest. But she ignores it, she has to. The rumbling grows closer but she rounds the top of the stairs and rapidly unhitches Velini. She mounts her horse and spurs him into a run.

Velini charges down the hallway and out of the cave, and they are heading up the path when the earth shakes and she feels the wind at her back. It is a pushing motion followed by a pull – like when a bird takes off.

She tries to urge Velini to go faster, but they are on an incline and the horse can only go so fast. Goodness knows that he was never trained to outrun a dragon.

They reach the top of the hill when the air snaps with a sudden chill. The shadows from before surge forward, lead by a screeching white spirit with outstretched gnarled hands. Serahlin screams as the hands tear her clothes and sink into her body, causing pain to lance deep. Her vision blanks out and she only realizes Velini is throwing her too late.

He bucks wildly, throwing Serahlin, vision blurry and screaming down the hill. Her body slams into the earth and rolls. She tries to shield herself from the blows by the demon and the tumbling in equal measure.

The pain! She cannot see and as she falls, her heart races faster and faster and the demon grows stronger – sinking deeper into her.

She flails her arms back in a desperate attempt to grab hold of…something! Her hand comes up with a root that she snatches quickly, wrenching her arm and halting her suddenly. The sudden cessation of movement temporarily dislodges the demon and she gasps in relief, only for it to return with vengeance. It tears into her, forcing her to turn into herself, releasing the root. She does not move but she screams and writhes in pain.

The ground shakes and the demon hisses, its movements halting but it remains atop her. Serahlin doesn’t dare look up, only hoping for a reprieve, just…something to stop it. Stop it all. How does this keep happening? Running from monster to monster right to another monster. Is this world just so plagued that this is her fate? To be hounded and harmed and thrown to death time and time again? What a cruel fate, to never know lasting peace, to never have happiness be a constant fixture in her life. The pain of that is enough to make her sob, physical and spiritual pain surrounding her in a bubble that makes the demon screech in delight.

The dragon roars in retaliation, the sound deafening. Sudden heat fills the air and the demon is wrenched away from her. Serahlin gasps in pain of the removal of the claws but oh the relief! The pressure and pain ease, making her eyes snap open –

To see the dragon, the great and terrible dragon of the forest, pinning the demon, much larger and more solid seeming now, to the ground. It pulls its head back, golden mane moving almost beautifully with it. Its maw opens and from it spews a geyser of steam. The demon screams and shatters into a dozen dark shards.

It…killed the demon.

The dragon lifts a clawed hand and waves it over the shards. Magic fills the air as light blasts from the dragon’s palm. When it rests the hand, the shards are no longer dark but filled with soft light. It…not only killed the demon but managed to somehow purify shards? She has never heard of such a thing

Maybe…maybe it has forgotten she is here. The demon was very distracting as was the magic. Maybe, just maybe she can just…sneak away.

But when Serahlin tries to move away, she collapses against the ground, pain blooming anew in her chest. Her ribs…something is wrong.

The dragon’s head snaps towards her and the last thing she sees are its yellow eyes that are somehow vaguely familiar.

I’m so sorry, Adannar…I failed.

**

This is not how Adannar wanted Serahlin to discover his nature. And now she is injured on the forest floor, after witnessing him killing. He should have taken care of Torment years ago, he knows, and now she is paying for his inability to act.

A sound of torment escapes him, and he fears it just sounds…beastly. But she is unconscious now, limp and most likely internally bleeding after falling so far.

With ever so much care, Adannar picks her prone body up and murmurs a healing spell over her. It will keep her until he can heal her properly back in his home. He takes to the sky after some of the worst of the bleeding is resolved and hopes to everything good in this world that she will recover. He would not be able to handle her not, truly.

He takes her to a guest room that he has managed to clean in the recent months of knowing her. He had hoped he would one day bring her here, that she would sleep in this bed, surrounded by all the beautiful things he has collected throughout the years. He wanted to show her all of the beautiful things, to tell her stories of the people who once came to see him.

But now…she is alive, but hurt. She is surrounded by the beautiful things but all he cares about now is making sure that she is alright.

He spends the next two days laboring over her healing. He wishes she was stable enough for him to take her to Selene, but he does not even know if Selene would tolerate having someone like Serahlin in the Glass Tower. After all that she has been through…after her self-imposed isolation, he doubts it.

The first day is the worst. She has several broken ribs and one of her lungs ended up collapsing after he repaired the ribs. She lost a lot of blood to the demon and he has to replenish it somehow. He generally dislikes using spirit shards for anything other than helping birth new spirits, but he is filled with enough anger at Torment that he uses its shards to power himself to heal her. All of the shards, filling her so much with magical healing energy that it makes her hair grow even longer and her skin glow faintly.

He remembers when Torment was Composure. Brought into existence by a group of dignitaries from Veharan. But it had corrupted after the long years of isolation and the general lack of composure of everything around it. Now it will serve to bring the woman who had so exemplified its former self back to life.

The second day, Adannar cries. A poet once wrote that the reason rivers existed because dragons would cry atop mountains and the sadness had to flow somewhere. Oceans were of sorrow and sadness, of joyous triumph. It was a beautiful sentiment, incorrect but beautiful. But he does take care to cry into the river that runs under his lair, flowing from his home waterfall.

She brought so much light to this dark place. She made him feel joy again, made him feel more like himself than he has in hundreds of years. And he had only ever wanted to make her feel the same. He wants her to know the joy she has made him feel, he wants her to be surrounded by love and light and everything good. And instead, tragedy strikes.

He returns to her side, shifted into his elf form. He can feel her healing aura even down in the cellar and he worries he will shock her too badly if he remains in his true form. It is not much trouble to ensure she is comfortable. But if she asks…he will not lie. He cannot lie to her anymore, it is wrong, and she…she deserves to walk away if she wishes. He would not blame her if she did, not after…all this.

Adannar watches over her through the night, trying not to fall asleep. Sleeping in too late is what got them all into this mess. He had been resting so wonderfully, so deeply and perfectly, that he had not realized that he had not woken at the appropriate time to see her. He does not know why she decided to come looking for him, is it too much to hope that she had searched for him out of worry? And what a terrible fright to find his lair, finding him yes, but also finding something she had been taught to fear.

On the third day, Serahlin wakes. It is slow and Adannar must restrain himself from fussing too much over her.

“Memae…?” She murmurs, lifting her hand in his direction. He takes it gently between his and settles next to her.

“No, darling, it’s me, Adannar,” he tells her, smoothing hair away from her face. Serahlin blinks her eyes open, not only pink but faintly glowing with magic. And oh when she smiles it is like being bathed in holy light.

“Sweet Adannar,” she says, reaching up to his face, “if this is death, then it cannot be so bad if I am with you.”

His heart aches at the sentiment and he lets her pull him down to her, kissing her long and slow. She is warm and pliant so full of life. When he pulls back, he cups her face and regards her with the softest expression he can.

“As beautiful a sentiment that is, my dear, you are not dead, and neither am I.” Her brow scrunches in confusion and she shakes her head.

“How?”

“I healed your injuries with the shards of the demon,” he explains but her confusion remains.

“That does not make any sense. Huirin lead me into the dragon’s lair when I asked him to take me to you.” It is only then that she looks around and recognition dawns on her face. He is leaning back as she sits up, fear and shock bleeding off her.

“I…” she stops then turns to him, her once soft gaze now knowing and fearful, “you?”

He nods slowly, “I did not know how to tell you.”

“You…you…you lied to me?” She accuses, and he flinches. She is right, he lied and he has no recourse.

“I was afraid,” he says, unsure of how else to explain.

“You? You were afraid? You are a dragon!” She says, horror creeping into her voice. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never hurt you,” he says quickly.

“I don’t know that!” She responds just as quickly. He cannot meet her gaze, all he feels is shame for letting it go on for this long.

“Once, when the times were different, and my kind were not hunted or turned into storybook villains, I would have not hidden it. I was…afraid that you would know and refuse to know me, refuse any help I have to offer. It was wrong of me, selfish and wrong and I am so, so sorry.”

She draws her blanket around herself and moves into the corner of the bed as far away from him as she can get.

“You were never in any danger from me,” he says softly, “please, I…was afraid if you knew you would inform knights or someone.”

“So you lied?!”

“I did not mean for it to go on as long as it did. But I also did not expect to become so enamored with you, either, and I couldn’t…I was wrong.”

She is quiet for a long time, staring at him with the same horrified expression. He cannot tell what the worse crime is – being a dragon or lying about not being a dragon. But he knows that he never wanted this, and that his concealment has only made everything worse.

“So it is my fault that you fell in love with me and you couldn’t tell me the truth?” Her voice is low and sharp and it cuts him to down to size.

“No! It is my fault, I place none of the blame at your feet. I am…I was so wrong, and I have no preconceptions of your forgiveness.”

“I…can leave? I am not your prisoner?” She asks and that hurts too, to think that she ever thought he would be capable of such a horrid thing. He nods slowly.

“If it is your wish to leave, then I will not stop you, and neither will any of my creations. I will ensure your safety out of the forest even. You should not have to pay for my mistakes.”

She falls silent and he can see her thinking, coming to a conclusion that will hurt, but one he will respect.

“That is what I wish,” she murmurs. He nods and steps back.

“Very well. You may dress and then either I or Huirin can take you to your horse,” he says, keeping as much emotion from his voice as possible.

“I would prefer Huirin,” she replies and he nods again.

“It will be arranged. I hope you find all the happiness and joy your heart desires,” he says, leaving the room. He wants the last word to be kind and good and he cannot stand the thought of anything else. If she leaves, he wants her to remember as fondly as possible under the circumstances.

Adannar leaves her room and finds Huirin. He gives the deer instructions to wait for Serahlin then to take her to Velini. The horse had suffered some minor injuries but those had been easily healed. He has primarily rested and eaten in the past few days, and now he can take his rider back…to wherever she wishes to go.

Melancholy and heartache fill him so intensely, he must retreat to his rooms. But a restlessness takes hold, as well as a greediness to see her one last time. He moves from his rooms to the atrium, it is up higher into the mountain, with a great lift that allows him to rise quickly to the top of the mountain if he does not wish to don his true form. The glass ceiling opens like a flower and he steps out onto a small balcony, just in time to watch her ride out of his lair and into the forest.

It’s only every few days since there is work to be done for her to survive sufficiently on her own. It is a goal he supports, even if he knows that she may choose to not spend as much time with him afterwards. She deserves her independence, she’s worked for it, and he doesn’t want to forcefully spend time with her anyways. Her choice makes the time better.

He takes her to a great tree, first. The Great Tree, to be exact. An old spirit of Content possessed it a millennium ago, and it has remained here ever since, growing to a gargantuan size. An old hollowed voice rings from it, greeting Adannar in an equally old tongue. Serahlin doesn’t realize what it says is a greeting, but she marvels at it all the same. She touches its bark with respectful reverence, more polite than even some of the scholars Adannar knew hundreds of years ago.

“Content, perhaps you could show our guest your view?” He requests.

In the old tongue, Content replies, “Has she not ridden upon your back yet? Oh, you have not told her. Very well, I will show her.” A thick branch slowly lowers to in front of Serahlin.

She glances back at him for reassurance. He smiles and gestures for her to climb onto the branch. Adannar joins her, and slowly they are lifted up to another branch. Content guides them to the canopy in this manor, having them climb aboard semi-mobile branches until they sit perched atop the tree, looking out around them.

The sun is low in the sky, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange and blue. The tops of the trees all stop below Content, their leaves soft and pliant as the cool air of the afternoon swirls around them. Serahlin’s hair loosens from its tie and sways with the wind, but she does not seem to mind as she leans her head back, eyes closed, and smiling in enjoyment. It is an entrancing image of her, leaning back and enjoying the natural magic of the forest. She is entrancing.

His heart clenches. There is no beauty like hers, no heart, no person whose eyes shine so brightly when discovering something new. And there is nothing more natural for him at this point to love her, even in secret, even if she does not return the sentiment. He loves her, and he is happy to even know that. To know her.

He wants to tell her, but fear holds him back still. She isn’t ready to know quite yet. He wants her to know him before…before potentially running from him. It is selfish, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to change course.

He takes her home after the sun sets. He takes her hands in his at the door to the cottage. She is looking up at him with a soft expression that makes his heart melt and oh, how he loves her. He lifts her hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles before wishing her a good night. He steps away but does not hear the door close, and when he turns around, he sees her watching him, her cheeks almost as pink as her eyes.

Adannar lifts his hand in the air, waving goodnight as he slips into the forest. His nocturnal creations skitter through the night, joining him as he heads back to his home.

There are other places he can take her to, like the meadow and he can even see about showing her some of the crystal caves in the mountains. He wants her to enjoy living her and to know that even though she is far from her home court and palace, she is still surrounded by beauty.

He goes through more of his storage, finding more beautiful clothing to give her. The breeches he had given her earlier were fairly basic, mostly in beiges and browns, along with white shirts. But now he finds the more colorful garments – pinks, greens, blues, even a few reds that he think she will look splendid in. He packages them in a case and the next morning presents them to her.

“Adannar! You don’t need to,” she says even as she fawns over the prettier clothes.

“Do you like them?” He asks in earnest. She looks up and smiles, then cups his face.

“I adore them, thank you.” He leans into her touch just for a moment before straightening his back.

“Wonderful!”

He means to take her to the meadow today, but there is work that needs to be done and they end up spending the day working around the cottage. The chickens need tending to, as does the garden they’ve created in the past weeks. The roof of the cottage also needs a repair, it’s been leaking, and then by the time everything’s completed, the sun is low in the sky and there is no time to take her anywhere special. But they do have enough time to cook and eat dinner together. Well, a dinner for her. Adannar will need to do some night hunting to fill up.

Serahlin lets her hair out, spilling down her shoulders, making her look like the princess he first saw in the Dreaming. But now she is smiling and happy as she eats her stew and makes conversation with him.

“In Eletharan, it is customary to have small meals throughout the day. Consuming large meals at once is seen as bad for health,” she says, even as she breaks a bread roll to sop up some stew.

“But I can’t say I have felt any different with this regimen. Sometimes I think half of the things the nobility did was simply because they could and it set them, us, apart from everyone else. How often you ate became a symbol of wealth. I would eat eight small meals a day, my sister ate ten. I knew of merchants who would stretch their food to last six meals a day.”

Adannar tries to contemplate that. He knows that she came from a world of wealth and excess, but this seemed…much. He knows that her meals were made for her, judging by how she has not exactly been that great in the kitchen. He is not judging her for any of it, of course, she was born into this and she did what she could to survive the environment.

“The company was horrid most of the time,” she says, “All these people just…watching, waiting for me to be imperfect.” Her eyes move down to her food and his brow furrows in concern.

“I find perfection boring, to be honest,” Adannar says, “It is fleeting, and flaws are what make people unique. There is no true beauty in perfection. I am not perfect, you are not perfect, but it does not make you lesser.”

Serahlin blinks and her lips part on a silent “oh.” She tucks her hair behind her ear in a gesture he has come to know as a sign of nervous flattery.

“I…thank you.” She speaks in the way of someone unused to compliments, but perhaps it is not the compliment that is throwing her, but the sincerity. Those at court must be so…blind, he thinks, to lack the ability to see how much Serahlin truly deserves compliments. She is kind and funny and beautiful, even if she is imperfect with her distrustful nature and stubbornness.

They finish dinner and he helps her clean up before it is time for him to leave her to her nightly routine. But before he leaves, she takes his hand.

He turns to her, heart beating, expectant.

Serahlin opens her mouth to say something then shuts it. His heart falls but she takes a step towards him and lifts her free hand to his face. She caresses his cheek and while the silence stretches before them, it feels like she is saying a thousand words, and he is replying in kind.

She pulls back after a moment and straightens her clothes. The normal Serahlin with her stoicism and pleasantries. More and more, however, that Serahlin gives way to a softer version of herself. A version of herself that smiles easily and enjoys his jokes and the simple comforts of the forest.

Adannar leaves that night with his heart in his throat and a great desire to sweep her off her feet.

It takes a few more days of completing chores, but eventually they find the day where the work can wait. On that day, Adannar guides her through a young part of the forest. Small critters scurry from their path. Serahlin holds onto Adannar’s arm as they stride through the brush and it sends little electric flares through him.

They are both dressed in flowing fabrics, her in a pink tunic and him in one of his brighter blue robes.

“It shouldn’t be too much further,” he tells her.

She smiles up at him, “Even if it was, I would not mind. I am enjoying our walk.” He returns the smile and feels his heart do a little pitter patter.

“Have I told you that you look lovely today?” He asks and she nods.

“It was one of the first things you said, but I do not tire of hearing it.” She leans into him, grinning playfully.

“Well, you look lovely still…even with the leaves in your hair,” he points out, to her playful horror.

“Oh no!” She bats at her hair and he calms her, reaching carefully and extracting the few leaves.

“There, no worse for wear.”

He steps over a root, then down a small knoll. Light filters in from where the trees end and the meadow begins. With this time of year, the meadow should be filled with wild flowers – and potentially even some frolicking spirits of the forest. He shifts their positions so that he is holding her hand, leading her through the brush. Excitement fills the air as they reach the boundary of trees.

They emerge from the forest and into the meadow. Serahlin gasps in awe, filling Adannar with a relieved sense of pride. It is a tad hilly for a meadow, but the flowers carpet it all the same, reaching up to the sun in brilliant hues of yellow, cream, pink, and blue. Spirits swirl in brilliant displays of light, shooting up fallen petals into little petal dust devils.

Adannar turns, smiling, to see Serahlin with a near devious expression on her face.

“Serahlin?”

She lets go of his hand and dashes into the meadow, “Catch me!” She calls back, running headlong into the field of flowers. Adannar laughs and does as she commands, letting himself go and feel free as he chases her.

The spirits turn their attentions to them, initial alarm turning to gleeful mischief. They are harmless and Serahlin shows no fear of them as she laughs and darts through the flowers. Adannar lets his inhibitions go as he runs after her.

**

It was a spur of the moment decision to dart off, enticing Adannar to chase her. But she had been so inspired by the beauty of the meadow. All she wanted to do was to run and feel free and happy. And this meadow is so…it is from her dreams it is so beautiful. Maybe she has seen this place in her dreams, her spirit drifting from her sleeping body, drawn to this magical place.

Now she runs through a field of flowers, past bright spirits as a former spirit chases her. His laughter, so pure and joyful, is music to her ears. It sets a rhythm to them running. She turns and laughs with him, cresting over a hill. They revel in the sunlight, and she has not felt so far and free from the court as she does now.

Serahlin spins, her eyes closing at the wonder of it all. Her arms are outstretched, palms up feeling the warmth of the sun. She used to walk the gardens at the palace, enamored with the flowers. But she had always been bedecked in fashion, a smile plastered on her face as a thousand eyes watched her every move. The fashion she loved, the eyes she wanted gone. But here, there are flowers and sun, and the only eyes are Adannar’s. And his eyes are so kind, so beautiful.

He reaches the knoll she is slowly spinning on and rounds on her. His arm slides around her waist and pulls in her close. She travels with his moment, her arms quickly wrapping around his shoulders for stability. They spin together, laughing, until he stumbles and falls back into the lush grass. She lands on top of him, hair flying free from its loose bun.

“Oof!” She says, splayed on top of him, the long grass curving over them. She can feel his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths, and the warmth radiating from his body.

Adannar leans his head back and laughs, only leaning back up to cup her face. His laughter dissipates but his face remains blissful and soft. His hands are rough from work, but she does not mind them as he brushes a thumb over her cheek.

“Serahlin, you are a wonder,” he whispers full sincerity and warmth. Her heart stutters and breath hitches. Through all this time, Adannar has seen her at her worst, broken down, dirty, ugly, and starving. He has seen her struggle with everything she has learned, and not once has he shamed her, or looked at her like she is useless or bad. He has been kind and patient, caring and thoughtful. He hasn’t babied her, but respected her and where she has come from. Not in all her life has she ever met someone like him, and she doubts there is anyone else quite like him either. There is an undeniable goodness to him, a light within him that makes her want to be better.

She shifts up his body and brushes her fingers across his cheek. He sighs and leans into her touch, yellow eyes growing hooded. He is beautiful, she sees. A beauty unlike those at court, natural and striking, full of softness.

Boldness and fondness in equal measure take over her. She leans down and presses her lips to his. He startles for only a second before responding. He leans into her, kissing her back, lips moving under hers. She angles her head and sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, earning her a gasp, borderline moan. It thrills and warms her both to feel his reaction to her.

His hands trail down her body, holding her waist, running up into her hair. It feels so, so good, she leans into him, arching her back. He is the first to pull away, lips pink and breath labored.

“Serahlin, I…do you…” he breathes. She isn’t sure exactly what he is asking, but she feels like she has an answer all the same. She strokes his cheek and her expression remains soft.

“You amaze me,” she murmurs before leaning down to kiss him again.

**

The days following the kisses in the field turn into a new pace. Adannar still arrives at the same time in the morning and leaves the same time at night, but he kisses her hello and goodbye. He is even more free with his affections, holding her waist, and pulling her to him. She enjoys it all, holding him and kissing him back as much as she pleases. There is no worry that they will be caught. He is not a dalliance someone at court is waiting to use to blackmail her. The result is Serahlin being free with her affections in return.

On an evening where the sunset is turning blue and purple from the magic in the sky, she turns to him.

“We have grown so close, and I feel like I am…not being entirely truthful with you,” she explains.

Adannar looks down from the sunset to her, expression curious but sweet, “How so?”

She swallows, “I never told you what I was doing in the cottage that first day you found me.”

“You were running from a political monster of some sort.”

Serahlin nods slowly, “Yes. But that is…a great over simplification.” She wrings her hands and averts her gaze. Adannar reaches over and settles his much larger hand over her nervous ones.

“You do not have to tell me,” he whispers, his tone far more understanding than she has a right to ask for.

Serahlin shakes her head, “No, I do because I left a terrible mess behind. I fear I will have to return to it at some point. I can’t always run, some day we all have to face what chases us.” She takes a deep breath, and begins.

“I was born Serahlin Felise Elethari, to Queen Felena Elethari of the kingdom Eletharan to the west of this forest. I am the eldest, and by rights, that makes me in line to succeed the throne if my mother should die. My younger sister, Elvara is also a princess, and she has been named heir apparent due to my…inability to secure diplomatic relations with the kingdom to the east, Elvhenan.” She goes slow, giving herself time to pause and assess. Adannar remains quiet, listening to her story.

“They wanted to create a tie that will unite the kingdoms in custom and spirit. Which meant an arranged marriage between me, and the High Knight family’s chosen. After visiting their court, the younger son, Dirthamen was chosen for my betrothal. It could have been worse, the eldest son spurned the idea of me, the younger son was by far better. Not a man I could fall in love with, but a man I could at least be happy with. But unfortunately, as the envoy passed through this forest, he went missing.

“With the alliance in jeopardy, a new knight was chosen from his brother’s honor guard somehow. A man greatly indebted to the family, so loyal he could never betray them. His name is Ser Darris, Slayer of Mighty Tor’el, a dragon to the east.” Adannar nodded and swallowed, his face stony and solemn.

Serahlin continued, her voice only wavering slightly, “They arrived at the palace and explained the situation. My mother foolishly allowed the switch, saying that this alliance was still the best option for the kingdom. But my former betrothed and I had been exchanging letters – in Eletharan, it is customary to know your intended for at least a year before marriage. The switch meant that Darris would have to wait a year, and in that year, we would have to spend a lot of time together.” She takes a deep breath and steadies herself.

“It only took a month before things began to become suspect. Darris is an intensely charismatic man, and he charmed my mother and sister instantly. But I was more hesitant. He was not the man I had spent the last three years getting to know. I had resigned myself to a loveless marriage, but a marriage of respect and decency nonetheless. I didn’t know Darris, and I was expected to…marry him in so little time. A year is nothing! I was reluctant, and it showed. But I was also curious – what had happened to my betrothed? His brother was still at the palace, making life difficult. He is possibly the worst person I have ever met in my life, cruel, arrogant, and stupid.”

“He sounds terrible,” Adannar says softly, his expression still inscrutable. Serahlin nods, then bites her lip.

“I never found what happened, because while I was distracted and distant, Elvara was seizing the opportunity. She went to our mother and said she would be a better candidate for marriage with Darris. She should be made heir over me. And mother agreed.” Her voice trembles and she fumbles with her hair, biting back tears.

“When I was told, I was horrified. Relieved I did not have to marry Darris, but my baby sister, she…I protected her from court, I did everything in my power to protect her, that is the only reason she was where she was, and she used that position to stab me in the back. I was distraught, I wanted to be alone. When Falon’din found me, I was in no mood to be played. He grabbed me, demanded I look at him – which I did, as I backhanded him.”

Adannar’s eyes widen, “I know that was a very dangerous thing for you to do, but I would have liked to have seen that.”

She shakes her head, unable to hold back tears any longer, “He said terrible things, hitting me back. And after my inability to play nice with Darris…he convinced my mother I would serve the alliance better as a sacrifice. And my mother…agreed.” Her voice breaks and her tears begin to flow freely as she cries. Adannar takes her into his harms.

“No, no, no, I cannot believe…what kind of mother…no,” his horror is palpable and strangely welcome. It is the horror she wanted more to feel around her, what she had expected her own mother to feel when Falon’din had suggested it, even when Elvara had suggested supplanting her.

“I was locked away and-and only loyal guards and spies came to my rescue. My queen-mother was content to let me die, my sister…my memae had long been dead, and I was alone. They stuck me on a horse, and I ran.” Her voice breaks and disappears as she succumbs to her sobs, leaning into Adannar. He holds her tight and runs his hand through her hair in comfort while whispering sweet nothings to her.

She collapses into him, and it feels right to let him lift her completely into his lap. She gives him all her sorrow and heartbreak, her terror and horror that her own family would betray her like that. She gives him her gratitude and her amazement, the burgeoning love for him she is beginning to feel.

He holds her through it all, making her feel more loved here than she ever felt back home, surrounded by people who should have cared. Memae had cared, but Memae had also died. Ironic that when she felt more alone in a palace, constantly surrounded by people, than she does in the forest with only Adannar and his strange mechanical creatures to keep her company.

She stays in his arms for a long time, even after she stops crying. Adannar is warm, and he doesn’t seem to mind simply holding her even after the main tumult of her emotions pass. Eventually, Serahlin sighs and looks up at him. She guides his face to hers and kisses him sweetly, thanking him for listening to her.

He leans his forehead against hers and sighs, his grip tightening just slightly, “You deserve love and trust,” he whispers. There is an emotion in his voice she cannot quite place, but it almost feels like heartbreak.

Adannar stays late that night, holding her in her bed, stroking her hair. It soothes her into a sweet sleep, and when she wakes, he is gone.

Serahlin goes about her normal morning routine – dressing, collecting eggs from the coop, and tidying up a bit. Normally, Adannar arrives while she is tending to the chickens, but he must be running late today. Perhaps he slept in to make up for staying so late at the cottage? Should she have told him he was welcomed to stay? Because he was, and she hates to think he endangered himself by leaving so late at night.

It’s probably nothing, she tells herself, and continues with her day. She has a breakfast of eggs and toast then heads out to tend to her garden. It is midday when she begins to worry. Was it wrong of her to tell him why she is hiding in the forest? Or that she is likely to leave at some point? Is this her doing?

It’s hard to believe that Adannar would abandon her now, after everything he has done. By that logic, she fears something has happened to him.

Concerned, Serahlin heads back inside and dresses in her thickest leather breeches and boots and dons a tunic that feels like it has an old protective enchantment on it. She pulls her hair back and under a hat before heading outside.

Huirin, the mechanical deer that likes to linger around the cottage, is sniffing around the chicken coop, its eyes darting in curiosity to the chickens and then to Serahlin.

“Huirin,” she calls. It lifts its head up, ears forward in attention.

“I need you to take me to Adannar,” she tells it. Strange enough, it bobs its head, similar to a nod and turns to walk into the forest. It looks back at her, waiting to see if she will follow. She saddles and mounts her horse, then follows Huirin into the forest.

Without Adannar by her side, the forest takes on a more sinister feeling. She feels eyes upon her, watching her every movement, like the spirits and animals of the forest know that without one of their one with her, she is fair game. But she rides tall, and follows Huirin, keeping her eye out for Adannar. He could be lying in the dirt, needing assistance. While she has gotten stronger, she is unsure if she would be able to lift him onto Velini, her horse. But she will try and she will help him in any way she can – it’s the least she can do after everything he has done for her.

It is not long until they reach his waterfall. This is the farthest into the forest she has gone, and Adannar’s words from the first night echo in her head.

“Do not go past the waterfall to the west.”

But Huirin is moving past it, and she knows that whatever is to come, she must face it with a brave face and a braver heart. Adannar may need her.