#aretuza

The first arrow had grazed her ribs, just another wound to add to the countless ones she already bore. But the second had struck deeply. The pain roared through her as she staggered forward, her left knee nearly giving out beneath her. The dimeritium-tipped arrow was buried deep in the joint, its cursed metal burning against her flesh, rendering her magic useless. She clenched her teeth, pushing forward, her vision blurring at the edges. There was only one option left. One last desperate chance.

The air crackled as she threw her hands forward, summoning what little strength she had left. A portal, but not to anywhere specific because she didn’t have time to choose. Just somewhere else. Anywhere far away from this cursed forest.

The portal snapped into existence before her, swirling in deep shades of violet and black. It flickered unstably, because her magic was weak, all reserves nearly drained. But unexpectedly she felt a pull, that was beyond any logic or reason. However it screamed to her safety.

She didn’t hesitate, as she threw herself through and fell.

-

Nesta hit the ground hard. The cold sting of marble met her body, and for a few fleeting seconds, she didn’t move. Everything seemed so quiet. Not the kind of silence she was used to, that preceded danger, that warned of predators lurking in the dark. No, this was different. A calm quiet.

But, pain screamed through her knee as she tried to move. Carefully, she forced herself onto her elbows, blinking rapidly against the dim candlelight flickering overhead. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The smooth stone beneath her hands, the lingering scent of ink and perfume in the air, the heavy presence of power that hummed like a second heartbeat in the room. Aretuza.

Her bloodied hands left smears on the pristine floor, when suddenly she heard measured, but hurried footsteps. The young woman barely had time to lift her head before the looming figure of Tissaia de Vries stepped into view.

The sorceress was as composed as ever, her blue robes untouched by the chaos and dirt Nesta had dragged in with her. Those blue, sharp, calculating eyes swept over her, taking in the injuries, the filth, the clear signs of battle. And yet, her expression remained unreadable.

Nesta tried to move, to push herself up, but her body betrayed her. Her knee buckled, and she barely bit back a cry as fresh pain flared.

The great and legendary Rectoress of Aretuza simply observed the stranger in her own quarters. "Who are you?" she asked finally, voice smooth and controlled. "Explain. Now."

Nesta gritted her teeth. "Hunted." she forced out, fingers curling against the marble. "I opened a portal."

Tissaia tilted her head slightly. "And you chose my quarters to make your escape?"

Not by choice. Not consciously, at least. She thought, but the words wouldn’t come. Her body trembled from exhaustion, the effects of dimeritium spreading like poison through her veins.

Tissaia sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. She knelt beside Nesta, one hand ghosting over the wound at her knee before stopping. "Dimeritium." A flick of her fingers and a pulse of magic surrounded them. "Foolish girl." she muttered, as if Nesta had a choice in where she landed.

The young woman wanted to snap back, to summon whatever strength she had left for a retort, but darkness was already creeping at the edges of her vision. Tissaia’s face was the last thing she saw before unconsciousness took her.

-

Pain was the first thing she felt when she woke. A dull, throbbing ache in her knee, in her ribs, in every part of her body that had been pushed too far. But there was warmth, too. A soft bed beneath her, the scent of herbs lingering in the air. She wasn’t dead.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring at a stone ceiling. Not the sky, not the forest, but the great Aretuza.

She shifted slightly, wincing as pain flared up her bandaged leg. Someone had tended to her. Her thoughts snapped into focus as movement caught her eye. Across the room, standing beside a polished wooden desk, Tissaia de Vries watched her.

Her robes were different now, deeper blue, her dark hair pinned back with precise elegance. Her gaze remained unreadable, though there was something in the way she observed Nesta that made her uneasy.

"You are awake." Tissaia noted.

Nesta licked her dry lips. "Observant."

The Rectoress arched a brow, but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she moved closer, each step precise and small. "Your knee is useless for now. The dimeritium damage will take time to heal."

Nesta exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. "Perfect."

Tissaia’s gaze flickered briefly to the girl’s trembling fingers. There was defiance in the tone, but beneath it, hidden pain. “You should be grateful.” she said, voice smooth but distant. “Had you landed anywhere else, you would have bled out by now.”

The girl tensed, moving slightly against the pillows. “I didn’t choose to land here.”

Tissaia’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. "Didn’t you?" The words came softer than expected, but laced with something dangerous and knowing. Even as she said it, a flicker of unease stirred within her. No one could enter her quarters unbidden. Not even the most gifted of her students. The wards she had laid were old and unyielding, tied to her very essence. And yet this girl had appeared, broken and bleeding, as if the rules of the world had bent to deliver her.

The air still hummed faintly with chaos. She had felt a strange, irresistible current that had guided her back to the stranger sprawled across her. It had been centuries since Tissaia felt anything like it. A compulsion that wasn’t born of will, but something deeper. And now, standing over her, she felt it again. That subtle tug beneath her ribs. As if it wasn’t only chaos, but something more. 

She forced herself to steady, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves. What are you? Tissaia wondered. 

Finally, she spoke again, her tone deceptively calm. “What’s your name?”

Nesta hesitated. It had been a long time since someone had asked for it without already knowing. A long time since her name had meant anything other than a whispered curse or a forgotten ghost. However, something about the woman’s gaze made lying feel pointless. “Nesta.” she muttered, voice hoarse.

There was a slight tilt of the sorceress’s head. Perhaps, an acknowledgment. “I am Tissaia de Vries.”

The name sent a shiver down her spine. She had heard of Tissaia before. Anyone with even a whisper of magic had. Aretuza’s strict and formidable rector, a woman whose control over chaos was said to be unparalleled.

Nesta swallowed hard. She didn't know why her magic had led her here, why safety had felt like this place. Like her. But it had and now she was at the mercy of the most disciplined and dangerous woman in Aretuza.

Tissaia studied her a moment longer before sighing. "You will remain here until you are well enough to stand."

"And if I refuse?" Nesta asked in defiance. 

Tissaia’s lips quirked slightly. "Then you may try to crawl out the door. I imagine it will be quite painful."

Nesta scowled but said nothing. She hated feeling weak. She hated that all perfect Tissaia, had seen her like this. But there was no denying the truth. She couldn’t leave. Not yet.

The older woman turned, moving toward the desk. "Rest, Miss Nesta. We will discuss the matter of your presence here when you are in a state to hold a conversation."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "And if I don't want to talk?"

Tissaia didn’t even glance back. "You will."