4. A Nightmare and An injured Man

With a soft click, the door to Elowen’s rented room closed and she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Elowen.

She hadn’t been known by that name in years, yet here she was.

Concealing her identity from the guild master, even in a town as far out as this one, wouldn’t last long. The guild’s network rivaled that of The Sanctum of the Eternal Spark, who had their fingers in every corner of this kingdom.

But the guild master hadn’t recognized her. Had no clue about her family.

She asked him, politely, to refrain from using her given name. When he inquired what she preferred instead, she didn’t hesitate.

“Crow.”

Once a loving nickname, now a keepsake. A tether to a family that no longer existed.

The family her father had viciously torn away from her.

She slumped against the door, the weight of the night clinging to her like a damp cloth. Her mind flickered back to him—those green eyes, the flicker of pain that passed through them when she mentioned he was an aether-shade.

“Let’s just say that the guild members and I both prefer this arrangement.”

She hadn't expected to meet someone like him here. Not in a guild.

Her fingers absently found the magical codex fastened to her belt. Smooth, rune-etched leather met her touch, pulsing faintly in response.

A reminder.

This was destiny she never asked for.

Her heart beat with a new resolve as she forced herself upright, gaze flickering to the window. The moon hung high, bathing the town in cold silver light. It reminded her of another night—months ago now, when she had wandered into the ruins. Lost in the promise of discovery, she’d been careless. The bite of a blade against her palm, the way the world had slipped away, the gods’ voices speaking her name with eerie certainty. A forced unveiling. A fate decided for her.

She shook her head and placed the codex on the rickety bedside table, preparing for sleep. She had a long day ahead of her tomorrow.

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Crow awoke with a sharp inhale, her heart hammering against her ribs. A nightmare clung to the edges of her mind, far too vivid to shake off.

Green eyes. Wide with something beyond fear. A shadowed maw had closed around him, jagged fangs sinking into his flesh, and then—

She let out a shaky breath, hands covering her face.

“It wasn’t real,” She reminded herself, “It couldn’t be real.”

The room was still. Creaking floorboards and muffled speaking the only things that could be heard.

The guild was safe.

Her room was safe.

And yet…

A shiver crept down her spine. Instinct screamed at her. The feeling wouldn’t leave.

Before she could second-guess herself, she dressed hastily, throwing on her cloak and strapping her weapons in place with practiced ease.The guild’s corridors were silent as she slipped through them and out into the streets. The cold air bit at her skin as she made her way through the town. Aetherlight lanterns flickered dimly, casting elongated shadows as she moved.

She wasn’t sure where she was going—Not until she saw it.

The lone cottage overlooking the gate’s entrance, right where the guild master said it’d be.

She picked up her pace, ignoring the rational voice in her mind telling her she was being ridiculous. He’d seemed more than capable—even without mana. She barely knew him, only his name. Rowan.

And yet she was here, trekking through the woods at night for a stranger.

"What am I even going to do when I get to his door?"

Then, she smelled it.

Blood.

Her pulse spiked. Her eyes darted around the clearing— No. A silver sword. Its hilt all too familiar.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

A curse slipped from her lips as she scanned the area. Two beings had bled here. One far more than the other. Swallowing hard, her feet carried her forward before she could think.

She saw it. She saw the way he staggered after the bite, the way his hands trembled. Whatever had attacked him wasn’t just any beast. He had no chance, hell most low rank adventures wouldn’t have had a chance.

The door to the cottage wasn’t even fully closed when she got there. The scent of blood thickened as she stepped inside.

The room was a mess—furniture overturned, papers scattered. But she only had eyes for the dark, drying stains splattered across the floor. A trail.

Her stomach twisted as she followed it, her breath caught in chest when it.

When she saw him.

Rowan—half-conscious, slumped against the wall. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his body trembling with an unfamiliar tension. His vest was torn, exposing the raw, jagged wound on his shoulder. The bleeding had stopped. That was the only relief she found.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her mind racing.

“What happened to you?” She whispered, pressing a hand to his forehead, feverish heat meeting her fingertips.

“That dream.”

Her blood was ice. She had a sinking suspicion she already knew.

Steeling herself, she narrowed her gaze. Mana sight. A skill once described to her as seeing the ebb and flow of the world’s magic.

She needed to know.

She needed to know the severity of the wound.

If magic remaining in the bite was steadily poisoning him or not.

Inky tendrils of something dark clung to him, curling through his veins like a sickness.

But beneath them, something else—

A deep, thrumming violet light. Spreading outward, like roots taking hold. As if his body was being rewritten. As if he had been unveiled overnight, no. He had awakened a dormant magic, that was the only explanation.

Crow didn’t waste another second.

Pressing a hand to his shoulder, mana pooled in her palm. Soft light pulsed against torn flesh, knitting it back together inch by inch. She could fix injuries, sure, but she couldn’t cure curses. This particular skill-Umbral Restoration– seemed to be able to siphon mana to force cellular regeneration. But, it typically left the beneficiary exhausted. When she unlocked the skill, one of the voices from the void had whispered for her to activate it when she nearly broke her ankle in the ruins.

The breath hitched in her throat as she heard bones crack, shifting back into place. He must have taken something to heal.

The moment his bones reset, Rowan’s body jerked violently. His eyes snapped open—wild, untamed, in pain.

For a split second, he didn’t look human.

Before Crow could react, a feral snarl ripped from his throat as he moved with impossible speed, throwing himself away from her.

He crashed against the far wall, breath ragged, pupils were blown wide with panic.

He wasn’t seeing her. He was reacting. Surviving.

“Hey—” she started, raising her hands in a placating gesture, “I’m not going to hurt you, we met at the guild earlier, remember?”

He didn’t move, glaring at her down.

Suddenly, his lips curled back, showing just how sharp his canines had become. His hands flexed—claws, now. His breathing was all wrong, too fast, too panicked. He wasn’t listening. He was spiraling.

“Damn it.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said gently, slowly lowering herself to the ground. Deliberate. Non-threatening. “You’re safe.”

Still, he trembled, his claws digging into the wooden floor.

She swallowed back her fear, and perhaps her common sense, before she made one more attempt to get through to him. Making a split-second decision, she unfastened her daggers and let them clatter to the floor between them. His eyes flicked to them, then back to her.

“See? Not here to hurt you.” Her voice was calm, steady, even as her heart pounded. “You’re okay.”

He wasn’t responding, seeming to go more feral by the second. His chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, the wildness still clawing at the edges of his expression.

This was bad. She didn’t want to hurt him, or for anyone else to. She knew this wasn’t him, this was whatever he was forced to be.

With her tone remaining steady she spoke again, “Rowan.”

His entire body stiffened.

His gaze snapping to hers, after what felt like an eternity, something changed. The feral edge softened. The tension in his shoulders loosened just slightly.

Recognition flickered in his eyes.

“Aurelia,” his posture sagged, his breaths slowing, his pupils shrinking back to something almost human.

She paused at the use of her surname but she nodded.

“Yes, we met earlier, remember?”

Rowan swallowed hard, hands trembling. He looked at himself—his hands, the claws, the blood, the torn fabric.

“I…” His voice was hoarse as he slumped back against the wall. “What…what happened?”

Crow exhaled, tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“You tell me.”

Rowan scanned the wreckage of his room before looking down at his hands, fingers trembled as the claws shrank back into what they had been once before.

“…Shit.”

It was barely more than a breath. His head fell back against the wall. Then, absurdly, he muttered in a guilty tone, "Sorry about the mess."

Crow paused.

Then she laughed.

She tried to keep it together, of all things to worry about, he chose the mess in his house.

“You’re really something, Mister Ashford.” She shook her head and sat down beside him.

Without thinking, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over his forehead, checking for a fever. A simple, grounding gesture. Something small, but enough.

“Elowen?” he said softly, causing her to tense and pull away her hand.

“I haven’t used that name in some time,” She muttered, “Just call me Crow.”

He raised an eyebrow but nodded, “Just Rowan, then.”

She looked over to see an exhausted smile, and somehow she knew.

This was just the beginning, of what?

She wasn’t sure.