The Beginning

“It’s nice to finally see you in person,” he said, his tone carrying an almost conversational ease. But then his gaze narrowed slightly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his perfect lips. “I must admit... you’re not quite what I imagined. You’re more... frail.”

That did it. My guard snapped into place like clockwork. I straightened, squaring my shoulders as my hand drifted down toward my side, where my staff usually rested. My fingers brushed against nothing but the fabric of my robe—I’d left it leaning against the kitchen wall. I clenched my jaw, already cursing myself for the lapse.

“Do I know you?” I asked, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel my pulse quickening. There was no way this man was here for a casual chat, not with the way he carried himself, too composed, too confident. It wasn’t just the eerie perfection of his appearance—there was an undeniable weight to him, a presence that made the air feel heavier, tighter, like a predator sizing up its prey.

His smile widened slightly, as if my question amused him. “No,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “but I know you. Quite well, in fact.”

That sent an involuntary shiver down my spine, but I didn’t let it show. “You’ve got the advantage, then,” I replied, my voice calm but edged with suspicion. “Mind telling me who you are?”

“Oh, I think you’ve already figured out that I’m not just anyone,” he said, his tone still maddeningly casual. His golden eyes locked onto mine, and for the briefest moment, I felt something—like a flicker of heat, a flash of darkness just beneath his flawless surface. “But let’s not ruin the surprise just yet.”

The man’s smile widened, as though he were savoring a private joke only he understood. “You know,” he began, his voice light, deliberate, “it really is remarkable to see you in person. Your reputation doesn’t do you justice.”

I stiffened, my hand tightening on the doorframe. “Reputation?”

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” he replied smoothly, taking a step closer but staying just outside the threshold. His gaze flicked toward the house, his hand gesturing lazily, as though it contained some grand story only he could see. “A woman with your vast knowledge of spells, your… impressive mana pool—something most mages would trade their lives for—and the wit to outlast all the others in this dangerous little game of yours. Truly remarkable, Thalia.”

His tone was casual, but every word came with an edge sharp enough to slice. My eyes narrowed, my guard snapping into place. “I get by,” I said flatly, giving him nothing.

He chuckled softly, a sound that grated more than soothed. “Come now, there’s no need for such humility. Do you realize how rare someone like you is? All these years, dragging your brother around, doing the hard work while he… well, hacks at things. A little muscle, a lot of noise. It’s no wonder he’s still alive. He owes that to you.”

That one struck a nerve. It wasn’t just the jab at Roderick—it was the way he twisted our partnership into something unrecognizable, as if I carried all the weight. My chest tightened with irritation, but there was something worse underneath—a flicker of pride I couldn’t quite shove down. Because, in some ways, he wasn’t wrong. Roderick was strong, yes, but without me—without my spells, my planning, my adaptability—he wouldn’t have made it this far. I knew that.

But hearing it from this stranger, in this way, made it feel like poison.

“You think you’ve got me figured out,” I said, crossing my arms, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Do you?”

His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head. “Figured out?” he echoed, his tone dripping with mock curiosity. “No, Thalia, you’re far more complicated than that. But one thing is clear: you’re a rarity. A true gem. The kind of mage most only hear about in stories.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, his smile softening as though it carried genuine admiration. “It must feel satisfying, though, doesn’t it? Knowing that without you, so many would have fallen. Knowing just how integral you are.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but the words caught in my throat. He was wrong—or he had to be. This wasn’t about pride. It never had been. It was about survival, about keeping Roderick alive, making sure he came home to his family every time. I did the work because someone had to. Didn’t I?

But that quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered, He’s not entirely wrong.

“I’m just doing my job,” I said finally, my tone firmer, willing the haze of his words to clear from my mind. But even as I said it, his gaze lingered on me, like smoke curling around my thoughts, refusing to dissipate.

His smile widened, his posture casual, victorious. “Of course,” he said, his voice a silken thread wrapping around the air between us. “You’re just doing your job. The hardest job of all.”

“Especially your last job,” he continued, his tone warm and knowing, as though he were speaking to an old friend about a shared secret. His smile widened, and for a fleeting moment, something shifted.

The air around him grew heavier, colder, and his perfect features rippled—just slightly, but enough. Enough for me to see what lay beneath. His eyes darkened, glowing faintly with an otherworldly light, and his smooth, flawless skin cracked, revealing something raw and jagged underneath. Shadows curled around him, twisting and writhing like living things, and his smile stretched unnaturally wide, revealing rows of too-sharp teeth.

It was only a flicker, a split second, but it was enough to send a chill racing down my spine. My grip on the doorframe tightened, my instincts screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something.

“Morning, Aunt Thalia,” a soft, sleepy voice broke through the moment like sunlight piercing a storm cloud. I turned sharply, and there was Breon, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn as he shuffled into view. “Is there someone outside?” he asked, scratching his head.

My breath caught for a second before I forced myself to smile. “Everything’s fine,” I said quickly, my voice steadier than I expected. “Go back inside, Breon.”

He blinked up at me, his curiosity not quite gone, but he nodded sleepily and turned back toward the house.

I turned back to face the man, but the threshold was empty now. My stomach dropped as my gaze swept over where he had stood just moments ago.

In his place lay Katsuro’s severed head, resting grotesquely on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring back at me.

For a moment, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. Katsuro’s severed head rested on the ground, his eyes still open, lifeless and dull, but unmistakably his. The greatest swordsman I had ever known, the man who could deflect strikes in his sleep and who moved through battlefields like a storm, was now… this.

My chest tightened, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. My eyes flicked over the grotesque sight, half-expecting him to blink, to crack a dry joke about how bad my reaction was, to somehow not be dead. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Katsuro. Gone.

Shock settled into me like a stone dropped into a deep well, sinking fast. For all the horrors I’d seen, the monsters, the deaths, the close calls—this felt wrong. More wrong than anything I’d encountered before. I’d fought beside him, seen him survive wounds that would kill anyone else, watched him best opponents twice his size and thrice his strength. And yet, here he was.

Just his head.

I felt the edges of my lips twitch, like my body couldn’t decide whether to let out a gasp, a scream, or a curse. My hand clenched against the doorframe, nails digging into the wood. It wasn’t just the loss—it was the insult. The sheer audacity of it. Katsuro, of all people, reduced to this? By what? Or worse—by him?

My thoughts spun, too fast and too jagged to pin down. I’d just spoken to Katsuro. He’d hugged me goodbye, told me to be careful, said he was worried about me. And now... this.

I clenched my jaw, forcing the bile in my throat back down. My stomach churned, my body tight with a mix of rage and disbelief. My vision blurred for a moment before snapping back into focus.

“No,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head slightly as if that could undo the image before me. “No, this isn’t real. It’s a trick.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated myself for it. But my fingers gripped tighter, my knuckles whitening as I forced myself to think past the haze.

Katsuro wouldn’t go down like this, I told myself, swallowing hard. But the part of me that had survived all these years, the part that knew better, whispered the truth I didn’t want to hear: he could. And someone—or something—had made it happen.

And if it could kill Katsuro, it could kill me, Roderick, Breon—any of us.

The air in the room was suffocating. The same table where we’d shared Elara’s delicious stew last night, where laughter and warmth had filled the space, now felt cold, hollow. In the center of the table sat Katsuro’s severed head, his lifeless eyes staring ahead, a grim centerpiece that no one could look at for too long, yet no one could ignore.

Elara sat at the far end, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a steaming mug of tea. She hadn’t said a word since Roderick and I brought it in, her face pale, her usual calm shattered. Roderick sat across from me, his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight as he stared at the table without really seeing it.

I finally broke the silence, my voice low, careful, but edged with frustration. “I don’t understand. How does someone like Katsuro end up like... that? He was—” I gestured sharply toward the head, then clenched my fist, unable to find the words. “He is—was—the best swordsman I’ve ever known. There’s no one better. So how?”

Roderick shook his head, exhaling sharply. “It doesn’t make sense. Katsuro doesn’t lose. Not like this. It doesn’t happen.” His voice was steady, but I could see the faint flicker of doubt creeping into his eyes. “Whoever—whatever—did this wasn’t playing by normal rules.”

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Elara finally spoke, her voice soft but carrying a weight that made us both turn to her. “You brought it here. Why?” Her gaze flicked to me, her fear and confusion barely masked. “Why didn’t you leave it where it was?”

I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. “Because it’s not just about Katsuro,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. “This is a message. Whoever left it—he—wanted me to see it.”

Roderick’s brow furrowed. “Him? The man at the door?” He sat up straighter, his fists tightening on the table. “What the hell happened, Thalia? You haven’t told me everything.”

I let out a sharp breath, leaning forward, elbows on the table as I stared at Katsuro’s head. “He knocked on the door. He knew me. My name, my spells, my... everything. He called me frail, complimented my mana pool, twisted every word into some smug, self-righteous commentary.” My voice tightened as I continued. “And then, after all of that, I turn around for one second—for one second—and when I turn back, he’s gone, and this is here.” I pointed at the head, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface now.

Elara’s voice was faint but steady. “You think he killed Katsuro.”

I nodded. “I don’t just think it. I know it. And if someone can do this to Katsuro...” My words trailed off as I glanced at Roderick, letting the implication hang in the air.

Roderick’s fists slammed onto the table, the sound jolting all of us. “Not to us,” he said firmly, his voice hard as steel. “No one’s doing this to us.”

For once, I envied his certainty. But I couldn’t share it. Not after what I’d seen. Not after what had been left behind.

Elara’s voice broke the silence, soft and steady, cutting through the tension like a thread of calm in the storm. “Thalia,” she began, her hands resting on the edge of the table, fingers trembling slightly. “If this man—whoever he is—knows where you are now, then surely he knows where you are at any time.”

I felt the weight of her words sink in, each syllable pulling me down. I opened my mouth to respond, but the look in her eyes stopped me. There was no anger there, no blame—just a quiet plea, layered with something deeper, something more painful.

“I’ve always treated you like a sister,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now, but each word hit like a hammer. “You are my sister, Thalia. By blood or not. You always have been.” Her gaze softened, but there was a rawness behind it that I hadn’t seen before. “But in this house, I need safety. Not for me. Not for Roderick.” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly as she finished. “For Breon.”

The room fell silent again, but this time the stillness was unbearable. I felt my chest tighten, my throat dry, as her words settled over me like a heavy blanket. She was right. Of course she was right.

This man—this thing—wasn’t just dangerous. He was after me. And wherever I stayed, danger would follow. Katsuro’s head on their table was proof enough of that. If I stayed here, if I lingered even a day longer, I’d be putting them all in his path.

I clenched my fists on the table, the resolve settling in like a weight in my chest. Elara didn’t need to ask me to leave. I already knew I had to. But hearing it from her, seeing the worry in her eyes, the way her voice shook when she spoke of Breon—it made the decision feel like a sharp knife twisting in my gut.

I nodded slowly, standing up from the table, though I couldn’t meet her gaze right away. “You’re right,” I said finally, my voice low, steady. “This man is after me. He’s dangerous, and... I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

Roderick opened his mouth to protest, but I shot him a look that stopped him cold. “Don’t argue, Roderick. You know this is the only way. Breon deserves a home that’s safe. That’s yours to give him—not mine.”

Elara reached out, her hand brushing mine as I finally looked her in the eyes. “You’ve always protected us,” she said softly. “Let us do the same for you now.”

I swallowed hard, nodding again as I felt a rare ache in my chest. I forced myself to pull my hand away and straighten my shoulders. “Then I’ll leave before nightfall,” I said. “I can’t promise you he won’t come back, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t find me here again.”

Elara nodded, her expression unreadable but filled with quiet strength. And in that moment, I knew I’d made the right decision, even if it felt like the hardest one I’d ever made.

Roderick’s fists tightened on the table, his jaw set in a way I’d seen countless times before. “You’re not doing this alone,” he said firmly, his voice steady but brimming with determination. “I’m coming with you.”

I sighed, already expecting this. “Roderick—”

“No,” he interrupted, standing up and leaning forward over the table. “Don’t start with me. You’re strong, sure, but this? This is different. That bastard left Katsuro’s head on our table, Thalia. You think I’m going to let you go out there alone, knowing what’s after you?”

Elara looked between us, her face pale but resolute. “He’s right, Thalia,” she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. “Let him go with you. He’s your brother. He can protect you.” She reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. “And I can keep Breon safe here.”

I shook my head, forcing a small smile despite the weight pressing down on me. “It’s not about that. It’s not about how strong Roderick is—because he’s strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. But that’s exactly why he can’t come with me.”

Roderick frowned, his hands pressing flat against the table. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” I said, my voice firm but calm, “that this man—this thing—is after me. Not you. Not Elara. Not Breon. Me.” I looked him in the eye, my tone unwavering. “If you leave, who’s going to protect them? Who’s going to keep Breon safe when someone tries to take advantage of this mess? You think Elara can do it alone?”

Elara opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand. “Elara, you’re strong, but Roderick is the wall. He’s the shield. Without him, this home is vulnerable, and I’m not risking that. I’m not risking them.”

Roderick’s face twisted in frustration. “And what about you? Who’s going to watch your back out there?”

I smiled faintly, crossing my arms. “I’ve been doing this longer than I care to admit, Roderick. I know how to stay alive. I know how to fight, how to think, how to keep moving. It’s what I’ve always done.” My gaze softened, just slightly. “But you? You’re the reason this house feels like a fortress. You’re the reason Breon can sleep safely at night. If you come with me, who protects them?”

Roderick hesitated, his frustration clear, but the logic of my words settling in. He let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair as he sat back down. Elara’s hand found his, squeezing it gently.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked finally, his voice quieter, almost defeated.

I nodded. “I’m sure. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep moving. I won’t stay in one place long enough for him to catch up.” I leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze. “But this is the only way, Roderick. You know that.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at the table, his jaw working. Finally, he nodded, though his eyes held a stubborn glint that told me this wasn’t over for him.

Elara exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “You’ve always looked out for us,” she said. “Just promise us you’ll look out for yourself too.”

I gave her a small, tired smile. “That’s the plan.”

It was almost time for me to leave, and the weight of it was pressing harder with each passing minute. The house felt heavy, too quiet. I stepped outside, letting the cooler air clear my head, and that’s when I saw Breon.

He was in the yard, standing with his hands raised, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The faint shimmer of mana flickered around him, unstable and uneven, as he tried to conjure a shield spell. His brows furrowed, and the spell dissipated with a faint pop, leaving him standing there, frustrated but determined.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what had happened last night, or what was coming, or why I was about to leave. Part of me was grateful for that. But another part—one I didn’t want to acknowledge—ached at the thought of walking away without telling him.

I approached quietly, crossing my arms as I watched him for a moment. “Too much force,” I said, breaking the silence.

Breon jumped, spinning around to face me. “Aunt Thalia! I—I didn’t see you there.”

I smiled faintly, stepping closer. “You’re trying to brute-force it,” I said, gesturing toward the remnants of his failed spell. “Shield spells aren’t about power. They’re about precision.”

Breon huffed, brushing the back of his hand against his forehead. “I know that,” he muttered, “but it’s hard to get it right.”

“Of course it is,” I replied. “It’s one of the hardest spells to master. But you don’t need to push so much mana into it. It’s like… weaving. Delicate, careful, controlled. Too much, and you’ll unravel the whole thing.”

He frowned, clearly trying to absorb my words. “Weaving?”

I nodded, taking a step beside him. “Here, watch.” I raised my hand, letting a faint glow of mana gather at my palm. “You start small. A steady flow. Just enough to lay the foundation. Like this.”

A shimmering dome of light began to form around my hand, thin and translucent at first, but solidifying as I carefully fed more energy into it. “See how it grows? You build it piece by piece, layer by layer, letting it strengthen itself.”

Breon watched intently, his frustration fading into curiosity. “You make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” I said, lowering my hand and letting the shield dissolve. “It took me years to get it right. But you? You’ve got the potential to get there a lot faster.”

He looked at me, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he nodded, raising his hands again, this time with a new focus. His breathing steadied, and I watched as the faint shimmer of mana began to take shape, steadier now, less erratic. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

“Better,” I said, giving him an approving nod. “Keep practicing. You’ll get it.”

Breon lowered his hands, looking up at me with a hesitant smile. “Thanks, Aunt Thalia. You’re... really good at this.”

I ruffled his hair, letting out a soft laugh. “Of course I am. Now keep at it. One day, you’ll be better than me.”

He grinned, clearly pleased, and turned back to his practice. As I stepped back, watching him work with renewed determination, a pang of bittersweet pride settled in my chest. Breon didn’t know what was coming, but at least I could leave knowing I’d helped him, even in a small way.

The sun had dipped low on the horizon, and the shadows stretched long over Hollowbrook. The warm glow of the lanterns flickered against the deepening blue of the sky as I stood by the gate, my pack slung over my shoulder, ready to leave. Breon was still in the yard, practicing spells, his brow furrowed with concentration, completely unaware of what was happening behind him.

Roderick and Elara were waiting for me, their faces etched with a mixture of worry and quiet strength. The silence between us stretched for a moment before Roderick broke it, his voice low. “You’re sure about this?”

I nodded, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. “You know I am. This is the only way.”

Elara stepped forward, reaching out to grasp my hand. Her touch was warm, firm, and grounding. “Promise us you’ll be safe,” she said softly, her voice trembling just slightly. “I know you can handle yourself, Thalia, but just… promise.”

I managed a small smile, squeezing her hand gently. “I promise, Elara.”

Roderick stepped closer, pulling me into a bear hug that nearly knocked the breath out of me. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he muttered, his voice thick. “That’s my job.”

I laughed softly against his shoulder, patting his back. “You’re better at it than I am anyway.”

When he finally let go, Elara hugged me too, her arms wrapping tightly around me. “You’ll come back, right?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “When this is over,” I said firmly. “When it’s safe.”

Elara nodded, though her worry remained etched into her features. Roderick gave me one last look, the protective older brother mask slipping into place even though he knew he couldn’t stop me. “You’ve got this,” he said. “I know you do.”

I stepped back, turning toward the gate, but before I could take my first step out of Hollowbrook, I raised my staff and closed my eyes. The words of the incantation flowed from my lips, ancient and precise, as the mana surged through me.

A soft, golden glow radiated from my staff, rippling outward in waves. The air around Hollowbrook seemed to shimmer and hum with energy as the protective spell took form. Invisible shields encased the entire village, laced with intricate protective runes that glowed faintly for a moment before fading from sight.

This was no simple spell. It was powerful, draining, and meant to hold against even the most fearsome threats. Only someone with a mana pool greater than mine could break it—and at this point, that meant only one thing: demons. If anyone or anything crossed that threshold with hostile intent, the spell would activate, its magic calling me back to defend them.

I opened my eyes, the glow fading from my staff as the spell settled into place. My breath hitched, a brief wave of exhaustion washing over me, but I steadied myself, looking back at Roderick and Elara. “If anything happens, I’ll know,” I said. “And I’ll come.”

Elara nodded, her eyes glistening, and Roderick gave a firm, approving nod.

With one last look at them—and a glance back at Breon, still practicing in the yard, blissfully unaware—I turned and stepped through the gate, the weight of the spell behind me and the road stretching ahead.

It was time to go.

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To be continued