Chapter 15 - Threads of blame, roots of power

The morning the news broke, the village square felt different. It wasn’t just the smell of wet earth from last night’s rain or the gray clouds hanging low over the rooftops. It was the way people spoke in quick, hushed voices, the way they kept glancing toward the woods at the edge of the village, as though the trees themselves might step forward at any moment.

A woodcutter had been the first to see it. He’d come running into the village before dawn, face pale, shouting about something huge and black‑eyed lurking among the trees in Emberwood. Others claimed they’d heard howls, unnatural and guttural, echoing between the trunks. By mid‑morning, the rumors had grown—now there were three creatures, no, a whole pack, and one of them could spit fire.

Eirian listened from the edge of the square, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel. She didn’t need to strain to hear what the villagers were saying. Fear had a way of sharpening voices.

“They’ve never come this close before,” one man muttered, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Not in my lifetime.”

“It’s her,” an older woman whispered, not bothering to lower her voice. “All her strange magic, I told you that something like this will happen eventually, she angered the gods.”

Eirian felt her stomach knot. She’d heard things like this before—murmurs after every time she had done something extraordinary, after strange events no one could explain, like the time she had cured a boy and a tree had died because of it, but today the whispers felt heavier, sharper. Like the whole village was holding its breath, waiting for a reason to point fingers.

By evening, the tension snapped.

A farmer came sprinting down the road, half‑mad with panic. “They’ve killed my goats!” he shouted. “All of them—ripped apart! Tracks bigger than a man’s hands!”

The square erupted into chaos. People shouted over one another, some swearing to arm themselves, others insisting they flee. Someone threw a glance toward Eirian, and suddenly every eye seemed to follow.

“There she is,” came a shrill voice. Tomas’ mother stood near the well, her face twisted with something that looked more like triumph than fear. “You think this is just chance? Ever since she came, it’s been one strange thing after another. First she makes grow plants that shouldn’t be there, and then she heals what shouldn’t be healed. Now this.” She jabbed a finger toward Eirian. “You’ve brought a curse on us, girl.”

Eirian froze. Her throat felt tight, like she’d swallowed a stone.

“That’s enough,” one of Tomas’ sisters snapped, stepping forward. Her braid swung as she squared her shoulders, planting herself between Eirian and the growing crowd. “Sera saved our lives in more than one occasion, remember? Everyone used to be grateful, but since Tomas leave…”

“She’s dangerous!” one woman spat back. “Doesn’t act like a normal child, doesn’t talk like one either. You call that natural?”

Tomas’ other sister joined in, her voice shaking but firm. “Blaming her won’t stop what’s out there. You’re just scared.”

A few villagers muttered in agreement, but others looked away, unwilling to choose sides. Fear had its claws in them, and fear was easy to feed.

“After all I’ve done for you…” Sera’s voice was heard. “It’s good to know the way you think about my family.”

Some of the villagers looked guilty when Sera looked in their direction.

Eirian felt heat creeping up her neck. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but every word she thought of tangled in her chest. They didn’t know what she was. They couldn’t. And if they found out about Askariel—about the pact she’d made—the whispers would turn into torches.

The village chief finally stepped forward, raising a hand for silence. He was an older man, broad‑shouldered despite his age, with lines around his eyes carved deep from years of sun and wind.

“Enough,” he said, his voice carrying in the tense air. “We’ll deal with the creatures, but we won’t turn on each other. I’ll ride to Greyhaven tonight. If anyone can send help, it’s them.”

“You think they’ll listen?” someone called. “They’ve got their own problems. They won’t waste men on a forgotten village.”

“We won’t know until we ask,” the chief replied. “Until then, no one goes near Emberwood. Lock your doors at night, and keep your children close.”

The crowd began to disperse, muttering among themselves, but Eirian could still feel Tomas’ mother’s eyes burning into her as she left.

***

Later that night, the village was restless. Torches burned longer than usual, shadows swaying against the walls of thatched houses. Dogs barked at nothing. Even the wind felt wrong, carrying a faint, acrid smell that didn’t belong to the forest.

Eirian sat on the porch steps, her knees pulled to her chest. Sera was inside, trying to keep her hands busy with sewing, but the tension in her stitches gave her away. Orlen sat near the fire, silent as always, sharpening a blade he hadn’t used in months.

“You hear them too?” Sera asked quietly, stepping outside and sitting beside her.

Eirian nodded. Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose—long, low, and not quite like any wolf she’d ever heard.

“They’re afraid of what they don’t understand,” Sera murmured. “That’s always been true. But fear won’t keep them safe.”

Eirian didn’t reply. She could still feel the weight of the villagers’ accusation, as though the words had rooted themselves under her skin. Maybe it wasn’t entirely wrong. She was different. And Askariel’s presence in her soulspace had been growing restless all day, like the disturbances in Emberwood had stirred something in him too.

***

The next morning, the chief mounted his old bay horse, saddlebags stuffed with provisions for the road. Half the village gathered to see him off, their faces etched with worry. He gave Sera and Orlen a grim nod as he passed.

“I’ll bring back help if I can,” he said. “If not—keep watch. Don’t trust the woods.”

Eirian stood beside Sera, her fingers curled tight in her cloak. She watched the chief ride down the muddy path until he was nothing more than a shadow between the trees. Around her, the villagers lingered in uneasy silence.

For the first time since she’d come to the village, she felt the shape of the fear curling around her—sharp, heavy, and dangerous.

***

The chief returned at dusk, his horse lathered with sweat and foam streaking its flanks. His face, usually weathered but steady, was carved with a grimness that silenced the villagers even before he spoke.

“They won’t help us,” he said simply.

A murmur rippled through the crowd gathered in the square. “What do you mean they won’t help?” a farmer demanded, voice breaking.

“Greyhaven is under attack as well,” the chief continued. “Creatures just like ours. They can barely defend themselves, let alone send aid to a village this far out.”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then panic erupted—angry voices rising, men shouting at each other about who would fight and who would flee. Someone cursed the town, cursed the gods, cursed fate itself. Eirian stood near the back, Sera’s steady hand on her shoulder, but even from there she could feel the desperation rolling off the villagers in waves.

“They’ll kill us in our beds if we do nothing!” a burly man barked. “We need to take the fight to them. Hunt them down before they hunt us.”

Another man spat in the dirt. “And who’ll lead that? You? I’ve got a wife and three children. You want me to die for goats?”

The arguments spiraled until finally someone’s eyes landed on Orlen.

“You’ve fought before,” the burly man said. “You know weapons better than anyone here. You’re not just going to hide while the rest of us risk our necks, are you?”

Others joined in, nodding, pressing him with the weight of their stares. Orlen’s jaw tightened, his eyes hard as flint, but he didn’t respond right away. He looked at Sera, then at Eirian, and something in his expression faltered. Still, when the murmurs grew into demands, he gave a curt nod.

“I’ll join,” he said simply.

Eirian felt her stomach sink. Orlen wasn’t one for long speeches, but the decision in his voice was final.

That night, Sera sat at the table, her fingers moving with a precision that came only from years of practice. Small scraps of paper lay in neat stacks before her, along with sprigs of dried herbs, bits of charcoal, and tiny shards of polished stone. She brushed ink onto one talisman, the strokes firm and practiced, then pressed it between her palms as though sealing a prayer into it.

“You’ve done this before,” Eirian murmured from her seat by the hearth, watching her mother’s sure hands.

“Once,” Sera said softly. “During the war when I was in the church and formed part of the sisterhood. I never thought I’d have to again.”

Her voice didn’t waver, but there was a sadness in it, quiet but deep. She tied the talisman to a small length of cord, setting it gently atop the growing pile.

“We’ll give these to the families with the youngest children. The rest can go to the hunters.”

The fire crackled low in the hearth, the orange light casting flickering shadows across the room. Eirian pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the talismans as Sera worked. There was something steadying about watching her mother’s quiet strength, about the way she met fear with action.

But inside her, the storm was growing louder.

*You feel it too, don’t you?*

Askariel’s voice slithered through her mind like smoke curling in a dark room.

*Something is moving in the forest. Something old. It knows you, girl. It knows what you carry.*

“Stop talking,” she whispered under her breath, but the voice only grew stronger, more insistent.

*You think the villagers hate you now? Wait until they see what you really are. Wait until they see whose power burns in your veins.*

She pressed her palms to her ears, but the voice was inside her, twisting like a knife. The threads in her vision shuddered faintly, silver and green and red tangling together, humming in time with her racing pulse.

*Let me in. Let me take control. You can’t fight them all. But I can. We can.*

“No—” she hissed, but her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, Askariel’s voice didn’t sound like he always, something was making him more aggressive, as if he wasn’t in control of his actions.

The world around her blurred. Her fingers moved without her willing them, reaching toward the small knife lying on the table. Her body wasn’t her own—it was his. His laughter coiled in her chest, deep and guttural, spilling out of her throat in a sound that didn’t belong to her.

Sera turned, eyes narrowing in alarm.

“Eirian?”

That voice—her name—shattered the haze like a bell rung in a dark cave. Eirian jerked back, gasping, dropping the knife to the floor. Her hands trembled violently as she clutched them to her chest, her breath ragged.

The laughter faded, replaced by a low chuckle in the back of her mind.

*Closer than you think, girl. You’re not strong enough to keep me out forever.*

Eirian didn’t answer, her throat felt raw, her heart pounding as though it might break through her ribs.

Sera knelt in front of her, worry etched deep into her face.

“Sweetie,” she said gently, brushing a lock of hair from Eirian’s damp forehead, “what’s wrong?”

“I… I almost—” Eirian’s voice cracked. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “He tried to take me.”

Sera’s eyes darkened, but she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she gathered Eirian into her arms, holding her tightly as though she could anchor her in place through sheer will alone.

Eirian buried her face against her mother’s shoulder, the memory of that awful moment still clinging to her like smoke. She’d thought she could keep Askariel under control, that their uneasy pact was something she could manage.

But for the first time, she truly understood just how close she was to losing herself.

And how easily she could become exactly what the villagers feared she already was.

***

The night felt heavier than usual, the air dense with the weight of fear and unanswered questions. Eirian sat curled in her bed, the Soul Lantern flickering faintly above her palm. Her eyes were sore, her mind frayed from the struggle earlier.

But then she saw it—

A single silver thread, glimmering softly at the edge of her vision.

It hovered in the air like moonlight spun into a line, beckoning her.

She froze. She remembered the last time she’d seen one like this, how her fingers had itched to touch it, how it had shown her fragments of futures not yet written.

*Don’t,* she told herself.

And yet her hand moved anyway.

The moment her fingertip brushed the thread, her vision shattered.

She was no longer in her room.

Dark trees loomed, twisted and blackened at the edges as though burned by unseen fire. Emberwood stretched before her, its canopy a jagged web of branches that swallowed the moonlight whole.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Then the ground split.

A rift yawned open, glowing with sickly red light that pulsed like a dying heart. From it poured creatures—warped beasts with too many eyes, limbs that bent wrong, mouths that opened wider than they should. Their forms flickered like unstable illusions, as if reality itself rejected them.

The stench of rot and ash hit her nose.

Behind them, half-shrouded in the rift’s light, stood a figure.

A man.

*The wizard,* she thought.

His face was indistinct, obscured by shadow, but she knew it was him—the same presence she’d felt when Tomas spoke of his test, the same thread of power that had haunted her dreams since that night.

But there was something else.

Something vast.

A shape behind the rift—too large, too distant, but watching. Like an eye opening in the dark.

The vision lurched violently, snapping into fragments—fire, blood, villagers screaming, Tomas’ sisters clutching each other as shadow loomed over them—

Eirian gasped as the world came back. Her body jerked violently, and pain seared behind her eyes. Warmth ran down her face.

Blood.

Her nose was bleeding.

She barely registered the sting as she wiped it with her sleeve. She was already halfway to the door, panic and urgency twisting in her chest. She had to see—she had to do something—

The door slid open before she could reach it.

Sera stood there.

Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp, too sharp to be fooled.

“Where are you going?” Sera asked softly. Too softly.

Eirian froze.

“Out,” she said, but her voice cracked halfway through the word.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Eirian’s throat tightened.

Sera stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. “You’ve been distant for days. You barely eat. You barely sleep. Tonight, I watched you bleed and shake like you were being torn apart.” Her tone sharpened. “Tell me the truth, Eirian. All of it.”

Eirian’s breath caught.

For weeks—months—she’d hidden it. She’d told herself she was protecting them. That they couldn’t understand.

But the truth pressed against her ribs like a blade.

“I…”

Her voice trembled.

“There’s a demon,” she whispered. “Inside me.”

Sera’s face didn’t change, but her eyes widened just enough to betray the blow of the words.

“He calls himself Askariel. He—he wants a new body, we made a pact, if I give him one, he would leave me alone and teach me new things. I thought I could control him. But tonight, he—” Her voice broke, and she forced herself to continue. “He almost took me.”

The silence after her confession felt endless.

Sera stepped closer, kneeling so her face was level with Eirian’s.

“And what would you have done,” she said quietly, “if he had taken you?”

“I—”

“You think you’re the only one who can stop what’s happening.” Sera’s voice was firm now, cutting through Eirian’s panic like a blade. “But you’re not. You are a child, Eirian. A gifted one. A special one. But still a child. And if you keep trying to carry this alone, you will break.”

Eirian shook her head desperately. “I have to—”

“No.” Sera’s tone snapped like a whip.

Eirian flinched.

“You cannot kill someone just to give him a vessel.” Sera’s hands closed around Eirian’s shoulders, strong despite the gentleness in her grip. “That is not who you are. That is not who we are.”

Tears welled in Eirian’s eyes. “But if I don’t… he’ll—”

“Then we find another way,” Sera said fiercely. “Together. You, me, Orlen. We don’t let him win. But you do not get to decide someone else’s life is yours to take.”

Eirian lowered her head, her chest heaving.

She hated how much sense Sera made.

She hated how badly she wanted to believe her.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Sera brushed Eirian’s cheek with her thumb, wiping away a streak of blood.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” she murmured. “You are ten years old, act like one.”

Eirian’s lips parted, but no words came.

Somewhere outside, faint as windchimes in a distant breeze, laughter rang—tiny, bell-like.

The night was heavy with silence, the kind that felt stretched too tight, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

She felt drained—body aching, eyes still raw from the vision of monsters and rift-fire.

Then, one by one, tiny lights appeared at the edge of the clearing.

Fairies.

They came not as the scattered few she’d seen before, but in numbers she had never imagined—dozens, then more, drifting like fireflies given purpose. Their movements weren’t random this time. They floated in arcs, looping around one another, leaving behind faint trails of silvery light.

Eirian straightened slowly.

“What… are they doing?” she whispered.

“What are you talking about?” Sera asked.

“The fairies, they come, this time without me calling for them.”

Eirian step outside the house, watching how the fairies danced in the air.

“Eirian wait!” Sera followed her, afraid that the demon had returned and was trying to take control of Eirian’s body.

“Do you come to visit me?” Eirian asked.

The fairies didn’t answer, of course. But their weaving grew faster, more deliberate. Lines of light crossed and braided, forming the outline of a door—petals of luminous thread blossoming outward as though an unseen hand was shaping them.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t just pretty—it felt intentional. Like something was calling her.

Eirian’s first instinct was to rise and follow.

But then she thought of Sera—of the way she had just promised she wouldn’t face things alone anymore, she extended her hand and hold onto Sera’s hand, feeling protected the moment their skin touch.

With each dance that the fairies performed, a flower grew, little by little, they saw how the flowers start growing and forming something else, it looked like an arch at first, but the moment it was finished, every flower started glowing with a blue light, radiating energy from them, they realized that it wasn’t just an arch, it was a door.

Suddenly their vision started distorting in the middle of the arch, the fairies were connecting two realities in the same place.

Sera’s breath hitched.

The fairies’ glow reflected in her wide eyes. Even if she couldn’t see the threads like Eirian could, there was no mistaking the strangeness before them—an arch of living light, petals spinning gently as though caught in a phantom breeze.

“They… did this?” Sera murmured.

Eirian nodded.

As the last line of light snapped into place, the door pulsed once—like a heartbeat—and slowly began to open.

Beyond it was a grove.

It was unlike any place Eirian had seen in this world—bathed in a silver glow that felt soft, dreamlike. The trees were tall but pale, their trunks shimmering faintly as though moonlight was trapped beneath the bark. Flowers carpeted the ground in delicate blues and whites, each petal glowing faintly from within.

And then she stepped through.

The Fairy Queen.

She was taller than any human woman, her limbs long and fluid, her body shifting subtly as though refusing to settle on a single form. Her hair cascaded like strands of liquid starlight, and her eyes… Eirian had never seen eyes like those.

They were like pools of molten moonlight—beautiful, terrifying, infinite.

When she spoke, her voice carried two tones at once: the soft chime of bells and the faintest of whispers beneath, like distant voices echoing through hollow stone.

“Child of Threads,” the Queen said. “We meet at last.”

Eirian couldn’t move. Her throat tightened, and every instinct screamed to bow, though her body simply froze instead.

Sera stepped forward half a pace, her hand never leaving Eirian’s.

“What do you want with her?” she asked cautiously.

The Queen tilted her head, an expression halfway between curiosity and amusement.

“Not what you fear. I have come because we saw what she was able to do in the forest last time. Because she called, and we answered.”

The Soul Lantern flickered suddenly, reacting to the Queen’s presence. Its flame elongated, dancing in a strange rhythm.

From the edge of Eirian’s mind came a familiar voice.

*Fae.*

Askariel’s tone was sharper than usual, laced with something she hadn’t heard before—wariness.

The faint outline of his flame-form appeared beside her, visible only within her soulspace.

The Queen’s eyes shifted briefly toward him.

“Ah.”

That single sound carried weight—recognition, distaste, perhaps even pity.

Askariel’s laugh was low, bitter.

*Didn’t expect to see your kind playing shepherd.*

“Nor I, yours, playing leech.” The Queen’s voice was melodic but cool. “You poison what you touch, flame-thing. You always have.”

*And yet here we are.*

They regarded each other in silence, tension hanging like a blade between them.

Eirian felt it—an old animosity, deeper than mere rivalry. Whatever history demons and fae shared, it was not a friendly one.

The Queen’s gaze softened as it returned to Eirian.

“He feeds on what you risk. He will never be sated. You know this.”

Eirian swallowed hard. “Then… why do you trust me to even be here?”

“Because despite him, you are still more than what you think you are.”

The words struck deep, though Eirian didn’t understand why.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said softly.

“No. We have been waiting for you.”

The Queen extended her hand—long, elegant fingers curling like the petals of a flower. Threads of faint light wound loosely around her wrist, humming with energy.

“Walk with me, child. We have much to discuss—and very little time before this forest drowns in its own wounds.”

Sera’s hand tightened protectively on Eirian’s, but she didn’t pull her back. She looked at her instead, silently asking: *Do you trust this?*

Eirian met her gaze.

She didn’t know if she trusted it.

But for the first time since her rebirth, she felt like she was standing at the edge of a path meant for her—and her alone.

Slowly, she stepped forward with Sera by her side.

The grove’s glow pulsed softly, as if the air itself were breathing. The Fairy Queen stood before them, her presence heavy yet strangely gentle, the silver threads around her hands weaving lazily as though alive.

“You wish to be rid of the demon,” she said, her tone neither question nor accusation.

Eirian clenched her fists.

“Yes… but not like last time. I almost lost myself.”

The Queen’s eyes shimmered, unreadable pools of moonlight.

“Then know this, child of threads: I cannot remove him without tearing your soul apart. You are bound—not by his will, but by what you became when you crossed between worlds.”

Eirian’s stomach tightened.

“Then there’s nothing I can do?”

“Not nothing.” The Queen stepped closer, her voice lowering to something that resonated deep in Eirian’s bones. “I can show you how to cast him out… into another vessel. But that is a path lined with peril, for once free, demons are not easily contained.”

Askariel’s presence flared faintly in Eirian’s soulspace, his laughter like crackling embers.

*A generous offer. Though I doubt you’ll like the cost, little threadbearer.*

The Queen ignored him.

“You are not merely a weaver. The act of walking between worlds has marked you—changed you. You are connected to both spirits and fae in ways that mortals are not meant to be. That is why the fairies answered when you called. Why the threads respond to your touch.”

Eirian’s breath caught. She felt the truth of it, even if she didn’t understand it fully.

The Queen lifted her hand, and in her palm bloomed a faint white glow—the same light that had pulsed through the strange stone Eirian had made before.

“Holy stones,” the Queen said softly. “Rare even in ages when gods still walked. You can make them, because you are neither fully of this world nor apart from it.”

Sera stiffened beside her, her hand flying to her mouth.

“Holy stones…” Her voice trembled. “If the Church learns she can create them…”

Eirian felt cold all over.

The Queen’s gaze flickered briefly to Sera. “Your mother speaks true. Such stones change the balance of power. Nations would kill to claim you, girl.”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the faint hum of the glowing grove.

“So here is my bargain.” The Queen extended her hand again, threads of light curling from her fingers. “Create holy stones with us—your dances, our guidance. In return, we will lead you to the Mother Tree. She will show you what none of us can: the proper way to walk the threads without losing yourself.”

Eirian stared at the Queen’s hand, heart pounding.

The Mother Tree. The same tree she had seen in her dreams—runes carved into its hollow heart, threads like rivers of light streaming through its branches. It felt like the answer to questions she hadn’t yet asked.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment.

“Eirian! Sera!”

Orlen stumbled into the grove, his clothes torn, one sleeve bloodied. His face was pale, jaw set tight as he limped toward them.

Sera rushed to him immediately. “You’re hurt—”

“I’m fine,” Orlen cut in, though his voice was strained. He looked at Eirian with sharp, urgent eyes. “We barely made it back. The monsters—there’s too many. We saw… things I can’t even name. If the villagers knew…”

He stopped, gaze shifting to the Queen, then to the faintly glowing grove.

“What is this?” he asked hoarsely.

Sera hesitated. Then, in a voice like she was testing each word, she said, “This… is help. The kind we can’t tell anyone about.”

Orlen’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the faint white glow still hovering in the Queen’s palm—and recognition flickered in his eyes.

“That’s a holy stone,” he said flatly.

He let go, turning to the Queen. “If she’s to do what you’re asking, we’ll keep it quiet. But if any of this gets out…” He looked at Sera, grim. “We won’t survive it.”

The Queen watched him silently, her expression unreadable. Then she stepped back, her threads curling slowly into stillness.

“Then keep your secrets close.”

She turned her gaze back to Eirian. “But remember this, child of threads: run while you still can. The wizard has opened a door even he cannot close. And soon, what has stepped through will devour far more than forests.”

The fairies’ lights dimmed slightly, as if her words had cast a shadow over the grove itself.

Eirian swallowed, the weight of the Queen’s warning pressing down like stone.

Her parents stood on either side of her—Sera’s hand trembling in hers, Orlen’s posture rigid but protective.

Eirian looked back at the Queen. “Then I’ll make the stones. I’ll go to the Mother Tree.”

“Good,” the Queen said softly, her voice like the last note of a chime fading into night. “Because whether you wish it or not… this world is already unraveling.”

The fairies began to move again, slowly unwinding the petal-thread door. The glow of the grove dimmed, colors softening to faint silver as if the place itself was retreating back into hiding.

As the Queen stepped back through the fading door, her final words lingered in the air like a haunting echo:

“Run while you still can.”

And then she was gone.

The grove fell silent, but the air felt heavier than before, charged with the weight of choices yet to be made.

Eirian’s Soul Lantern flickered to life beside her, burning just a little brighter—as if it, too, understood what was coming.