24.

  Faelwen

  The morning greeted us with the warm embrace of summer, sunlight spilling in the room. I awoke to a rare, tranquil peace. The kind that settles deep in your bones and cradles you, making you feel light and unburdened.

  I stretched, my arms reaching for the ceiling as if I could touch the very sky, and a yawn escaped my lips. Beside me, Spook slumbered on, his face calm and innocent in dreams.

  A smile spread on my face as I reached down and gently pulled the blanket higher over him. He murmured a sleepy, almost childlike thanks. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly as if the warmth wrapped around him carried some tender comfort. I lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest before carefully slipping out of bed.

  The patter of my bare feet on the floor went unheard because of the soft carpet. Spook did not stir again. I noticed Artemis was already gone. I could picture him lounging somewhere in the tower and chuckled.

  Closing my eyes, I sought out Ash. The silver thread that bound our souls together shimmered in my mind’s eye, a delicate line of magic pulsing faintly with life.

  I tugged at it gently. And moments later, I felt him tug back. A playful nudge. I could almost see his cheeky grin and hear him say “Thinking of me, darling?”

  Warmth filled my chest. I smiled to myself, letting that precious connection linger a little longer before reluctantly opening my eyes.

  Near the bed, a small table held a tray brimming with simple delights; crusty, warm bread, fruits, and a bowl of cream so thick it might have been spun from clouds. I settled into one of the oversized chairs, sinking into its embrace and plucked a ripe pear from the tray. The first bite was sweet and refreshing, filling me with an odd sense of gratitude, not just for the food, but for the moment itself.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, something unexpected fluttered into view. A butterfly with bright red wings. It drifted lazily through the beam of sunlight that poured through the open window.

  I watched, bemused, as it circled the room and landed beside the steaming cup of tea on the tray. It was then I realized that it wasn’t a butterfly at all. I blinked, leaning closer.

  The creature before me was impossibly small, a winged figure no taller than my thumb, clad in a dress that seemed to shimmer with the colours of sunrise matching its wings.

  With a flourish of her tiny hand, the creature conjured a teabag out of thin air and dropped it ceremoniously into the cup. She twirled her fingers, and the spoon beside her began to stir on its own. The tea swirled like liquid gold beneath her spell that sent a shiver up my spine.

  Magic so simple, so natural, yet it ignited something within me, a longing as deep and ancient as the roots of the forest. The creature turned to me.

  Without a word, she bowed before tracing symbols into the air with her fingertip. Words bloomed in shimmering yellow light, hanging like constellations between us.

  Good morning, Miss Faelwen. I am Poppy.

  I swallowed my astonishment, managing to reply in a hushed voice so as not to disturb Spook.

  “Good morning, Poppy. You’re… adorable. I’ve never seen a creature like you before. What are you?”

  The glowing letters shifted, rearranging themselves in the air.

  Thank you! I am a pixie fairy. If you need anything, just call for me.

  Before I could say more, she rose effortlessly into the air, her wings humming like a whispering breeze, and darted toward the window. The sunlight caught her silhouette for the briefest of moments before she disappeared entirely, leaving only a faint shimmer behind.

  I sat back, blinking at the now empty room. A quiet chuckle escaped my lips, disbelief and wonder swirling together.

  “Pixies exist,” I murmured to myself, as if speaking the words aloud would make them more real. I never knew such creatures walked, or rather flew, through this world.

  Breakfast finished, I scribbled a quick note for Spook on a scrap of parchment, explaining that I was off to find Artemis and Aeon. Quietly, I slipped from the room and into the hallway beyond.

  ? ? ?

  The tower looked different in daylight, as if the night had merely been a veil concealing its true splendour. Sunlight streamed through the tall, oval windows, spilling golden pools across the floor.

  The walls were draped with flowering vines of every imaginable colour, their petals opening slowly as if to greet the day. The air was alive with the faint perfume of moss, wood and blooming flowers, mingling together.

  I moved with reverence down the steps towards the alchemy lab. My footsteps softened by the lush carpet of magic that seemed to pulse beneath me. Now and then, I caught glimpses of other pixies flitting among the flowers or darting between bookshelves, their laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes.

  One hid behind a tome as thick as my arm, peeking out with mischievous eyes before vanishing in a flurry of wings. Something stirred within me, a hum that built slowly in my chest.

  It wasn’t just awe at the beauty around me… it was magic. My magic. Like a dormant seed deep in the earth, it began to stretch and unfurl, responding to the magic that danced so freely in this place.

  It called to me, whispered promises of power, of purpose. I paused at one of the windows, my gaze fixed on the sunlit forest outside, and I knew. I could no longer ignore it. I wanted to learn.

  The words reverberated through me. Magic was a part of me, a birthright written in my very soul. My mother had given her soul for this pact. Aeon had promised to help her. So why should I fear it any longer?

  And yet… a sliver of doubt curled in my stomach. What if the magic was too much? What if I lost myself to it. To the very chaos I sought to wield, ending up in the Nether Realm? What if I’m not ready yet?

  “There is never a right moment to begin, Faelwen,” Aeon’s voice called from somewhere deeper within the tower. It was as though he had read my thoughts, his words cutting through my hesitation like a blade of truth.

  “You will always find reasons why you are not ready.”

  I turned the corner at the end of the stairs and found him standing at the alchemy lab, vials of vibrant liquid bubbling and hissing as he worked. The faint scent of burnt herbs hung in the air.

  Aeon’s tall figure was silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the window, his robes shifting like water as he moved. He poured some coloured liquid in one of the vials connected to a glass cupholder above a flickering flame. It immediately changed colour from blue to a shimmering purple.

  A satisfying smile appeared on Aeon’s face before he turned to me.

  “I assume you’re here for your first lesson?” he asked. His eyes—those endless white pools with no pupils—seemed to look straight through me, as if he could see all my fears and doubts laid bare. I hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

  Good choice, Wen. Artemis’s voice rumbled in my mind, warm and reassuring. I glanced over to see him sprawled across an oversized chair, watching me through half-closed eyes.

  “No pet, right?” I chuckled, referring back to the time he huffed about not being a pet but a real wolf. Artemis grumbled in response and ignored me. Aeon looked at us both with amusement glinting in his eyes.

  “Are you ready?” He asked me. I took a deep breath, the path before me set.

  “I’m ready,” I said. Aeon smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held both pride and understanding.

  “Then let us begin.” Aeon beckoned to me with a single graceful motion, his white eyes catching the light like shards of ancient moonstone.

  I hesitated, glancing back at Artemis. The wolf lifted his head just slightly, his golden eyes glinting with silent approval.

  With that unspoken blessing, I followed Aeon into the depths of the tower, leaving Artemis behind on the chair. The corridor we walked through was narrow, the air dense with a scent I couldn’t quite place. Old parchment maybe? Combined with earth after a storm and something sweet that lingered like a forgotten dream.

  Shadows danced along the wooden walls as we passed, the light from distant sconces flickering to life as though greeting their master. It again felt as though the tower itself were alive, murmuring secrets in a language older than the Mid Realm.

  We emerged into a chamber that took my breath away. A dining room, yet more than that, something shaped by magic itself. A massive wooden table stretched across the centre, its surface polished to a dark, glassy sheen.

  The chairs surrounding it were not carved so much as grown, their backs twisting into graceful organic forms like the branches of ancient trees. Leaves of emerald green clung to the ends of those wooden limbs, rustling gently in a breeze I could not feel.

  I reached out a hand to touch one of the chairs and swore I felt it hum beneath my fingertips. Alive, aware. Aeon pressed onward without pause, crossing the room with that effortless, flowing gait of his.

  At the far end, he stopped before a wall that seemed entirely solid. Then, murmuring something too quiet for me to catch, he swept a hand through the air.

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  A shimmer rippled across the wooden wall, like water disturbed by a single drop, and a door appeared where there had been nothing but shadow. The air thickened with power, sending a shiver crawling up my spine.

  “Come,” Aeon said softly, pushing the door open. Beyond, sunlight poured in, brighter than anything I had seen within the tower. I stepped through, blinking against the brilliance of it.

  We were outside. A meadow stretched before me, ablaze with wildflowers in every hue. Daisies scattered across the grass like fallen stars, their delicate white petals glowing in the sun.

  I tilted my head back, letting the warmth soak into my skin. The sky arched endlessly above us, clear and mostly cloudless. Sometimes a puffy white cloud would lazily drift by. The faint song of the birds echoed through the air, pure as chimes.

  “Faelwen,” Aeon’s voice cut through the natural sounds of our surroundings. I turned to him. He stood tall, his robe of iridescent threads shifting like woven water. The colours danced where the sunlight touched them.

  His otherworldly eyes caught mine, their depth seeming to pull at the edges of my soul. He looked like a being stepped from myth, something eternal and untamed. He probably was… eternal and untamed.

  He extended a hand. I stepped forward, and when his long, cool fingers rested gently on my shoulder, a stillness settled over me, like the hush before a storm.

  “Before I remove the dam within you,” he began, his voice soft but firm, “you must understand magic as it is. Not as humans have named it, nor as they cage it with spells. Magic is everywhere, Faelwen. It is life. It is breath. It is the pulse of the earth beneath your feet and the stars above your head. It is the chaos from which everything was born and to which everything shall return.”

  He gestured to the meadow around us, and I looked, not just with my eyes, but with the intent he urged of me. The grass seemed to sway with deeper purpose, as though it were breathing. The sunlight felt heavier, laden with meaning I could not yet understand.

  “But I thought magic came from the Weave,” I said quietly, frowning. “That’s what everyone says.”

  Aeon chuckled, a sound like the rustling of ancient leaves.

  “Ah, there is some truth in that, young sorcerer. The Weave is a name humans gave to the chaos that underlies all things. Before the realms were shaped, there was only chaos. Wild and unyielding, beyond understanding. The Weave is its taming, its path through the layers of creation. Those attuned to it can tap into its current.” He paused, his gaze sharpening.

  “But humans are not the only ones who can wield it. Creatures older than your kind, ancient as stone and fire, have other wells of magic to draw upon. The elements. The energy within themselves. Nature itself.”

  A flash of memory hit me like a struck bell, the moment I had used magic, even with the Weave blocked from my grasp. I looked at Aeon, my voice a whisper.

  “Magic… it’s everywhere indeed. Life and death. Chaos and creation.”

  Aeon’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

  “Yes. And it cannot be controlled, Faelwen. It is not a tool or a chain to bend to your will.”

  I fiddled with my necklace as he continued.

  “It is a storm, and those who seek to master it must learn to dance with its winds. To flow as it flows.”

  I swallowed hard, his words resonating deep in my chest.

  “Then… how do I wield it?”

  “You listen. You feel. You allow magic to come to you.” He lifted his hand, brushing his fingertips across the air. “Close your eyes, Faelwen. Listen. Not with your ears, but with your spirit. Let the magic whisper its secrets.”

  I obeyed, closing my eyes and sinking into the stillness. At first, there was only the familiar; the heat of the sun on my skin, the distant call of birds, the hum of bees drifting lazily through the meadows.

  But I pushed deeper, reaching for something more, something just out of sight. I felt nothing. Frustration bubbled in my chest.

  “Be patient,” Aeon spoke, his voice a gentle anchor. “Do not chase it. Let it come to you.”

  I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to release the tension in my shoulders and stopped searching for that tingling sensation on my skin I felt whenever there was magic around me. My mind drifted to other places… other people.

  To Ash.

  I smiled before sending my focus back on my breath. After what felt like hours I suddenly felt something. A faint thrumming in the air. I reached for it, but it was gone before I got there.

  “Be patient,” Aeon repeated again. I grumbled in frustration and waited. My mind drifted again and settled on the earth beneath me, the roots spreading like veins through the soil.

  I imagined them, alive, ancient, moving in their slow, silent rhythm. Time stretched thin. The world around me blurred until I was no longer a girl standing in a meadow, but something smaller, deeper, woven into the tapestry of life. And then I felt it…

  A thrumming pulse beneath my palms, faint at first, like the heartbeat of something sleeping. Magic.

  Raw and unbound. It prickled along my skin, rising from the ground in waves until I was awash in its current.

  Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading outward in ribbons of fire and light. It burned and ached until I thought I might burst apart. Instinctively, I reached for the cool earth, for the ancient roots and the blooming flowers.

  I pushed the magic down, sent it flowing into the meadow, pouring it into the life that surrounded me. Willing the magic to help them grow.

  “Open your eyes,” Aeon murmured. I did, and my breath caught. The meadow was transformed. Flowers that had been no more than buds now stretched skyward, their petals wide in riotous bloom.

  Some wilted where they stood, their life spent in an instant, while new shoots of green erupted from the soil. Above it all, tiny figures flitted through the air. Pixies, dozens of them, glowing like embers as they gathered nectar from the fresh blossoms. I stared in wonder, my heart pounding.

  “I… I did this?”

  “You did,” Aeon said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “You touched the magic of the earth itself. And used it to make the flowers bloom. Much to the appreciation of my friends who thrive where magic blooms. Pixies are tethered to magic like a river is to the ocean.” He motioned to the pixies. Tears pricked in my eyes as I watched the pixies dance, their laughter echoing like silver bells.

  I felt connected, not just to the magic, but to the world. To life. And to myself. I laughed, blinking the tears away, plucking a dandelion from the ground.

  The delicate stem bent easily between my fingers, its white seeds trembling like a thousand tiny whispers waiting to be freed. With a breath, I sent them soaring into the air, each seed catching the sunlight as it drifted on the breeze. For a fleeting moment, they were stars scattered across the bright blue sky.

  “So I didn’t use the Weave?” I asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Rising to my feet, I brushed dirt and grass from my clothes, my gaze lingering on Aeon.

  “Indirectly, you did,” Aeon replied, his voice steady, layered with calm authority. “Nature draws its breath from the Weave. It is life’s hidden root, the invisible force that lets flowers bloom, rivers flow and forests age. But you didn’t pull from the Weave itself. You drew from nature who then in turn drew from the Weave. You tapped into natures’ pulse, and that makes all the difference.”

  His words carried weight, sinking deep into me. I felt proud. But his tone shifted, sharper now, as though what he was about to say would reshape the air between us.

  “There is one last thing you must understand before I remove the dam in your mind,” he continued. “Magic leaves a trace. Like a footprint in wet earth, unique to the person who wields it. If you learn to recognize someone’s magical pattern, you can find them anywhere.”

  My stomach turned, and I clenched my jaw tightly. The implications crashed over me like a cold wave.

  “That must be how the Hunters track people,” I murmured, realization unravelling like thread. “They’ve learned how to follow those magical footprints.”

  Aeon inclined his head, the faintest trace of sorrow in his ancient gaze.

  “Your mother,” he said gently, “used powerful magic to hide you from the Fiend. But the moment you used your magic, so raw, so bright, it cut through that shroud. He felt you then, though he didn’t know who you were yet. That’s why he was able to find you when you crossed into the Wetlands.”

  It was like pieces of a puzzle had suddenly clicked into place. I looked at Aeon, my thoughts teetering between wonder and dread. One thing about what Aeon had said made me wonder.

  “If my mother was so powerful to be able to hide my magic from the Fiend, why couldn’t she save my father from the Necromancers?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. Aeon’s expression softened, though his answer was measured.

  “There are countless reasons she might not have been able to save him,” he replied. “Perhaps her spell was too slow, or the Necromancer’s magic too swift. Perhaps she was too far away, or distracted at the wrong moment. Magic is delicate, Faelwen, fragile as glass and just as dangerous when it shatters.” He studied me, his gaze steady. “Does that answer your question?”

  I swallowed and nodded, the ache in my chest quiet but lingering.

  “Good,” he said softly, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “Then it’s time to remove that dam.”

  Aeon stepped closer, his movements fluid, robes whispering against the earth. He lifted his hands, and I felt a flicker of fear claw through me as his fingertips hovered near my temples.

  “What if…” my voice broke, the words spilling in a rush. “What if the magic is too much? What if I get stuck in the Nether Realm? What if I lose myself?” My breath hitched, panic nipping at the edges of my mind.

  “You won’t.” Aeon’s voice was firm as the earth beneath my feet, his white eyes anchoring me with their steady weight. “You are stronger than you know.”

  Before I could protest further, he reached out, his touch cool and steady as he pressed his fingers gently to my brow. My breath caught as he murmured melodic, lilting words in Elvish. Each syllable resonated, vibrating through the very marrow of my bones.

  Then pain…

  Sharp, bright pain, like splintered glass driving into my skull. My hands shot up instinctively, clutching his wrists, desperate to tear him away.

  My knees buckled, my vision splintering into shards of light and darkness, but Aeon held firm. His chanting didn’t falter.

  I trembled, the ground no longer feeling solid beneath me, as though I were being pulled somewhere else entirely. And then, as suddenly as the pain struck, it shattered and was gone.

  The silence that followed was deafening. I blinked, and when my eyes opened, I was no longer in the meadow.

  I stood within the place I had created in my mind. A place I recognized from the last time I was here. When I used my magic to heal my wounds. The room was the same as before, but now, all its doors and windows were flung wide open.

  Wind roared through the space, carrying with it streams of silver light that twisted and coiled like living rivers. The magic surged around me, each strand humming with energy, so bright it hurt to look at.

  Artemis’ soul lounged lazily in the corner, his grey-brown fur ruffling in the unseen wind. He rose gracefully, stretching before padding toward me. His golden eyes glowed as he spoke into my mind, his voice as deep and soothing as distant thunder.

  Don’t be afraid, Wen. Touch it.

  My pulse quickened, my fingers trembling as I reached for one of the streams. The silver light darted away, teasing at first, until I made contact.

  A burst of energy exploded through me. I gasped as the world fractured into something vast and ungraspable. Darkness lit with stars, a swirl of a million colours dancing and bleeding into one another, beauty and chaos intertwined.

  The magic wrapped around me, filling me, lifting me higher until laughter bubbled from my lips.

  “Do you feel it, Faelwen?” Aeon’s voice thundered through the expanse, resonating with the hum of magic itself. “The pulse. The power.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, breathless. I blinked, leaving the imaginative room in my mind and found myself back in the meadow. But the world was transformed.

  The greens were richer, every shade of the earth sharp and vivid. My senses were alight. I could feel everything.

  The tremor of the ground as great beasts roamed the distant forest. The low thrum of insect wings as they cut the air. The faint heartbeat of the earth beneath me and the smacking noises of a creature eating something. I could even hear the echo of a wolf’s cry somewhere far away.

  It was too much. My ears rang, my body trembling from the sheer weight of sensations. I pressed my hands to my temples.

  “It’s too loud,” I gasped.

  “Imagine the room again, Faelwen,” Aeon’s voice guided me, calm and steady. “See the door. See the windows. Close them, one by one. You can control how much you let in.”

  Desperate for relief, I obeyed. In my mind, I visualized the room, rushing to each window, slamming them shut. The winds calmed. The magic quieted. My senses dulled, retreating from their overwhelming heights until I could finally breathe again. Calm washed over me like a gentle wave.

  “Now,” Aeon said, his voice soft but resolute, “you can begin to learn more. Spells are tools, words to shape the flow of magic. But do not rely on them alone. Magic is alive, Faelwen. It listens. Sometimes, all it takes is intent, the clarity of what you want.”

  I raised my brow.

  “What do you mean?”

  He raised his hand, palm open, and without a word, a small orb of light appeared; gentle and flickering like a captured star. He closed his hand, and the orb vanished as though it had never been.

  “It’s the same as what you did when you healed yourself. You wanted to heal yourself and the magic listened.”

  I swallowed, staring at him. Could I do that too? I stretched out my hand, unsure, and focused. I imagined the orb, glowing and warm. I called to the magic.

  A tingle spread from the soles of my feet, coiling upward, blooming in my palm. Slowly, brilliantly, a sphere of light flickered to life above my skin. I gasped, wonder surging through me. Aeon smiled faintly, his gaze bright with pride.

  “There you go, Faelwen. You’re a natural.” His praise filled my heart. Yet beneath it, fear settled firmly. From this day on the Fiend would be able to track me every time I used my magic.