Chapter 3:
By morning, the woods felt less threatening. Thorne had built a fire with practiced ease, roasting something that looked like rabbit but tasted faintly of cinnamon. He didn't talk much just grunted now and then, especially when Aelira asked too many questions. But there was a quiet protectiveness in the way he made sure she stayed close, offering her food first and always scanning the trees when they walked. "So what exactly is a mana-beast?" she asked as they crossed a shallow stream. Thorne eyed her. "You really don't know?". She hesitated, "Let's just say… I'm not from any part of Elyria you'd know."
He grunted again, but this time with a hint of amusement. "Mana-beasts are creatures twisted by wild magic. Some are born that way. Others… weren't always monsters."
Aelira shivered.
The trees grew thicker as they climbed a gentle rise. Just ahead, nestled between two leaning boulders, stood a stone ruin overgrown with moss. Strange runes flickered across its surface. "An old waystation," Thorne said. "Mages used to stop here when traveling the northern roads. No one comes this way now except maybe owls."
As if summoned, a shadow flitted overhead. Aelira looked up and saw it: an enormous owl, larger than any she'd ever seen, perched on a high branch. Its feathers shimmered like starlight, and its golden eyes were unnervingly sharp. Then it spoke. "You brought her, how… unexpected."
Thorne froze.... "You again."
The owl ruffled its feathers and swooped down, landing with a soft thump on the stone arch. "Rude as ever, Thorne Emberwald. And yet, you continue to stumble into fate." Aelira stepped closer. "You… can talk?"
"Everything can talk," the owl replied with a huff. "Most things simply choose not to be interesting."
She blinked. "Who are you?"
"I was once Archmage Oren of the High Spire," the owl said proudly. "Now I'm feathers and sarcasm, thanks to a minor alchemical miscalculation involving time dilation and a mirror. Don't ask." Aelira stared. "Wait. You're… a wizard owl?" "Retired. Trapped. Occasionally consulted." She looked at Thorne, who just muttered, "Don't feed his ego." "Too late," Oren said, fluttering down to land before Aelira. "But you, girl… you are a Sunvale."
The name rang again, like a distant bell.
Aelira nodded slowly. "I think so. The light in the glade said the same."
Oren's golden eyes narrowed. "Impossible. The Sunvales were lost. Their bloodline extinguished during the Eclipse War. Unless…" He studied her closer, and for the first time, Aelira felt something probing not her mind, exactly, but the magic within her. It wasn't invasive, more like a curious ripple. "You are a soul displaced," Oren murmured. "A candle relit in a different lantern. Intriguing."
"I didn't choose this," Aelira said softly. "I just woke up here."
Oren tilted his head. "No one chooses the wind that carries them. But some learn to fly with it."
He ruffled his wings, then gestured toward the ruin with a talon. "Inside lies the first spark of your inheritance. A place of learning, forgotten by time. Magic runs deep in your veins, girl. And it's time you felt it." Aelira hesitated but something stirred in her chest. The hum again. The warmth. She stepped into the shadows of the ruin.
And the stones began to glow.
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