Chapter One: Whispers in the Wind
The wind carried the scent of smoke long before Aelira saw it.
She paused mid-step, a basket of marigold roots cradled in her arm, and turned toward the ridge above the village. Grey tendrils curled above the treetops like ghostly fingers. Her stomach sank.
"Is that smoke?" Lysa asked, emerging from the thicket behind her with mud on her boots and a half-chewed sprig of mint between her teeth.
"No," Aelira lied, staring at the rising haze.
"Right," Lysa snorted. "Because that's clearly fog, in the middle of a sunny afternoon."
Aelira didn't answer. Something felt… wrong. The air hummed with energy, subtle but insistent, like the world had taken a breath and forgotten to exhale.
They walked the last mile in silence, the village of Eldhollow sprawling in its sleepy, worn-down peace. Chickens darted across the cobbled path, children screamed in play, and the blacksmith cursed in rhythm with his hammer. Familiar sounds. Comforting.
But Aelira couldn't shake the gnawing feeling under her skin.
"Don't forget, we promised to help Old Mira boil resin bark tonight," Lysa reminded her as they approached the herbalist's shop, an old stone building with herbs hanging like drying prayers from every beam.
Aelira pushed the door open. "You promised. I just smiled politely."
"That counts as agreeing."
Inside, the cool, herbal-scented air greeted them. Mira sat behind her counter with her cat on her lap and an eyebrow already raised.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"We were gathering roots," Aelira replied, placing the basket on the table.
Mira finally looked at her. "You feel it too, don't you?"
Aelira's hands froze mid-motion. "Feel what?"
"The shift. The magic," Mira said quietly. "It's like a knot has loosened somewhere."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Lying's unbecoming, girl."
Lysa blinked. "Wait. Magic? Mira, don't start—"
But Aelira barely heard them. Her ears buzzed. The knot Mira spoke of—she had felt it. For weeks now. Whispers in the back of her mind. A pulse in her chest when no one was near. Dreams she couldn't explain.
And fire. Always fire.
Mira's voice softened. "Something's coming, Aelira."
"I think it's already here," she murmured.
A scream shattered the moment.
They ran outside. A merchant's cart had caught fire in the middle of the square. Villagers scrambled, tossing water from buckets as the horses panicked.
Aelira's breath hitched. Her fingers tingled.
No one had lit it. There was no torch, no spark—just sudden flames.
The wind picked up, wild and circular, funneling around her. She clutched her chest.
"Stop," she whispered, terrified. "Stop it, please…"
And the fire collapsed in on itself with a hiss.
Smoke curled toward her like it recognized her.
Around her, people stared. Whispered.
Lysa stepped forward, grasping her arm. "Aelira. What the hell was that?"
"I—I don't know," she gasped, her heart thundering. "I didn't mean to—"
"Didn't mean to?" Mira was suddenly beside them, eyes sharp. "You need to leave. Now."
"What?"
"They'll come for you. You think a fire starting itself doesn't get noticed? The king's men are already in the northern villages. Looking for… anomalies."
Aelira shook her head. "This has to be a mistake. I'm just—"
"You're not just anything," Mira snapped. "You are what they fear most."
"I didn't ask for this," Aelira said, voice cracking.
"No one ever does," Mira whispered. "But you're not safe here anymore,Run!!"
And just then, the sound of hooves echoed in the distance.
Lysa's grip tightened.
The wind carried more than smoke this time.
It carried names.
And hers was among them.