Rain lashed the castle stones, turning the road below into a blur of glistening gray. Thunder rolled overhead, hooves pounding on the kingdom's stone path. Two horses galloped in the night, cloaked figures cutting through the storm.
One rider wore a torn expenses gown, its silk clinging to her body like a second skin, soaked through and dirt-stained. Her hair, once carefully braided, now whipped loose in the wind. In one trembling arm she cradled a newborn covered in cloth, the other arm clutched tight around the waist of the woman riding in front of her.
The second woman was clad in weather-worn knight's armor, silver with green cloth gleamed under flashes of lightning. Her jaw was set, eyes sharp beneath a soaked helm. She held the reins with practiced ease, even as a forest ahead loomed closer, dark and twisting.
Behind them, the pounding of hooves grew louder.
"Don't let them get away!" came a voice in the downpour.
An arrow cut through the storm.
The knight didn't flinch. With a swift motion, she pulled a small glass vial from her belt and hurled it to the ground. It shattered with a hiss, then flash of light, and a towering column of ice erupted in their wake. The arrow struck the ice, splintering into frozen shards. Cries of surprise rang out from behind as the pursuing horses were forced to scatter.
"You fool!" shouted one of the knights in pursuit. "We need her alive!"
The woman in the gown looked over her shoulder, eyes wide. "I told you this wouldn't work," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I can't leave. I was born with a role to play."
Her grip on the knight tightened. "They'll never stop. They only want me. If you run now, maybe you can still make it out."
The knight didn't slow. Her voice was firm. "No. You decide your fate now, not them. I'm not leaving you to a destiny you don't choose."
They plunged into the edge of the forest, the sound of the capital's bells fading behind them. Branches clawed at their armor and gowns alike. The child didn't cry—only whimpered once.
Behind them, the chase did not stop.
Steel and shadow followed into the woods.
The knight's armor glinted with rainwater, the glass vials strapped to her chest and belt clinking softly as she rode. Her eyes darted left and right, scanning. Calculating.
"They're gaining," the woman in the gown said, breath ragged. She clutched the baby tighter.
The knight didn't reply. Her hand darted to a green vial near her hip. She pulled it free with her teeth, spat the cork to the side, and hurled it into the underbrush.
It burst in a cloud of spore-like gas. The trees groaned.
Vines erupted from the forest floor behind them, twisting upward, forming a sudden barricade that tangled the lead rider in the pursuing group. Horses reared. Shouts of confusion rose.
"Buys us a few more seconds," the knight muttered, eyes flicking forward.
But the path ahead was worse.
A river cut through the woods. A stone bridge once arched across it—but now it lay in ruin. Half the bridge had collapsed into the torrent below, its jagged remains jutting out like broken teeth.
The knight pulled hard on the reins. The horse whinnied, skidding to a halt near the edge.
"No, no, we can't jump that," said the woman, staring at the gap.
The knight was already reaching into a hidden pouch on her saddle.
She pulled free a swirling, silver-blue vial. The liquid inside shimmered like moonlight caught in a jar.
She didn't speak—only smashed the vial against the horse's shoulder.
The effect was instant.
A low hum rose as a glow enveloped the horse's hooves. The ground seemed to shudder, then fall away.
The horse—rider, passenger, and child—lifted into the air.
Not flying. Not soaring. Just... gliding.
The descent began too quickly.
The knight gritted her teeth. "Hold on!"
They passed over the shattered bridge—barely.
A hind hoof clipped the edge of the last broken stone. The horse stumbled as it landed, the levitation magic sputtering out in a cascade of spark-like dust. They hit the ground hard on the other side, skidding through wet leaves and mud.
The knight kept the reins tight, guiding them into a narrow trail. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit had dimmed.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------
The smoke in Embershade never cleared.
It clung to the rooftops, hung thick between alleyways, and stained the air with the scent of burning coal and boiled minerals. At night, the forges still glowed—spots of molten light in a town that rarely slept.
Seventeen-year-old Audree stood near one of those glowing shops, a faint burn mark on the sleeve of his jacket and a smudge of soot across his cheek. He didn't notice. He was too busy staring down a bubbling glass beaker, waiting for the contents to turn from blue to orange.
It refused.
With a sigh, he reached for a thin pipette of black root extract. Just two drops. He stirred it gently and leaned back, waiting.
Click. Click.
His fingers found the bracelet on his wrist and began to fidget with it—an old habit.
The beaker hissed. The potion swirled. And finally, the blue turned to burnt orange.
A small grin tugged at the corner of Audree's mouth. He didn't smile often—but small victories counted.
"You're up early," came a voice from the back of the shop.
Ina stepped out from behind a curtain, wiping her hands with a dark cloth. Her long silver hair was tied up, and the lines near her eyes crinkled slightly when she looked at him. "Didn't expect to see you brewing before dawn."
"Couldn't sleep," Audree muttered, not looking up. "Thought I'd try the heat-resistant mix again."
Ina glanced at the potion, nodding with approval. "That's the right shade this time. You're getting better at this."
Audree didn't answer. He kept fidgeting with the bracelet.
Ina's eyes softened. "Nightmares again?"
He shrugged. "Just weird dreams. Loud ones."
Outside, the clatter of carts and the hiss of steam pipes signaled the start of another day in Embershade. Laborers shuffled by the shop windows, faces already streaked with ash. The town moved like a machine—one breath, one motion, one grind of gears at a time.
Audree watched them pass, expression unreadable.
They didn't look at him. They rarely did. Around town, he was known as the "potion brat," the strange boy with sharp green eyes and a look that could sour milk. Most gave him space. Some whispered.
And still, they came.
Despite the rumors—"Ina's a witch," "they're hiding something,"—people still bought from their shop. Nora made sure of it. She had a knack for knowing what the town needed, from salves for miners' burns to sleep draughts for overworked smelters. Her smile was warm, her prices fair, and her presence disarming. If Ina was the mystery, Nora was the balm.
"Your mother's out in the orchard," Ina said, breaking the silence. "She found some wildblood root this morning. Said it might be good for your collection."
Audree nodded and set the beaker aside. He grabbed his satchel, tossing in his notebook and a few empty vials.
As he stepped toward the door, Ina added, "Be careful out there. The forge winds are strong today."
Audree paused at the threshold, eyes lingering on the smoky horizon.
"I'm used to smoke," he said.
Then he slipped out into the gray morning, the scent of ash and iron thick in the air, the bracelet still clutched loosely in his hand.
The soft crunch of hooves echoed behind the shop.
Audree reached into his satchel and pulled out a bruised apple, the last one he'd tucked away from the market stand. He held it out with an open palm, and the old gray mare trotted forward with familiar eagerness. Her coat was faded with age, streaked with white around her muzzle, but her eyes still held that spark--gentle, trusting.
"Hey, girl," Audree murmured, scratching behind her ears as she munched on the apple. "Still kicking, huh?"
He glanced at the makeshift shelf of bottles nestled beneath the stable awning. Tinctures for joint pain, a thick cream for hoof cracks, even a powder he'd mixed for respiratory fatigue. All of it helped. A little. But not enough.
Time was a thief with patient hands. No potion could change that.
Keeping her healthy was like patching a wagon with rotting wood. One repair only revealed another break.
Still, she nuzzled into his side after the last bite, as if to say, I'm trying too.
Audree patted her neck once more, then turned away. "Be good, old girl."
The streets of Embershade bustled in a way that felt tired rather than lively. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the clatter of metal rang out from smithies lining the main road. Miners in thick boots passed by with pickaxes over their shoulders, their faces marked with soot and age no matter how young they really were.
Audree moved through them like a shadow, unnoticed, unfazed.
He walked past the apothecary, the dried-goods merchant, and the same crooked stand where he'd once been caught stealing wildroot as a kid. He stopped for no one.
Until he reached the only place that ever made him feel like anything more than just another tired townsperson waiting for the next day.
The Embershade Library.
It wasn't grand. Not like the stories. No glowing towers or floating tomes. Just an old, soot-stained building wedged between two brick warehouses. Its sign, "Ash & Scroll," hung crooked on rusty chains above the door.
But inside…
Inside was something else.
He stepped through the creaking door, and the scent of parchment and dust filled his lungs like a cleansing spell.
Tall shelves leaned like tired elders, overflowing with books. Some cracked and brittle, others new from traveling merchants. Candles floated midair, flickering gently. A faint magical hum lingered under the surface, barely noticed unless you were really looking for it.
He moved past the desk where Old Haldo, the librarian, dozed off with a book resting on his chest.
In the back of the library--beyond the agricultural scrolls and smithing manuals--was a corner that most patrons didn't care about. Faded covers of ancient magical theory, spell legends, rune charts, and even a few fragments on beast taming.
Here, Audree breathed.
He sat cross-legged beneath a warped shelf, pulling down a book with a spine marked "Pyromancy and Wildfire Control: Volume I."
He remembered reading this same volume at ten years old, wide-eyed, telling his mothers he'd be like the mages in the stories one day. Fire-wielders, beast-talkers, storm-callers.
They'd looked at each other with something more like pity than pride.
Nora was kind about it. Said dreams were good, but the world had different plans. Ina was blunter. Told him most mages were born with magic running through their veins. If you hadn't shown any signs by ten? You likely never would.
He remembered feeling like the breath had been stolen from his chest.
But then Ina added something else. Quietly. A thread of hope.
"There are other kinds of magic," she'd said. "Alchemy. Witchcraft. Rune arts. Magic of the mind and hands, not just the blood and soul."
So Audree studied.
And kept studying.
Now, at seventeen, he wasn't a mage. But he was something.
Maybe not flashy. Maybe not as powerful.
But he knew things.