Oblea drops silently into the cavern from the hole above.
Her landing is so graceful, not even the dirt stirs beneath her feet. She surveys the scene quickly, her sharp eyes catching the marks on the ground—Evidence of Eska's body landing, her crawl toward the wall, and a set of strange footprints leading away.
Relief fills her chest as she notices one critical detail: no blood.
Oblea draws her knife, and with silent steps ventures further into the tunnel. Though jagged rocks jut from the walls, the smooth floor and symmetrical layout give the space an unsettlingly manmade feel.
She reaches a massive chamber, its walls lined with towering bookshelves. Books are scattered across the floor, alongside mismatched chairs and cushions.
At the center of the room, the red-tinged figure sits, engrossed in an old tome.
Without a sound, Oblea steps into the chamber, slipping behind one of the bookshelves. She crouches low, knife in hand and peeks out—but the figure is gone. The book now rests neatly on a side table as if carefully placed there.
"She's fine," a voice purrs from directly behind her.
Oblea twists instinctively, slashing her knife through the air as she leaps backward, gaining distance. Her sharp eyes dart around, but nothing's there.
"Uncalled for," the voice teases from behind her again.
She whirls around, knife raised and finally spots the figure standing a few steps away. Tall, imposing and unbothered, the woman tilts her head as she observes Oblea.
Oblea's breath catches as her eyes land on the figure before her.
For just a moment, her fingers tremble against the grip of her knife before she steadies herself, forcing her body to still.
The unnatural presence, the eerie calm in the woman's single green eye—it sets something instinctual on edge, something that warns her she is standing before something wrong, something that doesn't belong in this world.
Her stance remains firm, her voice cold and demanding. "What are you?"
"Rude," the woman replies casually, her lips curling into an amused smile. "Your daughter is safe, by the way. Though, I must say, she broke her leg falling from that little hole."
Oblea's grip on her knife tightens, her eyes narrowing. "Where is she?"
"In one of my rooms. She's resting in a bed. Come, I'll take you there," the woman says, her tone dismissive as if the situation were nothing more than a polite errand.
Oblea hesitates, her instincts screaming to stay on guard. But with no other choice, she follows, her senses razor-sharp and her weapon at the ready.
The woman leads Oblea through a narrow corridor carved into the stone, its dim light flickering from small torches mounted on the walls. The air grows warmer as they approach a heavy wooden door.
With an elegant motion, the woman pushes it open, revealing a modest room with stone walls and a single bed at the far end. Eska lies there, her leg carefully splinted and wrapped, her chest rising and falling steadily in deep sleep.
"Eska!" Oblea rushes to her daughter's side, kneeling beside the bed and brushing her white hair gently from her face. Her eyes dart to Eska's injured leg, her worry palpable.
"What did you do to her?" she demands, looking over her shoulder at the figure standing casually in the doorway.
"I temporarily took care of the broken bone, what else did you want?" the woman replies, her almost playful, yet knowing. "I also gave her a nap. A bit of magic to spare her the pain of that rather nasty break. The human body does love to scream when it's been pushed beyond its limits, doesn't it? I thought it best not to wake the entire forest with her cries."
Oblea narrows her eyes but says nothing, focusing back on Eska.
The woman steps towards the exit, her tall figure casting long shadows from the fires beside the door.
"You shouldn't worry so much. She's tougher than she looks and she'll recover quickly, thanks to her…unique resilience."
Her tone drips with implication, her gaze flickering knowingly between Oblea and Eska. "You've raised her well."
The woman steps outside, leaving Oblea alone with Eska.
After sitting with Eska for a while and holding her soft hand, Oblea makes her way back through the hallway in search of answers from the woman.
Oblea finds the woman perched in a chair and reading by the soft crackle of flames from a brazier. "What is your name?" she asks with a firm voice.
"Ah, a much more reasonable question," the woman replies, her gaze still fixed on the pages of her book. She blinks slowly, takes a deliberate breath, and closes the book with an air of finality.
Turning to face Oblea, she answers calmly, "Marina."
Oblea's expression softens, though her stance remains cautious. "I owe you a great deal, Marina. I am—" she begins, her voice uncharacteristically carrying a hint of gratitude, but Marina raises a hand, stopping her mid-sentence.
"Oblea, the road ahead of you and your daughter is one that few could survive," Marina says calmly. "You both will face trials that will stretch every fiber of your being. Physical strength, cunning and courage—while invaluable—will not suffice."
Her piercing gaze locks onto Oblea, who stands still, her brow furrowing with a mix of shock and unease.
She continues. "There are depths that Eska must tread that even with all your skill you will not be able to lead her through."
"What exactly are you referring to? What kind of trials are you talking about?"
"The world you know, the one you've fought so hard to master, is merely the surface."
"And you are worried I won't be able to handle that?"
"I am not worried about your ability—or hers—to fight the monsters you see every day, Oblea. I'm worried about the forces that dwell in the cracks of this world. The forces beyond sword and bow. After all, what is a steel sword against a god?"
The word "god" strikes Oblea like a thunderclap.
Marina presses on. "Eska will be tested when the eyes of the god spot her, when the voice of the god offers his deal, and when the sword of god comes crashing down upon you both."
Oblea's shock gives way to suspicion.
Marina knows too much—about Eska, her abilities and the looming implications. Her voice sharpens as she asks, "And why would you want to help us? What do you get out of it?"
Marina doesn't hesitate. Her grin widens, her glowing green eye almost alight with mischief and defiance. "Entertainment, Oblea! Because if I'm ever going to get a chance to mess with the gods, I want to be right there on the front row."
Her words hang in the air, her audacious grin daring any challenge.
Oblea takes a deep breath, her eyes closing briefly as she collects her thoughts. After a moment, she opens them and asks, "And if I agree, what will you do?"
Marina gestures broadly toward the surrounding bookshelves. "I will share my knowledge—my wisdom. I will teach you and Eska things you haven't even imagined. From the fundamentals, like mathematics, to the ancient truths of the world. And when she's ready, I'll show her real magic—not the diluted imitation you call magic now."
"You want to give her school lessons?" Oblea raises an eyebrow, skeptical of her motives.
"All the teachings she'll need to build a strong foundation for what lies ahead," Marina replies with unwavering confidence. Her eyes gleam with certainty.
Oblea's gaze sharpens as she studies Marina, weighing the sincerity in her words. "You talk about teaching her things I can't, preparing her for trials I've never even dreamed of. But I need to know—are you truly doing this for her? Or is this just about your vendetta against the gods?"
Marina meets her eyes without hesitation, her tone calm but firm.
"Why not both, Oblea?. I won't lie to you. I have my reasons and yes, the gods are part of them. But Eska is special, and the challenges she'll face are unlike anything this world is ready for. She needs every tool and every advantage to survive. And so do you."
Oblea crosses her arms, her voice softening. "If you're offering to help her, then I'll take it. But if I sense anything that could harm her…"
Marina interrupts with a faint smile, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from a mother like you. You protect her in the ways you know best, and I'll prepare her for what neither of us can fully see yet. Together, we can give her a chance against the storm that's coming."
Oblea exhales, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. "Fine. But don't expect me to trust you overnight."
"Trust is earned," Marina replies, her smile turning into a small smirk. "And I'll earn it."
Marina stands, towering over Oblea, her faint smile never fading. "How about I show you?" she says with a grin.
Oblea's eyes widen, her instincts kicking in before thought can catch up. Her blade is in her hand in an instant, body shifting back into a defensive stance as she steps away.
Marina chuckles, covering her mouth slightly with her only hand, amused rather than offended. "Come now, if I really wanted you dead—"
She moves.
A blur. A shift in the air.
Before Oblea can even process the motion, Marina is already there, claws at her throat.
She freezes.
Her pulse pounds in her ears, her muscles locked, her mind racing. Too fast. Faster than anything she's ever seen, faster than she thought possible.
She hadn't even seen the movement—no buildup, no warning—just the crushing realization that her blade had been useless.
Marina's grin never wavers as she leans in slightly. "I would have done so when you first landed in that hole," she murmurs, her voice almost playful.
Marina straightens, her grin lingering as she studies Oblea. "No, no. There is so much you don't understand. How about I teach you magic? Real magic."
Oblea's grip on her blade remains tight, but she forces herself to steady her breath, the rush of blood in her veins slowing. "I understand you teaching Eska—she's already cut off from the gods. I, however, have left the city. I can't cast magic anymore."
Marina laughs, an amused, full-bodied laugh, nearly folding over as she does. The sound echoes through the chamber, rich and unrestrained.
But as it dies down, her expression shifts to something more serious.
Marina exhales sharply, shaking her head as if even thinking about it irritates her. "That pathetic imitation you've been taught—it's an insult to what magic truly is."
She lifts her arm, her single hand making the smallest of gestures.
The flames around them die.
The chamber is swallowed in an instant of absolute darkness, the oppressive silence making Oblea's breath sound too loud, her heartbeat a heavy drum in her chest.
Then, all at once, the fires reignite.
Oblea jerks slightly, her gaze darting to the torches lining the walls, burning just as they had before.
But Marina isn't done.
She closes her fist. The flames shift.
Their color changes, from flickering orange to a brilliant white, standing taller, stronger. The room itself feels clearer, the light cutting away the dim haze, making every shadow vanish beneath its unwavering glow.
Oblea stares, her mind struggling to grasp what she's seeing.
Magic. Elemental magic. No chants, no connection to the gods. It shouldn't be possible.
She lost her magic a long time ago, her severance from the city stripping her of even the simplest incantations. She had accepted it, moved past it, knowing the gods dictated who could wield their power.
Yet here, before her, Marina had bent fire to her will, without a word, without a god's permission.
Oblea glances around, her breath unsteady as she takes in the impossible flames—brighter than anything she has ever seen before. Even Astran couldn't cast fire this strong.
Her thoughts shift, turning toward Eska.
The road ahead of her daughter was uncertain, filled with dangers Oblea couldn't begin to predict.
No matter how strong she trained her, no matter how much she prepared her, there would always be limits. Oblea knew this. It had kept her awake on too many nights.
But if this power was real—if she could learn it, if Eska could learn it—then maybe, just maybe…
A wave of relief crashes over her, so sudden it nearly takes the breath from her lungs.