Elara stood in a place of twilight mist. The ground beneath her feet was smooth obsidian, and the sky above churned with indigo clouds and stars that blinked like eyes. A forest shimmered at the edge of her vision but never came closer, no matter how she turned.
In the center of it all stood a figure.
He had his back to her, robed in a cloak of deep black that bled into the shadows around him. His posture was calm. Unbothered.
She couldn't see his face. No matter how she moved, he remained turned away.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said, voice rich and amused. "Dream spying is impolite, you know."
Elara stepped forward, fists clenched. "Who are you?"
He chuckled, low and dangerous. "I forget how dull you can be."
"Why did you curse me?" she asked, her voice steady despite the fear crawling up her spine.
He let out a sigh, as if the answer bored him. "Because you're destined to kill me, Elara."
Her breath caught.
"And I—well—I rather like living."
"But Fate—"
"Yes, yes," he said, waving a gloved hand as though brushing away smoke. "Lady Fate, in her infinite cruelty, has decided I can't kill you. Not directly." He tilted his head, his voice dropping. "But I can try. And I will, little light. Again and again."
Elara stepped closer, trembling with fury. "Coward. Show me your face."
He laughed softly, still not turning. "Now why would I do that? Some truths you aren't ready for. Yet."
The dream cracked like glass. Shadows rushed in.
His voice followed her down into darkness.
"Sleep well, Elara. While you still can."
Elara woke with a gasp, heart hammering, the morning light just beginning to creep through Moa's curtains.
Morning cast the world in soft gold, the dew glimmering outside Moa's windows like tiny stars fallen to earth. Elara sat at the small table with her hands wrapped around a warm mug, the memory of the dream still fresh in her bones. Fig was curled in a teacup, snoring softly, one wing flopped over his face.
Moa poured water into a kettle without looking. "You saw something, didn't you?"
Elara nodded. "A dream. But it felt like… more than a dream."
Moa didn't speak. She waited.
"He was there. The one who cursed me. I didn't see his face—he never turned around. But I heard him. He said I'm fated to kill him. That's why he cursed me. To stop it."
Moa finally turned, eyes narrowed with thought. She tapped her fingers along the counter once, twice, then disappeared through a low arched doorway behind a curtain of dried sage.
Elara waited, nerves tightening. She heard rummaging, the clink of wood on wood, something soft hitting the floor and a string of muttered words that may or may not have been curses.
Then Moa emerged, cradling something in her hands.
It was a pendant—ancient and beautiful, shaped like a teardrop of blue crystal framed in delicate silver vines. It shimmered faintly, as if catching light that wasn't there.
Moa crossed the room and gently set it in Elara's palm.
"This," she said, "is protection."
Elara looked down at it, awe blooming in her chest. "It's beautiful."
"It's more than that," Moa said, serious now. "It's bound to your soul. As long as you wear it, evil can touch you—but it can't take you. You won't die. Not again."
Elara's breath caught. "Wait—really?"
Moa nodded once. "Once your mission is done—once you've fulfilled what fate marked you to do—the pendant will vanish. It'll go back to where it came from."
Elara stood, the pendant gleaming against her skin as she fastened the chain around her neck. It rested just below her collarbone, cool and strangely comforting.
She looked up, a spark in her eyes.
"I can fight back now."
Moa smiled. "Yes, Elara Ashvine. You can."
The morning was crisp when Elara and Fig left Moa's cottage behind. The garden rustled with sleepy magic, petals closing slowly as the sun rose higher. The scent of herbs clung to the air like a farewell.
Elara walked with a lightness in her step she hadn't felt in ages. Her fingers curled instinctively around the pendant resting against her chest, its smooth surface still faintly warm. Every time she touched it, something in her heart steadied. She wasn't powerless anymore.
"I feel… ready," she said, grinning as they crossed the mossy trail back into the forest. "Like whatever's coming, I can handle it."
"Good," Fig muttered, flitting just above her shoulder, "because I am deeply ready to be somewhere not crawling with enchanted cats and moody windchimes."
Elara laughed. "You're just mad Moa hugged you like a plush toy."
"She nearly cracked a rib. I'm delicate."
The trees thinned as they reached the main road that led back to Silverkeep. The familiar rooftops came into view, the silver spires gleaming in the distance, and a soft breeze carried the distant hum of life in the city.
Elara's heart lifted—until she noticed the posted signs at the city gates.
Date: 28th of Greenfall.
She stopped cold.
"What?" she whispered.
Fig landed on her shoulder and frowned. "What's wrong?"
She turned to him, stunned. "Fig… when did we enter Moa's house?"
He blinked, thinking. "The twenty-somethingth of Greenfall? I don't know. Maybe the sixteenth?"
Elara stared at the sign again, dread crawling up her spine.
"That was two days ago," she said slowly. "But this… this says two weeks have passed."
Fig whistled low. "Ah. Classic witch's realm. Time bends weird around magic like Moa's. Probably why her stew never burns. Should've warned you."
"You think?" Elara spun to face him, hands on her hips. "I've lost two weeks, Fig! I still need to train—there's so much I don't know, and now I'm even further behind!"
The sense of safety the pendant had given her flickered, her grip tightening on it as if it could turn back time.
She felt behind again. Small. Too late.
But only for a moment.
No.
She breathed deep, straightened her spine.
She may have lost time—but she wasn't the same girl who wandered into Mirewood, scared and unsure. She had magic at her throat, fire in her blood, and a reason to keep moving.
"We train harder," she said. "Smarter. No more wasted hours."
Fig nodded approvingly. "There she is."
Elara stepped through the gates of Silverkeep, head high and fate whispering at her heels