Eventuating into the physical realm made Clythia lightheaded. She didn’t recall the missing seconds when she traveled through the fabric of space and time, her essence scattered. That was alright for her as long as the will she imposed before the act allowed her to arrive at her destination. Letting someone have that much power over her body when she was completely blacked out made her feel uneasy, even if it was her most trusted general.

They were standing at the edge of the Dadigon forest, four thousand miles from her palace seat. The morning sun was beating down on them, more ferocious than the noon she was accustomed to. The rowdy air was humid and smelled of ripe fruits a day away from rot. With the increase in its current, it brought forward a suffocating dampness of crunched leaves and wet grass instead of a breeze, the crowns of the trees animating as the impact hit them. She began to lower her hood but reconsidered. The fewer witnesses to what she was about to commit, the better; even though her bushy hair beneath the hood only accentuated the heat.

“Wait for me at the nearest town,” she faced the general. His face was flushed and gleaming with sweat.

“Are you sure, my lady? I can wait here and transport you back to the palace,” he said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Her tone brimmed with dismissal.

He tilted his head, unfazed by her rush. “What are you planning to do?”

“Save my kingdom.”

Clythia began trekking forward into the forest, not bothering to glance if the general obeyed her, but a faint pop was the evidence of his retreat. She whirled back. Did she mistake the popping sound?

Diseventuating carried no sound with it, and yet... Among many gauges, the quality of one’s magic was observed by the amount of less ruckus one made. General Arkansov was one of the formidable wizards of DavinSaw. This was the first time she had Eventuated with him, but she was certain the incompetence wasn’t caused by a lack of ability but rather the problem she intended to fix.

With swift motion, she unsheathed her dagger and pressed deeper into the woods.

The grove provided good shade, but in areas where the sun breached the gaps, the shadows cast by the trees stretched no more than a foot. The sun was already at her full power, and noon was nigh. Clythia was soaking with sweat but didn’t dare to lift the hood a fraction from her face. The forest was eerily quiet except for the seldom chirping of birds and flapping of their wings. She was carefully following the magical marks engraved on the barks.

Legend had it that before the treaty, the arcane community marked trees leading to the Well of the Beast. These marks could be found from any direction one wished to press forward. Clythia was in haste to see the first marking at the edge of the forest, but it only took her a few minutes to note the second. The marking was a swirl of six levels. How it stood the test of time was a miracle, a miracle she believed was linked to the well of the Beast and the Shadow.

After striding for what felt like forever, the forest cleared to reveal a well. Its stone was half-veiled with weathering vines. The well’s mouth was accentuated by decaying moss, the suspended ropes disappearing into it. Around its perimeter stood no trees, no greenery to be seen, just dried leaves and fodder.

Clythia stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes. Beyond the humid air and nauseating smell, she reached her Inner Sense to awaken the most primal of magic—one that was and is and will be. Her fading power rambled low in her veins, more distant than yesterday; she didn’t have much time. But with that fraction of power, she felt the leering energy emanating from the well, like a beast in slumber waiting for its awakening. She stretched her Inner Sense to the groves. A huntress searching for her prey.

Were the Children of the Forest, really here? What if she didn’t find them? What if they were swept away as the legends they were? But before rationality took full hold of her, she felt it. A tug. A magical presence beyond her and the well. Her eyes shot open. She scrambled to sit on the ground, tucking her legs beneath her.

Clythia was no believer in gods or goddesses. She never paid tribute to secure a place in the afterlife for Hypaxia. But then and there, desperate, she prayed with all her heart to recall what her mother had taught her.

“The Children of the Forest are peaceful inhabitants of the Dadigon, Jarkava, and Misakin forests. Before the Sovereign, the arcane community lived in and around these forests. We hadn’t conquered DavinSaw yet as a Witchdom. It was a time where we lived side by side with humans, vampires, and werewolves. We charged our magic by sacrificing the Children of the Forest, hunting them with the song of the Eldrid. The Children of the Forest are attracted to music as a moth to a flame. And more so, they can’t resist the lure of the bewitching song of Eldrid as it was crafted by Ilyana the First and the immigrant witches. You only need to find the song; it’s in your blood as you are a descendant of Ilyana. Meditate to bring the song from your blood and mix it with your Inner Sense.”

Like all lessons her mother had taught her, she made sure to include the rituals of luring and sacrifice that took place in this forest.

Following the treaty with the Sovereign, the Jarkava and Misakin forests were wiped off the face of Zyvern, leaving no trace of their existence. The archives in the heavily guarded library of the palace and their sister forest, Dadigon, still standing, were the only remnants of their existence. Even though it was ironic, learning this came at a time when stability flourished and thrived. Ilyana and her ancestors had passed this knowledge from father to son, from mother to daughter. This was to ensure that, should the Tome fail the royal descendants and presumably DavinSaw, they would have a second, a third, a fourth—as many backup plans as needed up their sleeves.

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But the only reserve measure involving magic was the sacrifice that should be done for the well and Shadow.

Clythia opened her mouth, a musical note deeper from her throat rumbled through her. The chirping of the birds was muffled, the air around her now carried the beautiful peaks and falls of the melody. To her ears, it sounded like a chorus sung by her soul, body, and flesh. If she had neglected to refine one of her essences in her lessons, it could disrupt the harmony and thus, the hunt. Fortunately, her years of preparation were paying off, not a single note was amiss.

A crunch of a branch was her indication to slowly open her eyes. A few feet away, a boy, who hadn’t hit adolescence yet, was tiptoeing to where she perched. He would pass for a human if he hid his doe-like ears and kept his distance. Because as he neared, the auburn scale on his skin glinted against the scorching sun. He was wearing a garment sewn by leaves covering his torso and thighs. His black eyes were glazed by the bewitching melody, his guard completely down. The innocence in them reminded her of Clen, a knot tightened in her gut.

Clythia slowly rose to her feet, and as she did, she hid her right hand that carried the dagger behind her. She closed the distance between them and laid her hands around his arms. His skin was cool, unfazed by the heat. She guided him to the edge of the well. She placed the dagger carefully at its mouth, and pulled the bucket up. The bucket was made of wood, but grime and dirt had discolored it to grey; old blood was stained and splashed in it. It took all her will not to throw up from the pungent smell of decay wafting from the depth of the well and the suspended bucket. Certain the bucket was aligned to the neck of the boy, she grabbed the dagger.

“Shadows of the Sea, Beast of the Well,

Hear my request and grant me the Spell,” she said.

The haze from the boy’s eyes lifted. He stared at her, woken from a slumber the song of Eldrid put him in. His gaze rested on the dagger, and he wretched frantically against her tight grip. She sliced his throat with one swift motion. In an attempt to scream, he opened his mouth but in its stead, blood gurgled out of it and the thin line on his throat. She angled the bucket for his blood to pool in. His struggle ceased slowly, all his weight upon her arms. Years of physical training kept her from collapsing under it. His limp head rested on her shoulder, and his vacant eyes reflected the sun. She poured the boy’s blood into the well.

A distant cackle sounded from its depth. A cackle of a hag. The Beast. Shadows were swirling at the pit, out of place with the brightness of the sun.

“Finally, someone recalls my plea,” a hollow, reverberating sound echoed the well. Another laugh.

“Finally, someone recalls my plea,

Heretics who once forsook me, see.

They’ve come to pay their dues, in stride,

Failed by my replacement, aside,” sang the Beast, in a windy hollow tone.

Clythia rolled her eyes. “Oh, get over it. Don’t you have better things to do than hold grudges for all this time? One might even forget their name if they lived that long.”

That was not entirely accurate, of course. Morven, Hypaxia, and some of their subjects had retained their memories and self-awareness across eras, before and after the Sovereign’s reign. But a tease and banter never hurt.

The Beast giggled, like a child caught in mischief.

“How long since you’ve been here, to revisit the past so dear?”

“Never. It’s my first time. I hope you are welcoming of a new queen.”

The Beast had no sense of time; for it, the last sacrifice could have felt like yesterday, a few minutes before, or a thousand years. All events were jumbled into one and many. But in its muddled sense, it was aware it had been abandoned, sensing the land thriving without the power it provided.

The Beast held its silence.

“So, how much magic for the blood of your foe?” She gazed at the restless, smoking shadows.

“Its worth 768 Garin, for magic in the land to win.”

“That’s only three years!” But it was enough time. Enough to confront the Sovereign. For everything to remain as it was. All magic came with a price and consequence. She had paid the price for the Shadow’s magic; the consequence would come later, so she shoved the worries with it.

She lifted the boy, hefting his corpse in her arms.

“How about one more year for fresh bone and flesh?” She said with a tone of eagerness one might use to recite a favorite food. “I mean 256 Garin.”

“Eighty-five,” the Beast said, its voice like glass scraping across a tile.

“One hundred twenty-eight.” Six months more.

The Beast went quiet for a moment.

“Deal.”

She closed the corpse’s eyes and threw the body into the shadows. They danced higher and swallowed him whole before a thud followed. The Beast’s cackle rang out from the well again.

A swirl of raw energy enveloped her, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Once again, her magic brimmed within her Inner Sense, within grasp like a wave conquering the shore. Ecstasy and relief rolled in her. She would bask in the bliss of her rejuvenated power later; now, she had to leave the forest. Someone would come looking for the boy. Dealing with the slight possibility of rebellion because of her identity was at the bottom of her list. Paradise was no more. The game of the hunt and prey had begun. Until the time came, she had to make sure she remained at the top of the food chain.

“Once more the bargain’s sealed, the spell,

The cost of magic’s cast, farewell.

Paid in full, the price at last,

In shadows of the ancient past.” The Beast sang.

She surrendered to the familiar embrace of the darkness and found herself at the border of the nearest town, Niya.

The general stood before a field of wheat. Unlike the forest’s weather, the scorching sun was balanced by the cool breeze of the wind. She strolled forward and waved her hand. Her cloak disappeared—clean and folded in her bedchamber. Sweat and dirt vanished from her, leaving skin and cloth pristine. Her hair wove itself into golden braids, cascading over her shoulders and down her back. A smile of accomplishment tugged at her lips. With each transformation, the general’s brows rose higher. He met her halfway.

“Mission accomplished, my lady,” he said, bowing and strolled alongside her.