In truth, Elendra didn’t know what the girl was or why the Empire sought her. She arrived in the village just two days after reports of an accident at one of the Empire’s refineries, those large mechanical contraptions that delved deep for Essence hidden beneath the ground. Battered, bruised, and terrified, one of the fisherman found her wandering by the shore. A scrawny thing, no more than six, with near white hair and eyes of the most incredible turquoise, so bright they seemed to almost glow.
Elendra, with her knowledge of medicines, took her under her care. She fed, bathed, and tended to her wounds. The child didn’t speak much at first. When asked about her origin or her name, she would close off and say she didn't know, holding herself in comfort. Elendra encountered more than one child who had escaped the drunken beatings of a father, so she didn’t press the matter. Some memories were better left forgotten. She answered to “girl,” “child,” or “lass” and that was enough for Elendra. But soon, it became apparent that the girl was extraordinary.
As the village soothsayer, Elendra had encountered a few with the gift, those who could catch the wind’s odd words here and there. But the girl was different. Elendra listened as if it were an old, yet foreign friend rambling on, only able to make out slight hints of its meaning. She knew if the day’s catch would be good, the tides would change, or there was danger in the breeze. But the girl, strange as she was, could speak with it. She understood it.
In the six months under her care, the two became close. At first, Elendra let the girl stay out of pure pity. But over time pity turned to genuine care. Elendra would teach her the ways of medicine, and in turn would listen to the long, friendly discussions the girl would have with the winds. The child spoke of songs sung by trees and long-forgotten stories hidden deep in the Veil. The Veil, the long forgotten energy of the world. Extraordinary.
The change in the girl was remarkable. Physically, she appeared to have aged at least five years. Taller, more filled out, and a pretty sight too. She spent more time in conversation with the winds—more than was good for her, Elendra told her as much. But the girl would give a simple smile and say she had questions for them, then refuse to elaborate further.
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She had to admit, and there was a twinge of shame in doing so, that part of the reason she kept the girl around was out of sheer fascination. It was as if the girl were a specimen meant for study. But in truth, Elendra was happy again. It was comforting to have someone to care for. She had been desperately lonely since the passing of her husband, foolish as he was. It was nice to have the company. Yes, the townsfolk would murmur in hushed voices about her and the peculiar child with off-coulored eyes that she kept by her side. She heard all the stories, but she paid them little mind. Tongues love to wag when there is little else to wag about.
Some said the old soothsayer had bewitched the girl. Others called the girl unnatural, a harbinger of ill omens. They told Elendra in no uncertain terms that she would do well to be rid of her and banish the girl away. Elendra would respond with a swift knock to the head with her walking aid and threaten to banish them if they spoke such silliness again.
Overall, things were good. She was happy, and the girl seemed content enough. But as with all things in life, change is the only constant.
Men arrived, interrogating the locals about peculiar occurrences. Quickly, they became aware of the girl. They would approach Elendra, initially courteous, but their requests grew increasingly forceful, earning themselves a swift knock to the head from Elendra’s walking aid on more than one occasion.
Once they departed, life seemed to revert to its normal rhythm. Fishermen resumed their work, and the sun went up and down as always. Yet the winds carried a foreboding message. The girl sensed it too. She grew quiet and withdrawn, murmuring to herself in the night of peril. Holding herself and rocking, repeating the words “My fault,” over and over. No amount of soothing could summon the bright and kind girl Elendra had come to cherish.
With the onset of snowfall, the soldiers descended. Essence-powered machines, almost arachnid in shape. They tore through the huts with a bitter fury. Sirens wailed, and a mechanically amplified voice demanded the girl's return. It was a massacre. Men, women, children—any lacking the distinctive turquoise eyes—met a bloody end, sacrificed in a horrifying ritual.
A meagre few survivors, Elendra and the girl included, escaped. Fleeing through the old abandoned mines, emerging in the neighbouring village. But they couldn’t linger. The soldiers and their machines were in ceaseless pursuit. They left a trail of death for any who glimpsed or even came close to the child. It was evident they were determined to ensure her existence remained a secret. And for seven days, their pursuit was marked by blood. Now, only Elendra and the girl remained. Trapped within the cold, dank cave. The silhouetted figure loomed before them.