The Whispering Willow Tavern stood as a silent sentinel, its sturdy frame a stark contrast to the uncertainty that permeated the air. Wooden beams, darkened by age and the weight of untold secrets, creaked softly in the chill breeze.
Above the door hung a sign that drew Elden's gaze. It depicted a willow tree. The artistry was faded, worn by years of watchful vigil, yet it retained an air of mystery.
Steeling himself against the unknown, Elden pushed open the tavern's heavy door. The hinges groaned in protest, as if reluctant to admit another soul into the sanctuary beyond.
As he crossed the threshold, the sounds of the street faded, replaced by a cacophony of human desperation. Refugees huddled in every corner, their haunted eyes telling stories of loss and hardship that words could never fully capture.
Elden watched in silent fascination as a man near the bar aged and de-aged with each labored breath, his face a living testament to time's cruel fluctuations. A child's laughter echoed from a darkened alcove, lingering seconds longer than it should have, the sound at once joyous and unsettling.
In the midst of this eerie tableau, a woman moved purposefully from patient to patient. Her auburn hair, threaded with strands of silver, caught the dim light as she worked with practiced ease, tending to the man's injuries. Her touch was gentle yet firm, her expression one of deep concentration. There was no doubt in Elden's mind—this could only be Talia Earthwhisper.
She leaned over the man, her voice calm but insistent. "How did this happen?" she asked, her tone allowing no room for evasion. "Who did this to you?"
The man winced, his face contorted in pain, but he managed to speak, his words halting. "I... I don't know exactly. It’s all a blur. Someone attacked me, tried to... rip something out of me. They called me... time-touched, or maybe a fragment holder? I'm not sure. It’s all so hazy..."
Talia’s expression darkened at his words. "It sounds like they were trying to extract your Wellspring," she said, a thread of anger woven into her voice. "You're fortunate they didn't succeed."
As she placed her hands on the man's wound, the patient let out a strangled cry. Elden could see why – the flesh was knitting itself back together at an unnatural speed, new skin and muscle fibers weaving themselves into existence.
Soon the man's screams dissolved into a deep sleep. Talia stood, wiping her hands on her apron. The simple motion couldn't hide the trembling in her fingers, the toll of prolonged magic use evident in the slump of her shoulders.
Before Elden could clear his throat to announce his presence, Talia's head snapped up, her piercing green eyes locking onto him. "Well now," she said, straightening her back. "You're new. And unless I miss my guess, you're not here for a drink."
Startled, Elden stepped forward. "I was sent here by Bell, she—."
A hint of a smile touched Talia's lips. "I know." She studied him for a moment, as if weighing something unseen. "Let’s talk somewhere more private."
As Elden followed her toward a door at the back of the tavern, he noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Talia’s stride was steady, her posture betraying none of the curiosity or wariness that lingered in her gaze.
She led him into a small, dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of herbs and something else—something old and earthy, like the deep woods after a rain. The space was modest but offered a measure of privacy that the main room lacked. As the door clicked shut behind them, Elden felt a pang of isolation.
Talia didn't immediately sit, instead leaning casually against a gnarled desk, her arms crossed. She regarded him with a level stare, one that carried the weight of unspoken questions. "You're at least a 5-star mage, maybe higher," she said bluntly, though there was an edge to her tone now, a hint of suspicion. "What brings someone like you to our little corner of misery?"
Elden hesitated, feeling the weight of her scrutiny. He glanced around, noting the worn furniture, the faint scent of herbs that lingered in the air. "I'm... searching for something," he said finally, his voice carefully measured.
Talia's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk's edge. "Running from something, then. Or someone."
The way she said it made it clear she wasn't buying his half-truths, but she let it slide—for now.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Well, you're not the only one with secrets here. If you're willing to help, we could certainly use someone of your skill."
Before Elden could respond, a commotion erupted from the main room. Talia cursed under her breath, a string of colorful Whispervale slang that would have made Elden blush in other circumstances.
"Silent Ears," Talia spat. "Sylas's thugs. They've been getting bolder lately."
They rushed back out, only to find a group of men with crossed-out ear symbols on their jackets harassing the refugees. The boy whose laughter had echoed out of sync earlier was now cowering in a corner.
Elden's eyes darted from the burly men with crossed-out ear symbols to Talia, who gave him a subtle nod.
Talia stepped forward, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance. "Dogs of Sylas, you're not welcome here," she growled, her Whispervale accent thick with anger. "These people have suffered enough."
The leader of the thugs, a man with a jagged scar across his cheek, sneered. "Stand aside, dirt-witch. We're here on official business."
Elden felt a surge of power from Talia's Wellspring, the earthy scent of moss and loam filling the air. Vines erupted from between the floorboards, snaking around the legs of the Silent Ears.
"Official business?" Talia scoffed, her fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. "Last I checked, extortion and kidnapping weren't sanctioned by any authority I recognize."
The scarred man snarled, dark energy crackling around his fists. He lunged at Talia, but Elden was faster. With a fluid motion, he cast a spell, projecting an illusion of the tavern's layout from moments ago. The scarred man stumbled, disoriented by the sudden shift in his perception.
"Elden, duck!" Talia shouted. As Elden dropped to the floor, Talia slammed her palm against the ground. A wave of earth magic rippled outward, the floorboards warping and buckling. The Silent Ears lost their footing, crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs and curses.
Elden sprang back up, his hands weaving a complex pattern. "Memory Redirection," he intoned. The air shimmered around the fallen thugs, and their eyes glazed over. They began to wander aimlessly as they eventually walked out of the tavern on their own.
With the immediate threat neutralized, Talia turned her attention to the terrified refugees. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice gentle now, a stark contrast to the fierce earth mage of moments ago.
---
Across town, Bell Winchester crept through the shadows of an ordinary-looking warehouse, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The city's muted glow filtered through the cracked windows, casting long, ominous shadows that danced in the dim light.
She moved with practiced caution, each step calculated to avoid the creaking floorboards that would betray her presence. The heirloom she sought felt like a distant dream now, overshadowed by the growing certainty that she had stumbled onto something far more sinister.
The warehouse appeared unremarkable from the outside. But Bell had noticed the subtle signs—an extra layer of dust on unused crates—that hinted at something hidden beneath the surface.
As she scanned the dimly lit interior, her eyes caught on a set of worn tracks leading to a large stack of crates. She approached cautiously, fingers brushing lightly against the wood. A barely perceptible seam in the floor caught her attention, and she knelt to inspect it closer. With a bit of pressure and a quick tug, the hidden trapdoor creaked open, revealing a darkened stairwell that spiraled into the depths below.
Bell hesitated for just a moment, glancing around to ensure she hadn't been followed. Taking a deep breath, she descended into the darkness.
At the bottom, Bell found herself in a secret chamber lined with cages, each holding prisoners wearing strange, glowing shackles. These weren't ordinary captives—some flickered in and out of existence, others aged and de-aged rapidly. Time-touched. The realization hit her hard.
She took a cautious step forward, her mind racing for a way to free them. But before she could formulate a plan, a low growl echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the walls. The very shadows around her seemed to coalesce, shifting unnaturally until they formed the silhouette of a man. Panic surged through her as she realized she wasn't alone.
"Well, well," a formless voice like the void purred, sending shivers down Bell's spine. "What have we here?"
Sylas, the leader of the Silent Ears, stepped into view, his burly figure emerging from the darkness with an almost otherworldly grace. His reputation as a ruthless criminal boss paled in comparison to the dark energy that crackled around him.
Bell's mind raced. She had no choice but to fight. Her damaged Wellspring flickered weakly within her, a constant reminder of her limitations, but Bell had never been one to back down.
Drawing on the last remnants of her Wellspring, she hurled a blinding flash of light at Sylas, then followed it up with a dagger aimed straight at his heart. But Sylas barely flinched. The shadows around him absorbed her attacks as if they were nothing more than a breeze.
With a flick of his wrist, the shadows coiled around Bell, yanking the dagger from her hand and pinning her to the ground.
She struggled, throwing every ounce of her strength into breaking free, but Sylas's power was overwhelming. He loomed over her, eyes cold and indifferent.
"You've seen too much, I'm afraid," Sylas continued, his voice sending a fresh wave of fear through Bell. "But perhaps we can put your curiosity to good use. After all..." He gestured to the cages with a cruel smile, his gaze never leaving hers. "We always have room for one more."