Ymra awoke in her hut, surrounded by her branch, her family, with the warmth pulsing from the hearth hitting her straight in the face. Strange, really. Egira usually hated sleeping in a warm hut, and as Egi wished, so would the world typically obey - their world at least -, and yet…

Ymra rose from her furs and stretched to banish the sleep from her muscles, before she walked over to the massive deerskin that served as a door to the hut. Outside, she found the world to be completely covered in snow. Odd. She could have sworn, it was summer just yesterday. She scratched her head, but the massive bulge on the back of her head, which she had apparently forgotten, was excruciating to touch.

“What is going on?”, Ymra asked out loud. This whole scene confused her. That was, until she recognized it.

“Right. This is when I go hunting with Stonearse…” Slowly, she put one and one together. “I am dreaming.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the sky. The sound was loud and clear, as one would expect from such an action, but Ymra had never been able to get it quite right, and yet, now she could.

“Alright, that settles it, and since none of us want to relive this day, I would prefer to wake up now, if that is okay with you.” The sky didn’t bother to respond to her.

(Do you remember…)

Oh yes, she remembered. She remembered how badly she would mess up later this day and frankly, she would rather throw herself in a river than see it again. So, if she could just wake up, please, world, don’t be a jerk…

The sight that greeted her on the other side of sleep wasn’t exactly, what one would call pleasant or even clear for that matter. First thing first, it was dark, so much that Ymra couldn’t make out any details besides the iron bars to the right of her. That, however, wasn’t something, she would consider a detail, as much as the answer to the riddle of where she was.

They threw me in a cell.

Even though the Niq didn’t use prisons like this, Ymra knew of them from the stories, she had heard from merchants from the so-called Three Cities. Therefore, she assumed that was where, she now found herself. Slowly, it all came back to her; the Tyren, the wolf-spirit and the agile, old man, who had taken her with him and later hit her on the head. The bulge still burned, but at least it didn’t seem to bleed, so she had that going for her.

Here, in this prison. In a foreign place she didn’t really understand. Held captive by a spirit-slaying hunter.

And to think, she could have been drinking eom with Ern instead.

Ymra laughed. It was not one born of humor, but of a prisoner’s dreadful reflection and following realization: She was doomed.

As time passed in the dark cell, Ymra come to another realization: She missed her branch. “Yeah, I can’t believe it either,” she said to absolutely nobody and whomever happened to be in earshot of her. She was certain those were the same, as no one had made themselves known to her. “I miss Dum-Dum’s half-witted comments, I miss Tasar’s fearful skulking. And, Niquol take me for this, I miss Egira’s constant string-pulling. I miss Ern’s eyes, and the Snake’s Eye’s fighting.”

In the darkness, she didn’t have any sense of time, so instead of counting days and nights, she started counting sleeps. She had now been in this hole for precisely seventy-seven sleeps and awakenings not counting the first time, she woke up in here. Once, after the thirty-sixth sleep, a singular guardsman had come to give her something to fill her empty belly. Then, food had begone to arrive more and more regularly, as if someone finally remembered that they had captured her. She wondered, when the old hunter could be bothered to visit her down here. She knew, she was down, because the man carrying the food entered via a set of stairs, but that was also the limit of her knowledge. A prison, underground. Why she was here, she still didn’t know. She went to sleep for the seventy-eighth time in the darkness.

It had been three weeks since Gerren had slain the blue wolf and carried home a prisoner, he did not yet know what to do with. All he did know was what he had detected out in the woods; a strange sensation, an urge, not unlike the ones he himself instilled in others via his spells. This led him to believe he girl had some natural ability with the magic of the forest, a rare gift even among the citizens of the Three Cities. Magical prowess was typically earned through years of intense study and training, but a few here and there was born with a sort of natural attunement to the flow of mana through Krathen. They still needed training, of course, but they would already have the basics in place. Gerren himself had had no such talent, but his old friend and mentor, Oliva, had seen the value of summoning bestial strength in battle and had therefore past her knowledge and skill down to Gerren, who in turn would train any with the fortitude required for the arcane.

And he had. Many, in fact. Some still served as hunters, others had died as hunters tend to. But the rest… the rest had been lost to madness, now roaming the forest as little more than feral beasts themselves. To a point, Gerren blamed himself, as most teachers would when their students fall to hubris. But then again, he did not force them attempt increasingly more difficult spells, nor did he fail to inform them about the risks.

Bah. He knew, he shouldn’t dwell on it, but now that it is was there, the thought seemed to refuse to leave his skull. Maybe he would drown it later.

There would be no time for drinking that night, sadly. As captain, he was the first to be informed every time some new duty for the hunters popped up, and it was his job to disperse various recruits and established hunters and huntresses to the sites. It was a lot of paperwork and absolutely no fun. Gerren wouldn’t say, he hated it, as it was an incredibly important task, and therefore an honorable one, but it didn’t compare in the slightest to the feeling of tracking and slaying a beast. After he had fulfilled his duties, he had been too exhausted to even lift a mug, so he had gone straight to bed. The next day had proved much the same and so the cycle had continued for another two weeks, before he finally had some spare time.

And probably much to the disappointment of an undefined amount of people, Gerren decided to spend this time in a prison.

He found his prisoner in a seemingly random cell in the underground prison under the headquarters of the Cities’ peacekeeping force called Selma’s Vigilance, where he had originally asked her to be kept. Capturing her had been an impulse, but he didn’t want her to suffer in the Commons, the dungeon for the typical filth. These cells where supposed to hold both important political prisoners, not that there were many of those around, ever since the Three Cities merged, but decent citizens whose crimes weren’t worthy of proper imprisonment would also sometimes end up here. No one here would be awakened to torture or starved for days, until rats were all the food, they could get - this was the practice in the Commons - , but no prison was comfortable, of course.

Gerren tapped the bars to the girl’s cell lightly with his right index finger. The sound was low and probably wouldn’t disturb any other prisoner in here, but apparently loud enough to wake her from her slumber.

Good, he thought. She doesn’t sleep deeply. It was a quality, Gerren had come to appreciate throughout his career.

The girl rose to her knees, still a bit dizzy from her slumber, before rising to her full height. For a young adult, she wasn’t very tall, a head or so shorter than Gerren, but she had an athletic build that told the old hunter not to underestimate her in combat. And there was a certain rhythm to her eyes, making him suspect, she was analyzing him just as he was her. Another fine quality and an indication that this one was a hunter herself. Not the beast-slaying protector that he and his order was, but more primal interpretation of what that mantle meant. He could work with that, assuming she was willing to learn.

From him. Her captor.

He recognized the inherit silliness of the idea, not to mention that training a savage would be a complete first for any hunter.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Oh well. It won’t hurt to try, I guess.

“Hello.”

No response.

It took Gerren’s thoughts a moment too much to catch up.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t speak our tongue. Well, luckily, we do have answers for that.” And then, mostly to himself; “Why am I saying this out loud? She doesn’t understand it anyway.”

The leather-clad man led Ymra up from the darkness to the surface, where she was met with strange sounds and unknown, queasy smells that made her stomach turn. Even the sun here seemed different from the one she was used to with its reflections on the grey stone and dead wood that made up most of this place. She must have stumbled or at least hesitated, because the man gestured for her to follow him once more. Did he seem nervous?

(See what you have gotten yourself into?)

She had been careless and impulsive, when she had left home, yes, but she didn’t think, she was to blame for her capture. The hunter had somehow seen her amongst the treetops, even though she had been hidden by the leaves, and he had moved faster than an old man had any right to, so how could she possibly have avoided getting captured? It didn’t really matter anymore, but the nagging thought still lingered despite her best efforts to rid herself of it. She looked around ones more, this time ignoring the strangeness, and instead focusing on finding a way out and back into the forest. There, she could probably escape anyone sent by the Cities, since she would be aware of their intensions this time. There was just one tiny problem; the buildings and streets around her reminded her more of a maze than any settlement, and before she could even begin to make any sense of it, the old hunter signaled to her through primal body language that they had arrived.

Their destination turned out to be a relatively large stone building with banners that wavering slightly in the wind placed on both sides of a massive wooden door with brunt metal reinforcements. The old man knocked three times on the door, to which the voice of a young man responded.

He asked a question, the thick door dampening the sound of his words, and the hunter responded in a tone that wasn’t quite a yell but would still earn you an annoyed look around a campfire. Ymra obviously didn’t understand, what they were saying, but she would assume that this place and the man on the other side of the door was part of some institution, which might very well turn out to be bad for her, an outsider and a prisoner.

Eventually, the door opened with a loud, metallic complaining and to her surprise, Ymra locked eyes with a man not much younger than the one escorting her. He then spoke directly to her, his voice and face not really agreeing on their age, and Ymra understood that he expected her to answer. Instinctively, she looked to the old man for help, which in hindsight was equally as odd as the other man’s appearance. The hunter seemed to clarify the situation to which the scholar shrugged.

Wait, what? How in the name of the Niquol, did she know that he was a scholar?

No, not a scholar. A genius. The future of the Three Cities and a gentleman through and through.

Ymra tensed.

Relax, she thought, I’m just kidding.

I DIDN’T THINK THAT!

She recoiled, taking up as good of a fighting stance as the rope around her wrists would allow. The scholar… genius… MAN’S hands spun a brilliant white light that seemed to almost dance. It was beautiful, almost hypnotizing. He spoke then, not through his mouth but through the light and directly into her mind: “Come on. I have something to show you.”

“Why can I understand you?” she asked out loud. It felt awkward to break a silence halfway through a conversation like that. Instead of responding, the man simply grinned, turned around and tapped his right temple twice. Ymra followed, unsatisfied with the answer and completely puzzled.

They entered a circular room made entirely of bookcases and dominated by a leather-bound armchair placed in the middle of a concoction of circles and triangles. A similar pattern was stitched into the fabric of the chair with a fair string, which stood in odd contrast to the darkened room. The scholar held up a glowing hand and the shapes on the floor responded in kind, earning a gasp from Ymra.

“Please. Take a seat.” Ymra did, what he asked, despite her instinct of danger.

(Foolish)

“What is this?” she asked, eyes transfixed on the beautiful intensity of the light.

“This is a place of learning, Ymra.” Even though it was the voice of the scholar, she heard, it came from all around her, inside the light and from the books, from the chair and from her own thoughts. It was terrifying and entrancing all at the same time. It was weird, an oddity she felt in the middle of her core, but also completely natural like the knowledge of how to walk or blink or speak. She had never seen anything like this or felt a sensation like this, this intrusion into her mind. The voice continued:

“We are imprinting on you the very essence of our culture - our language.” A sharp sting followed.

“But how?” she thought out loud.

Suddenly, the light was gone, and Ymra was left stunned in the chair, trying to understand what in the world had just happened. The old hunter waved his hands in outgoing arcs, whispering; “magic”, as if that explained anything. The only magic, Ymra had ever known was the healing and spiritual communion of the Dreamer, and it definitely didn’t feel like this.

She understood him. She wasn’t supposed to understand him, but she did. She opened her mouth and let of some random words that didn’t really form a sentence, but they proved one thing; this wasn’t the Niq tongue. She then focused, switching something in her brain, and spoke again. This time, it was the familiar sounds of her people, but it felt so foreign to wield them.

‘Ours are the word of the forest’. Where does this leave me?

She stood and looked at the two men, flipped her voice once more and spoke with a ferocity that clearly took them by surprise: “How could you do this to me!? I am of the Niq and you have taken away even that! Wasn’t it enough to bind me and throw me in the dark? Why?”

Ymra hadn’t even realized, how angry she had been. In the cell, she had been sad and miserable (like always), but never filled with a wrath like this. In a way, it was satisfying - like she could burn off the rope and the faces of these two dimwits without any consequences - but also annoying. She hated losing her cool like this, but of all the times to shout, this one felt right, as it was the first with them understanding her words. Her hands curled into fists and her stomach turned to stone as she waited for a response. In the back of her mind, a smaller self grinned, knowing that Egira would have cried, had she been the one to be captured.

Egira paced back and forth between the long-since died pyre and her family, resentment flashing in her thoughts. “She should have been back by now. Where in the world is she?” Demur, Tasar and Ern didn’t answer. She sighed. Ymra had run off the night before in that typical Ymra fashion, but unlike her, she hadn’t returned to boast or be sassy or something like that, and it was honestly a little worrying. On a somewhat related note: Where were Parlin and Darlin? This time she groaned, resolving in a cautious look from Tasar and a more questioning one from Ern.

“She will be back, Egi. Don’t worry, she can take care of herself. I hope.” He added the last part in a teasing matter that he knew would piss off the girl, and it worked. Egira turned to stare him down in the most intimidating way, she could muster.

“Ern, this isn’t funny. Urgh, why can’t she just stop doing this? Doesn’t she realize how much it hurts us that she refuses to just enjoy herself?” Then, noticing his eyes, she added; “I’m sorry, brother, it’s just… what if she gets killed. We wouldn’t even know, would we? We are a family; a branch of the Great Tree, and we care for her, even the Snake’s Eyes, even though they would never admit it openly.”

“I am not so certain, Ymra is aware of that. Maybe that is the problem. I know her, as do you. She is a wild spirit. She will be back, when she needs to. Come. I need to break my fast, and I am certain you could do with some nourishment as well.” He turned away and gestured for her to follow, but she stayed a little while longer, even as the others left as well.

“Dammit, Ymra! Why do you always have to be like this? Can’t you see what, you are doing to me?” She stomped the ground for no reason and went off to get something to eat. Ern was right. She could do with a distraction.

Gerren found himself, quite unexpected, without any response to give the girl. She made a valid point; they - correction: He - had torn her away from her family and friends, her entire culture in fact, on a hunch, and then they had exposed her to the Ritual of Inception, which wasn’t even perfected yet. What now?

Ymra, the name that Amrion had pried from the savage’s mind, started to walk towards him, her bound hands dangling far to casually in front of her. Gerren glanced at the grey-clad mind-mage next to him and saw his own thoughts reflected in the white aura, he had summoned, and suddenly he wondered whether, those were his thoughts in the first place.

Urgh, telepathy…

I can hear you.

Stop it!

On an unrelated note, we really should stop her, before she strangles us with your own rope.

Agreed. Put her to sleep.

Or, you know, just grab her wrist and tell her to calm down, instead of infuriating her further by exposing her to more magic?

You have a point.

Gerren broke of the conversation to cast a spell of speed. In a flash of deep green, he had Ymra by the wrists, imploring her to listen to what he had to say. Having only a second or two to make the decision, Gerren concluded that it was best to simply be honest.

“Listen to me: I captured you on instinct. There is no greater ploy or scheme. I am not trying to remove your roots or anything like that. This, in fact, has very little to do with you being Niq. I recognized a certain arcane talent in you and thought it worth exploring. Am I sorry that I tore you away from your life? No, I am not. Loss happens. Deal with it on your own. I do, however, care for what happens to you next; I would prefer to attempt to develop your talents and make you an excellent hunter, but if you don’t calm down right now, I will bind your feet as well and throw you back into the Krathen. Am I clear?”

Ymra had listened with a palette of emotions painted on her face, but now there was nothing but cold fear and resentment to see. Then, she slowly nodded.

Good, Gerren thought, she is not a complete moron.

Continued in part 3.