Justice is the reflection of truth unmoved by divine power or the decree of kings keeping all the destinies no hand can control. It is a silver thread that weaves through the darkness in no haste and steady quietness; an unwavering adherence that every soul deserves to be heard and every wrong righted. In its final breath, every cry shall make a smile roam, all shredded blood will return to the vein, the disturbed will find its home, and the truth will forever remain.

For her, such disposition had been fostered for more than a couple of millennia in this one soul gradually directing the course of the world in the shadows according to the desired ramifications unknown to its inhabitants. And soon the final thread will be woven.

Streaming through the moment's repose is a hair shifting like silver ribbons playfully caught in the current of a woman's flight in the air. She sits on her disc cutting through the silence as the mountains stare at her passing and leaves fading into slumber after whispering goodbyes to the day's warmth. Although everything is steady, the light can't afford to stay and prepares to leave in a proper gradual fashion. The woman looks into the stretch of greens beneath her, suspends in the air, and hovers beside the trunks. She flies in between woods in search of a small clearing.

A rabbit with a nut disappeared into the thicket, among other small creatures who laid eyes on her. The trees towered over the landscape like a silent sentinel, with branches stretched out guarding their turf, but they trembled in suffocation while the leaves made nervous whispers as she passed.

The dead leaves beneath her feet rustled in protest as she made her way to the ground. She put the disc in her satchel and took a quire tearing a couple of leaves out with preciseness. A whispered song brushed against the space while a gust from nowhere swept away the tapestry of leaves and twigs in the clearing. A carpet of moss and organic matter embracing the earth with a few clusters of mushrooms was revealed while several creatures were surprised either burrowed deep or slipped away.

She took soot from her satchel placing it on the top of the leaf from the quire on her hands and murmured another song. The soot traced patterns on the ground—symbols, shapes, a circle—all without a thought from her. The woman trashed the torn leaves of the quire into her satchel and took out candles setting them in four directions which followed the salt, incense, bottle of water, and fabric. She stood amid all these, stretching her arms to her sides and sang.

Vato maan taledu mano lameganoki gudonn pa vato bohasi sã,

Do foyanu manene to vaba tu veno robesara.

Dacha beye to pane sã gahipotuna vabadunn,

Naya vato lazashate to sokaya tu lapasu.

Vato satann do vato sokaya fobe nagamonn.

Do temanodasã konucha fobe manane tivoya—

Her voice echoed through the woods weaving around the branches and caressing the leaves. Her music danced on the rocks and hummed to the nearest river encouraging every earth to listen. And yet, the forest shuddered as it choked on its breath. The plants retreated and recoiled together. Even as the trunks were groaning in protest, everything was caught in the grip of the gust pulling them in every direction and animals bolted and vanished among the shadows. All the while, the objects placed on the ground diffused into thin air gradually.

Vona pashana vota maan rotaledo tame hoba.

Zoremika mobanath pavoso ma gana.

Marule yato tova be demanaan tova terebe.

Hagunera vato lirato to vato dora maan vera gudima.

Saketinn to nifitena rutohann tova relaseya,

Visudomi shegureta tanara dayabare tova nitatã.

Venu vato sona satosa, pa dave,

Do serisevi chelanesaan, nima vasi risase—

A sharp and abrupt sensation crept from her wrist spreading across her skin like a ripple. It raced through her veins never lingering and leaving nothing, but her fingers twitched and saw the symbols drawn on her wrist spark for a bit. She had woven the world with her thread in search of something for centuries. And now, she had found it.

With her words still clinging in the air, she abruptly stopped and clenched her fists. The gravity of an incomplete ritual weighed heavily on her slumped shoulders. She was aware of the risks associated with incompleting it—still, the feeling on her wrist demanded more. She took a deep breath and made her decision. Whatever consequences after can be dealt with later. She soared in a single motion, the forest sighing in relief, yet the energy she had cast lingered, unfinished.

She cut through the air like an arrow with her body arced into the front. Her hair streamed from her back like a comet's tail, twisting and coiling, shifting and turning. While in the air, the horizon shone cradled by the twin suns casting warm hues and long shadows across the land—one burned fiercer while the other hung beside, gold and soft. Not far away, a small bean-shaped moon floats in its first quarter, resembling a neglected sliver of illumination against the evening's backdrop. The other moons were consumed by the encroaching darkness as if the night had reserved them for a later moment. The last light of the day painted the nearby city with vibrant tones illuminating the spires and roofs like jewels in a treasure box. Though modest, the city itself stood distinct and remarkable in this sight. Its structures rose like a fabric that had served its time.

As she neared the city, she tore another leaf from the quire, slipped it in between her wrist—dull and ashen—and sleeve, and whispered a song. As the city sprawled beneath her, she swept over rooftops darting her golden eyes into every corner and angle. The sensation had led her to this city. It should be here.

"Can eagles eat us, mother?" The woman's elongated ears twitched as she heard a small and curious voice bounce blending with the entire noise. Her eyes pierced through every living being in sight with even greater haste.

Her eyes stumbled upon a scene that froze every fibre of her being—a girl amid a circle of bright faces, her face clasped by fiery strands of hair each dancing to its own tune. She was a sole flower in a meadow full of weeds. This girl might hold the key. The one who can complete what was begun ages ago. With this child, the long-anticipated reckoning could at last commence.

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As a frigid breeze from the nearby lake caressed her cheeks carrying a wave of disbelief, the air around her thickened with urgency and she came back to her senses. In one single motion, her feet found the ground, her disc into her satchel, and pocketing the paper from her wrist and replacing it with a different one. What was once an eagle gliding through the air now appears a young man, overlooked amidst the vast streets of the city.

The woman came out from the alley her feet bringing her to the destination. As she neared the scene, a cry found its way into her ears while a noise of concern echoed. She saw tears cascading down the child's face and like a waterfall, it was endless no matter how many times her trembling hands wiped them. The child's tears were as inconsequential as the gentle breeze touching her clothes. As her eyes scanned the scene, she found bruises blossoming like roses on her knees and the earth glued onto her skin.

"C'mon, Marlis' mother can get ye better," the biggest of the kids kneeled reaching for her, and tried to get her up but she won't budge an inch. The lass cried more which would drive anyone mad and perhaps help these kids however only they were present in this alley.

"It'll be alricht. A fell once before an' her mother fix it. She e'en gave us cookies after," the girl at the side bounced and leaned closer.

"Did she fell?" the woman's voice was honeyed and soft as she approached them with measured grace. She wore a smile and concern like her skin was made from them to conceal the shadows lurking within.

The children's eyes darted at one another surprised and uncertain while the cry continued. "She got hurt," the biggest kid stepped forward as if shielding his friends from an unknown force.

"Then, I could help. Would you mind it?" her smiling eyes were fixed on the girl, a predator who had found its prey. "I know a bit about treating wounds."

The children exchanged wary glances like silent conversations weaving through their doubts and concerns. "Ye can dae that?"

"Yes, adults can do a lot of things. I mean no harm, dearest ones. I simply want to help." As the woman reached for the girl, the children gave her room. While she caressed her face clearing it, the cries quieted while confusion and uncertainty settled in but all her strength was dedicated to mourning her bruises she had nothing left for anything else.

"You poor thing." The woman glanced at the biggest kid, "What is her name?"

The silence was filled with suspicion and distress. "Roth." As the letters came out from the girl who spoke earlier, the other children nudged at her as if telling her it was a bad idea.

"Dearest Roth, we'll have the pain go away, okay?" The woman worked with her hands looming over the child concealing her actions behind her figure. In a silent furry of frantic motions, she tore a leaf from her quire putting it on the child's skin and her mouth sang muted words. As soon as the children tried to peer around her to witness her movements, the woman finished and the bruises were healed leaving no scar in sight.

"Now," she stood and stepped back, "She's good."

The children gathered around the girl with eyes full of wonder and relief erasing their uncertainty. The tears began to dry as the girl looked over her knees which were full of bruises before.

"Whit kind o magic did ye dae, mister?" with eyes of wonder one of the children asked.

"That wis awesome!"

Before any words were spoken, the woman had disappeared. Her footsteps quickened in rhythm with the drumbeat in her chest. Her mind was a whirlwind of plans. Her mouth traced into a smile as bright as the sun at noon and her face blushed covering utmost exhilaration. Her hand was clasped on the surface of her pocket where its depths lay the treasure—a coiled strand and a cloth damp and rich both in red. This is what she had been waiting for, what she had been living for.

A solid wall of flesh suddenly collided with her. It was a force almost toppling her like a feather in a storm if not for the brawny hand grasping her wrist in time and steadying her. This jolted her back to reality breaking her ascent to rapture.

"Careful thare, lad," a voice rumbled as if it came from bottomless trenches with each sound grounding her back to the city. She blinked and caught her breath. The city was now sharp and vivid in her vision and she saw the man leaving her wrist and continued on his pace.

As she found her footing, she felt the weight of scrutinising eyes growing in number with the murmurs filling the mouths of each person. The paper which had been nesting on her wrist—carrying her illusion—now flitted to the air in the chaos of the bustling streets like a bird's first flight.

"Wisnae he a man?"

Her eyes narrowed as she searched for the paper among her person without knowing it had flown. The previous collision flashed her thoughts and her eyes darted as far as her vision brought her. Her desperate eyes found the paper fluttering under the feet of a man.

When she decided to follow suit, a voice sliced through the air, sharp and jolting, "A witch!"

The words set like an alarm to every ear it found. The weight of a hundred eyes oppressed her body. The whispers grew into a roar and those who had heard the commotion rushed into the crowd.

She couldn't breathe. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples and her hands trembled as she steadied herself. Her heart pounded, the rush of blood echoing in her ears. They no longer executed witches here—not these days. Yet the scars of the pyres her childhood witnessed continued to instil terror deep within her bones.

A jolt of panic surged through her. In a heartbeat, the city morphed into a distant recollection—the cries, the flames, the stench of charred flesh. She had witnessed it once more. She couldn’t—no, she refused to be pursued again. Her thoughts sprinted. She needed to reclaim the paper and restore the illusion. She thought, "I need to escape from here."

Leaving no room for further thought, she rode on her disc and reached the roofs. She took the paper she pocketed during her landing slipping it in between her wrist and sleeve again, and whispered a song.

"That wis the eagle A saw, mother!"

The woman darted through the air disappearing from the city sights as night curtained the skies. She didn't look back but the weight of those eyes and words burned on her skin.

Nevertheless, she was one step closer. Before long, the world would ignite once more. And this time, she would be the one to spark the flame.