Yordana dropped the Parinety coins onto the stall and collected the dyes into her basket. She gave a small curtsy and a smile to the merchant before beginning her walk home. The crowded and suffocating streets of Ludansk held her captive, though they also kept her safe. Their winding roads and towering buildings were all she knew. The triple spires of Saint Dimitar’s Cathedral loomed over the city, taking a silent pride in the epithet of The Searching Spires. Yordana often found herself looking at the spires, wondering if her brother Gavril looked down from them, praying for her and their family’s safety. It was a ridiculous notion; Gavril had made his stance on his siblings and parents known long before he left to join the church.

The omnipresent spires continued to watch her as she swerved through the streets, avoiding carriages and people alike. Yordana squeezed herself into a narrow alley, pressing through it despite the dirt rubbing onto her dress. She used to despise going through the alley, dirtying herself and her clothes with soot, mud, and all other manner of grime that covered the cold stone walls. Emerging on the other side, Yordana popped out onto a street where children chased a ball, mothers sat around small tables strewn with wine, bread, and cheeses while they conversed and knitted together, and brothers of the church led their young pages around, bidding them to the letter.

With haste, she crossed the street and arrived at a thin three-story building, its stone walls covered in morning dew and a thin layer of mud. Opening the door to her father’s shop, the scents of dried gore, blood, and urine assaulted her senses. She gagged as she dropped the basket onto the counter and pulled out a bundle of scented candles. Quickly, she replaced the old candle stubs scattered about the shop and lit the new ones, allowing their perfume to mask the shop’s homely scents.

“Must you have these forceful scents in here, Yordana?” her father called out from the back of the shop.

As she collected her basket, she replied, “Yes, Father. If you weren’t blind to the scents, you’d wish the candles were here too.”

She could hear her father chuckling to himself as she went up the stairs. Upon reaching the second floor, she placed her basket on the table and removed the dyes from it. She crossed the room and opened a small drawer next to a warm oven, which had large bowls of water atop it. She placed the glass bottles into the drawer, taking the time to reorganize it, arranging the dyes from darkest to lightest.

Yordana collected her basket once more and went up to the third floor. In her room, she placed the basket atop her dresser, removed her veil, and undid her hair. Dropping onto the end of her bed, she let out a sigh and stared up at the wooden ceiling. She dreaded the rest of her day, forced to go out to the market square with the other unmarried women to be courted by unmarried men. Everyone knew her answer would be the same, everyone knew she would be avoided, so why her mother mandated her appearance there, she didn’t know.

She closed her eyes and tried to take her mind off the distasteful remainder of her day, she began to hum to try and drown out the sounds of the world around her. As she lay on the bed, she could feel herself get cooler, which was a nice reprieve from the heat of the day. Yordana focused on trying to conjure the slow river in the deep forest, like she had done so many times before. She could almost hear the chirping of the birds, feel the dampness of the air and the wind that blew through her imaginary forest.

When she was younger, she called it the peaceful forest, though now that she was older, she just referred to it as the forest. Though the convention of naming the imaginary places she conjured would never dissipate, it was a slight pain that her new names were not as creative or fun as they once had been. As she traversed her imaginary forest she came upon the river, its blue hue matching the blue of the sky, the red fish that swam through it slowly meandered down, roe stood at the bank and drank the water. She stepped into the river, imaging that its cold streams washing over her feet, it was relaxing, feeling the imaginary sand between her toes, the water slowly coming up and retreating from the bank she stood upon.

Her tranquility was stopped, abruptly, as she heard her father curse and a loud clang. Yordana shot up from her bed and groaned, slowly walking down the stairs, the stark contrast of the soft sand of her imaginary forest and the rough hard wood of her home vexed her.

“Father, are you okay?” she called as she reached the landing of the second floor.

She received a response, though she hoped it was not intended for her, as her father continued to curse and yell. Though the clanging continued, and it got more and more frequent, which sent a fear through her body. She rushed down the last flight of stairs and turned to corner, the shop was in complete disorder, pelts of animals strewn across the floor, tools and hunter trophies impaled to the wall.

Her father stood behind the counter holding his fire axe in both hands, continuing to yell and curse, but only know she knew who he was yelling at. A figure stood in the center of the room, his clothes tattered and stained, the bag on his back was ripped, the contents of what it once held lost. But most worryingly of all was the large sword he held in his hand, though he dropped the sword to the floor and it the ground with a defiant clang. Sending the shrapnel of the wooden wall that was now destroyed. The man put up his hands, saying words that she did not understand.

Yordana grabbed a small hammer from the table beside her, holding it in two hands. “Father, are you okay?” she repeated.

The man turned around, he was much younger than she thought, his face was covered in blood and grime, his hair a disheveled mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. Yordana thrust the hammer out in front of her, its weight futilely hanging at the end of her reach, Who would this scare? The figure kept his hands up, still speaking in a tongue she did not know.

The door behind her burst open so quickly that it made Yordana scream and jump, once again thrusting the hammer out in front of her. The figure who had burst down the door was a woman, she was clad in green robes, her face was pale and tired, her eyes were filled with anger. The woman looked at Yordana and that anger in her eyes vanished, as the woman began to run her eyes over her, as if she was dissecting her.

“Who the hell are you people? Why are you in my shop?” her father screamed as the woman walked a bit further into the room, which forced Yordana to back up against the wall.

The woman answered, “I apologize for the disturbance good man, I just need to grab my companion, and we will be gone.” the woman said, her voice was like ice and it frightened Yordana, sending a chill through her bones.

The woman took another look at her, “I may be back to talk with you, dear.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Fear gripped Yordana, she had no idea what to do, what to say, or what to think.

“Explain yourselves!” her father exclaimed through gritted teeth, though his hands trembled as he held his axe.

The woman returned her gaze back to him, “Good man I just wish to take my companion and leave for the moment.”

“What’d you do to him; I can’t understand a word he’s saying! And he came crashing through my wall!”

The woman gave a slight nod, “Apologies, let me fix that.” with a wave of her hand a wispy white string leapt from her fingers and into the boy's mouth, Yordana’s stomach flipped as the string continued the boy began to grow red and gag. As his face got more and more red Yordana’s heart pounded harder.

“Stop that, you’re going to kill him!” Yordana yelled.

Every muscle in her body ached to rush forward, but her own fear kept it from doing so. As the boy began to claw at his throat, she began to feel a weight of guilt and hate fall upon her. She couldn’t stand idle while someone was being killed, she had to do something, anything. Yordana threw her fear aside, if just for a moment and rushed the woman, though her body trembled as she did so.

It didn’t matter though as the woman put up her other hand, that one sending out a wispy string of orange that built itself into a translucent wall. Yordana hit that wall and fell over, which only made her father angrier.

Her father flipped from anger to worry, “Yordana, are you okay?” she nodded in response while her father pleaded to the woman. But Yordana continued to watch the boy in horror as the white wisp continued to choke him. When suddenly, it dissipated, and the boy collapsed hard to the floor gasping and massaging his neck.

“What the fuck was that, Renelle!” the boy screamed, his voice hoarse and cracking, but understandable.

Yordana shifted away from the woman, who she surmised was Renelle, and found herself against the wall once more. The boy was still massaging his neck while the woman asked, “Good man is there an inn or something similar nearby that my companion and I may rest at?”

Her father nodded slowly, “Down the road, walk toward the marketplace it’s on the left.”

Renelle gave a curtsy and grabbed the boy by the arm lifting him to his feet. She thanked her father and rushed herself and the boy out of the shop. Once the door closed Yordana was rushed by her father cradling her, as he did when she was a child. She threw her arms around her father, tears welling in her eyes as her body continued to tremble. Her father brushed her hair and soothed her.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice was shaky and cracking.

“I don’t know.” He answered, “But you’re safe now, that’s what matters.”

After a few moments her father released her and helped her up from the floor, he faced the now destroyed wall and sighed as he picked up the forgotten sword from the floor. Her father inspected the weapon and muttered under his breath.

Yordana knelt to pick up a jagged piece of wood from the destroyed wall, but her hands trembled too much to hold it steady. She stared at the shard in her grasp, her mind replaying the moment Renelle entered the shop, her robes swirling like green fire, her eyes sharp and cutting. The memory of the woman’s power sent a chill down her spine.

That string, that strange, wispy thing she conjured—what was it? It had seemed alive, its shimmer both delicate and terrifying. Yordana shuddered as she recalled how it had forced its way into the boy’s throat, leaving him gasping and clawing at the air. Renelle had barely flinched, as if the boy’s suffering was a trivial inconvenience.

And yet, Yordana couldn’t forget the way Renelle had looked at her. Not with disdain or anger, but with something that felt uncomfortably close to curiosity—or recognition.

“She’s dangerous,” Yordana murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of her father muttering curses as he inspected the sword. “Too dangerous.”

Her father glanced at her; his face lined with worry. “Dangerous doesn’t begin to cover it, girl. She walked in here like she owned the place, like nothing could touch her. People like that.” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Best we forget she was ever here.”

Yordana wanted to agree. She should agree. But as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t stop thinking about Renelle. Her confidence, her authority, the way she had effortlessly controlled the situation, it was like nothing Yordana had ever seen. The woman didn’t just command respect; she demanded it, as naturally as breathing.

But what kind of person wields that kind of power? Yordana’s stomach churned. Someone who didn’t hesitate to use it to hurt people, clearly. The boy’s face, red and contorted with pain, flashed in her mind. If she hadn’t spoken up—if she hadn’t rushed forward, even in her fear—would Renelle have stopped? Or would she have let him choke until there was nothing left?

Yordana’s fingers curled tightly around the wood shard. She hated the way her thoughts kept circling back to the woman, to her strange, icy voice and the way she had called Yordana “dear,” as if she were someone to be studied. Why had she said she might come back? What could she possibly want with her?

She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. No, she doesn’t want anything. She was just trying to scare me. That had to be it. Renelle was the kind of person who thrived on control, and Yordana’s reaction, her fear, had given her exactly what she wanted. But even as she tried to convince herself, the uneasy feeling in her chest refused to fade.

Her father’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help me clean this mess?”

Yordana blinked, shaking herself from her reverie. “Sorry, Father,” she muttered, dropping the shard of wood into the basket at her feet. She moved mechanically, gathering the broken pieces of the wall, her mind still tangled in the encounter.

If she comes back… Yordana’s hands paused mid-motion. What would she do if Renelle returned? The thought made her chest tighten. There was no use denying it, she was scared of the woman. But there was something else, too, buried beneath the fear. Something she didn’t quite understand.

What kind of power could make a woman so certain, so unshakable, that she could walk into a stranger’s home, tear apart their lives, and leave without a hint of remorse? And what would it feel like, Yordana wondered, to wield that kind of strength? To be someone who didn’t have to rely on the safety of Ludansk’s walls or the protection of a father’s axe? To be someone who could face the world and never have to shrink in fear.

The thoughts were unsettling, but they refused to leave her. Yordana shook her head, determined to push them aside. She was no one special. Just a tanner’s daughter with no claim to strength or power. Whatever had brought Renelle into her life was an accident, a brief, terrifying storm that had passed. And yet, as she glanced at the doorway, the image of Renelle’s piercing eyes lingered in her mind.

And who was that boy? The young man who had come crashing through their wall, the man who could’ve been killed in the middle of her home. As she continued to pick up the pieces of the wall she brought her gaze to it, which brought more questions. Only the interior wall was smashed. The exterior was in perfect condition, as perfect as old wood siding could be. There was a large stone archway that sat between the walls, she knew it was there, they had taken that wall down before to do repairs and had found it there. When her father and brothers tried to take it down the tools did nothing to the stone.

The stone archway now had glowing symbols on the side, they were dim and flickering like that of dying candle. Did Renelle send that boy through that archway? Why would she do something like that?

She stood frozen before the archway, her breath catching in her throat. The flickering symbols danced across the stone, their shapes almost familiar, but not quite. Her fingers twitched at her sides, a strange heat rising in her chest. She wanted to look away, to shove the thoughts out of her mind, but her gaze stayed locked on the markings.

What does this mean? she wondered, her heart hammering in her chest. The symbols pulsed faintly, as though responding to her thoughts. She shook her head. No. That’s impossible.

“Yordana!” Her father’s voice snapped her out of her trance. She blinked and turned, her face flushing. “Stop gawking at that damn thing and help me patch this mess up.”

She nodded, her hands fumbling with the jagged wood. But even as she worked, her mind lingered on the archway, on the way the symbols had seemed alive, almost sentient.