Amriel had been a child the last time their kingdom faced war with one of the Fallen, but the memories remained etched in her mind with unnerving clarity. How could she forget? It was the moment she nearly lost her father. He had been one of the fortunate few to return, yet her mother, Nythia, often remarked that he might as well have perished that day. The man who walked through their door was no longer the vibrant, loving figure he'd once been; instead, he was a hollow echo of his former self, forever haunted by the horrors he had faced.

Her father never spoke of the battlefield or the demons that tormented him. He would sit for hours, staring blankly at the fireplace, lost in thought as the flames danced in the hearth. With each passing day, he grew more frail and distant, until one morning he simply did not rise from bed.

They buried him beneath the willow tree that stood like a guardian over the lake that bordered the Vhengal. “It’s where he would want to be,” Amriel told her mother, her voice trembling. It was where he went to read and find peace—at least before he encountered the Fallen.

Now, standing before the thriving Khasta Vhar, she understood that this plant could be years—or even decades—old. It flourished in the very spot where an angel had fallen, continuing to thrive long after the celestial being had departed. Just as she knew that the angel whose essence lingered here had likely long since moved on. Regardless, Amriel had no intention of lingering to find out.

Fallen angels, after all, did not actively hunt humans; such a task was beneath them. As her mother often said, the Fallen viewed humanity as a fragile, fleeting race, hardly worthy of their time. Yet Amriel knew that if a fallen angel deemed it necessary to eliminate her for its own gain, it would do so without hesitation. Their indifference could easily turn deadly if it suited their purpose, just as it had for the one her father had fought.

Her eyes darkened, narrowing slightly as her slender fingers tightened around the hilt of the blade at her belt. Nythia had not only bestowed upon her daughter the gifts of the forest, but had also equipped her with the skills to defend herself within its depths. Amriel’s gaze flickered back to the Horissa Vharia. She needed that plant; leaving it behind after coming this far would be nothing short of foolish. There was no doubt in her mind that she would need it soon enough.

Unwilling to hesitate any longer, she drew her blade from its sheath and sliced the healing herb cleanly, almost at its base, leaving behind a few resilient leaves. The plant was hardy, with deep roots, and this early in the year, it stood a good chance of recovering.

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Reluctant to part with her blade just yet, Amriel carefully palmed it while opening her herb pouch, swiftly stashing the small plant with its blue heart-shaped leaves inside. Usually, she would treat the plant with more reverence, but the approaching storm and the looming presence of the Khasta Vhar left little room for hesitation. Securing the blade at her side she cautiously stepped back onto the narrow path and quickening her pace as she moved homeward.

Amriel had inherited her mother’s height and looks, standing petite in both stature and frame. Her delicate features, framed by long, dark hair that glimmered like raven feathers in the dappled sunlight, hinted at her lineage. Though slender of hip and nearly flat-chested, she possessed a quick stride that could easily keep pace with those taller than her, her movements imbued with an agility born from years spent navigating the forest's underbrush. The soft rustle of her braid—a customary style passed down from her mother—swayed against her back as she ran, adding a rhythmic grace to her swift steps.

However, her hazel eyes—now darkened with focus as they darted back and forth, carefully scanning the forest around her —were unmistakably her father’s.

A sharp, cool breeze rushed past, sending a shiver up Amriel’s spine. She suspected the chill wasn’t entirely due to the cool air sweeping in from the approaching storm.

Hurrying along the narrow path, Amriel's footsteps quickened with determination, each step resonating with urgency. The air around her thickened with tension, as if the very atmosphere sensed the impending storm. Above, the skies darkened ominously, heavy clouds swirling like an angry tide, threatening to unleash their fury at any moment. The scent of impending rain intensified, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil and decaying leaves, wrapping around her like a foreboding shroud. A gust of wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the towering trees and creating an eerie symphony of whispers, as if the forest itself urged her to move faster.

In the distance, thunder rumbled through the valley, a deep, resonant growl that echoed her growing unease.

“Great,” Amriel muttered under her breath, casting a baleful glance at the dark sky that peeked through the canopy above. “Just great.”

Cursing softly beneath her breath, Amriel broke into a run, her footsteps carrying her quickly along the well-worn paths. Racing against the storm and away from the spot of the fallen angel, her heart pounded relentlessly in her chest, a steady drumbeat of adrenaline. Finally, as she broke free from the forest’s undergrowth. Taking a quick pause to catch her breath, Amriel caught sight of her small cottage in the distance. Its sturdy stone walls offered a sense of safety and shelter, a comforting beacon amidst the brewing storm.

“Almost there,” she panted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, a flicker of hope igniting within her.

Just then, thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and a fat raindrop struck her squarely between the eyes. Startled, she quickly wiped it away with the back of her sleeve, urgency clawing at her thoughts. Now was not the time to linger. The rain began to fall, lightly at first, but the darkening skies and heavily laden clouds warned her that a torrential downpour was imminent.

Summoning a final burst of energy, she sprinted across the open fields toward her cottage.