As the village was rebuilt over the span of a year, the witches had begun to believe in a time of peace again. Yet not all had laid the werewolf issue to rest - plotting in the shadows, awaiting another attack.

Often, the beasts plagued Alisa's mind and thoughts too, making it almost impossible to think about much else. Even when the day had ended and she had retired to her home tent with her mother. When the moon rose, it signified time to rest. Alisa's soul was almost but restful.

A good half of their clan had been wiped out not even twelve months ago, leaving everyone just that little bit more hostile about werewolves than ever before.

Young had been taken – and the mothers were forced to wait for the next Mating Month to fix their newfound population issue. Secretly, their hearts were breaking for the bad omen that had seemed to befall them all.

Being a mother was a gift from the gods themselves, they would say. Yet accidentally losing your baby is seen as an almost curse from unhappy gods instead. The same was felt by the orphans who's mother's had been taken before being able to learn how to function properly in their society.

It was as if the clan had been split in two, constantly repairing their spell on the village while the rest attempted to navigate their new normal. Some tents still laid upon grass that had withered away, yet bit by bit it was growing back slowly just like they were.

Alisa often wondered if she was different from the others, for a few reasons; firstly, she had felt the wave of grief as if it hit her like a magic ball unlike everyone else who seemed content on burying the battle as if it never happened at all. For she knew her role like the back of her hand, but she didn't feel as if she fit it the same way it fit her.

Through the course of fourteen years, she had only learned how to heal physical wounds but the magical ones still evaded her. Always learning, still trying to make a life work that didn't feel quite like her own. On days off, which were most days after the battle, Alisa would sit by the river on the south side with her dearest friend, Hestia.

The young girl would talk about new strategies she had forming in her mind with eyes alight with passion while Hestia ranted on about why being a fighter had its downsides too. The redhead hated that her mother was the General, who oversaw the witch warriors, and she never let Hestia forget it. Frequently she would express her concerns of the overbearing pressure and Alisa would be right there to support her.

"Don't you ever wonder who our dads are?" Alisa asked suddenly one afternoon, as if it were dawning on her that this could be her missing piece.

"No," Hestia replied swiftly. "Men aren't really needed here. You know that. Only the Clan Leader and the heir are anointed by the gods themselves. We cannot screw that up," the redhead spoke with such confidence, as if she knew why their society was the way it was.

Like a robot that never skips a beat. Content with what she was told to believe as truth.

Yet with Alisa in tow, Hestia loved to read the caves when the tide was out; the walls detailing the history of their people. It fascinated her in ways she had never known before. The girl had big dreams but she had only ever shared them with Alisa - a forbidden desire to be a teacher and not a warrior, unlike her mother. It was a dream she kept close to her heart. They were like two sides of a coin - Alisa dreaming of being a fighter whereas the other dreams of knowledge. It was as if they were just two kids on the wrong destined paths.

Hestia was just shy of seventeen, nearing her eightieth birthday when her magic came in at its fullest and things were about to change for the both of them. The last year before becoming a full witch was when all the essential and special spells would be learned by heart, in preparation for the future Great War that they were training for. A war Alisa wondered about whether it was not coming, but that it had already arrived.

An eighteenth birthday was a special day for a witch – an unforgettable moment between them and the gods.

"But isn't that where half our personality comes from?" Alisa asked with curiosity, pressing the matter with more concern.

"No. Our personality comes from our mother and the gods," the seventeen year old answered with a soft nod.

With a roll of her eyes, Alisa threw a pebble across the river, watching as it skipped across the water.

"Why do you only ask the most contentious questions when you're in the presence of one of us?" Came the curious voice of Ace as he walked towards them with a smirk as he shook his head.

The brunette shrugged in response as she continued to stare out at the water with a small gnawing feeling in her stomach, like a beast waiting to pounce.

"She knows if she were to say it anywhere else, everybody would stop coming to her for advice about their issues and instead think she was barmy," Hestia chastened, shaking her head at someone she could almost call an acquaintance.

The older girl would never dare to utter the intimacy of the word 'friend', for it was forbidden.

Yet if she stared long enough, Alisa would indeed be someone she found made her day more enjoyable.

"Hey, I give great advice," the younger girl interrupted with a pout.

"The mere notions behind them, however," commented the young man as he sat down beside Hestia.

Alisa smiled softly before coming to sit down on the other side of Ace and then he lightly yet barely brushed his fingers across hers. A small blush crept up on both of their cheeks. Skin contact must be discreet and subtle or bare the wrath of the gods.

As the days went by, the more Ace felt a need to be near Alisa, to understand her, and to laugh in ways he never had before. She brought a strange light to his otherwise dark world.

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An introduction of friendship and strange feelings to the young prince that he had surely lacked before.

Every time he remembered he'd have to wait many years before he could make Alisa his bride deeply saddened him.

Ace had to find a way to show his father that she would be a perfect choice.

At fifteen, she was still as radiant as the moon itself. He knew her beauty could only grow from here.

Their ways of life may be a bit outdated, but it had worked for generations, it couldn't be changed now.

Not even for the beauty, Alisa.

"It's time for the moon to shine and for you to retire to your tent," Ace instructed, knowing she would protest as usual, hoping to see the moon at its fullest once more.

When they weren't paying tribute to the gods, thrice a year, they would retire to their tents before the moon was high in the sky.

Alisa often disobeyed on full moons that weren't dedicated for tribute.

She loved to stare at the moon and the stars, feeling connected somehow.

As if the gods themselves smiled down upon her.

"Just this once, Ace," she murmured, brushing her fingers across his now, in an attempt to convince him to let her, "Let's watch the moon together and hear the gods sing."

His copper-skinned fingers, curling around hers slightly as he whispered, "Just this once for it is a beautiful melody."

As the moon rose high in the sky and Alisa began falling asleep, and her head fell across his shoulder. Chills went up his spine as they touched. This was the most intimate they had ever gotten in the fifteen years he'd known Alisa in Naporia. He lived for quiet and simple moments like this.

Her small frame fit nicely molded on his shoulder. Something about it felt right, yet he knew it to be wrong.

The three of them swore to keep their antics a secret from their mothers and the Clan Leader.

It was the only way they could sneak some of these few peaceful moments in their otherwise rigid lives. Their lives had been mapped out before them, and neither was quite content with that. Each longing for a new path and somehow, always denied.

While the older two hardly ever verbalised these doubts they held inside, Alisa instead consistently did it for them. Always eyes bright with wonder and life, questioning all things in her quest for the truth. Ace secretly adored the revolutionary spirit that she held, even at such a young age. She had been born to stand out as a star among them, and yet she seemed so curious with life outside of their boarders.

It was as if she was trying to tell them that a piece of herself was missing but Ace only desired to fill the hole for her instead of helping her search for the missing pieces.

Perhaps one day becoming his Witch Bride could be the highest honour the gods were expecting.

For the three of them could be the generation of witches that could shift this world in their own light and change what was into what will be.

Each of their sparks helped ignite the others' passion for more.

'Why else was she sent to us for? If not to help us blossom into the next generation?' As the thought occurred to Ace, his eyes shifted down to look at her sleeping form.

She looked even more gorgeous in the moonlight as if she illuminated its beauty back at him.

Suddenly, as if pain occurred in all places of her body, Alisa lurched backwards and began screaming in pain.

She rolled over, laying on the ground, mumbling incoherently.

Ace sprang into action, mouthing out spells that could ease her pain and end her suffering.

Anything to make her okay again.

But nothing seemed to be helping.

Panic struck inside of his bones as his eyes never left her body.

"Lisa?" Ace asked in panic, his purple eyes darting back and forth.

He absentmindedly wondered if letting her stay up late was what had disastrous consequences.

None of the advanced spells seemed to work either – it was as if her pain was magic itself.

Hestia held her arms up and shot out red sparks into the heavy night air, to alert all those around that they had a code red.

A code they hadn't had in twelve months: danger.

Something was wrong with a member of the clan.

Red sparks flew into the air, darting across, reaching all the tents and stopping right in front of aged and calculated purple eyes.

Before Hestia knew it, the witch warriors and the Clan Leader had assembled beside the river, assessing the damage. Stern looks upon each of their faces as nobody was pleased to find them there. To disobey curfew was a punishable crime.

Asha, their most skilled healer, had already gotten some herbs ready, praying to the gods in mere mutters for her daughter's soul as she approached.

Glowing red once more, Alisa tossed and turned making it near impossible for anybody to get close.

Something about the red glow seemed far too familiar to Ace.

As the redness ebbed away, the sounds of flesh and bones began cracking. Alisa's agonising cries began filling the air once more.

"Are the gods punishing us?" The Clan Leader asked in a shout, glaring at his sole heir, expecting answers. "What have you done, boy? I told you spending too much time with the Gift would anger the gods!"

"I didn't mean to do anything to her!" Ace argued back with such urgency as his eyes clouded over with emotion.

His eyes fluttered back to her and her pain gnawed a hole inside of him.

"All we were doing was watching the moon!" He turned back to defend himself to his father, stumbling to make sense of what was happening in the moment.

"You know that is forbidden," scolded his father in a deep and bitter authoritarian voice as he glared back at his disobedient son.

He left little to no room for Ace to argue.

"She is not a prize," Lakshita murmured after a few moments of silence, shaking her head with disapproval.

"She is still a child. Far too young for your madness. She may have been a gift, but the gods would never take such a gift back that was full of life and soul."

"She is my daughter too before she is your gift," Asha muttered to herself, eyes cast down as she silently prayed.

The Clan Leader fumbled for a moment, unsure what to do before he bellowed loudly, "Pay tribute now. Before they take an innocent soul for his mistake!"

At once a bunch of witches dropped to their knees in a circle around the young child, mumbling out chants in between breaths. Mere prayers that their gift would be spared and returned back to them.

Ace's purple eyes dropped as a frown settled upon his pink lips. He would never cause harm to Alisa intentionally. A feeling of dread surrounded the pit of his belly, making himself feel unusually sick.

As if on cue, the dancing rituals began again, surrounding the fifteen-year-old girl.

She was as much a part of this clan as anybody.

She was adored by many fellow witches, knowing their healing would be in great hands one day.

A helper to all.

The moon began shining on Alisa's body, illuminating her tanned skin.

She crouched up in a crawl position with her head down, breathing heavily between the grunts of pain.

There was a struggle to take in air as she panicked. Her heart beat faster than she'd ever felt before. A literal heart attack pounding away in her little, fragile rib-cage.

All eyes were on her as the chanting suddenly stopped.

There was no longer a girl amidst the tribute circle, but a wolf in her place instead. The beast looked utterly terrified and shaking with sweat, blood and tears.

"She is a cursed gift indeed," Lakshita murmured to herself, shaking her head in disappointment.

The Gods had returned their gift.

She had such big plans and hopes for young Alisa. The gods had blessed her, but perhaps, they had made a mistake.

A fatal one.

"What the hell is that?"

"A were-witch?"

"A hybrid, get it out of here!" The Witch King barked his order atop the many screams, as his warriors chanted a spell to teleport it elsewhere.

Anywhere but here, was the silent order.

"No!" Ace's agony-stricken cries were all that filled the air after the spell was done and Asha silently wept for her lost child.

"After some time, I shall take back the gift of magic from her frail human bones. That is a promise I make to you all and our gods!"

The shock of the promise shattered not only Asha's heart but Ace's too.