1559, Unknown Date

She’d managed to get across the vast meadow, limping on a bad leg. In one of her many dazed states, she’d tripped over the rubble near her home and sprained it. She didn’t feel the pain now, as she’d taken a full dose of the illicit medicine that had been sold to her at the edge of the village, near the ruins of the former town. Her sprain was numb. She’d feel the pain strike again in a few hours.

She stood in front of the forest. This forest was…oddly dark, despite it being a bright afternoon. Was the shade really that thick? It didn’t seem like it from a glance. She blinked. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her.

No…it’s not…

A dirt path paved the way forward, into the trees’ beckoning night, fading into the blackness beyond. She was afraid to take another step, for fear of suddenly falling into an abyss. She wouldn’t be surprised if it happened. This was the path that would lead her to The Sorceress. This had to be a trap.

What truly surprised her was her ability to cross the meadow in one piece. There was normally some strange force keeping people away from it. But here she stood, at the forests’ entrance. She was within a dangerous barrier, only managing to get in because she’d grown much more reckless over the years, and did not care of the consequences of testing a Sorceress’s boundaries.

That damn witch likely knew of her intent. It was luring her in, baiting her into the hole. It had to be a trap.

She should turn back.

But the forest urged her in. She wobbled, before taking one step toward it with shaky, exhilarating breaths. It was like a cold night had descended. She was not aware of how much time passed. There was no more daylight in here. Her throat and chest felt tight. Her heart raced. Her mind wandered on all the reasons she should turn and run back the way she had come.

But where was the way back? She turned, again and again. Everything looked the same. The path behind her had disappeared. Like there had been no trail there to begin with. There was no sign of the meadow clearing either. She couldn’t see anything but surrounding tree trunks, frayed bushes, and dead leaves and twigs on the ground.

She looked ahead of her. The path only moved onward, to where it wanted her to go—deeper into the woods. But behind her, was nothing.

“Wait,” she whispered to no one. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense in this stupid forest. Fear made her swallow her tongue. There was not another sound besides the shuffled steps of her feet against pebbles and the occasional crackle of leaves. There was only the dark in front of her, but it was worse behind her, as if it were daring her to even think about trying to run.

She was not holding onto a candle or a lamp. Yet she was able to see enough to walk forward, as though her eyes were the source of light. She was seeing what The Sorceress wanted her to see.

She heard rustling. She froze. She shook and she wept. This was a mistake. This witch—this thing—wouldn’t care about her. Wouldn’t care to know her. That was how these creatures were. She should have listened to the village folk, her neighbors. Even the fools she stayed with had better sense. She should have listened to them when they warned her not to disturb the peace—the little that they had. She’d gone off on a drunken rant instead. She wasn’t afraid of this witch, at that time. She believed The Sorceress knew her, and therefore wouldn’t harm her.

For some fucking reason.

“Come,” the word echoed lightly, so suddenly, across the dark, almost like a passing breeze.

Her scream died in her throat. She had never…ever heard the witch speak. The command was straightforward, almost nonchalant. The voice sounded young, almost pleasant. It scared her more than if she were to hear a craggly hag speak instead.

“I want to go home,” she whispered back. Her mind did not agree, though. Her legs moved by another force’s will.

Twenty more steps later, she was at the cottage door. The path had vanished. She was surrounded by tall, silent trees.

The door creaked open.

“Come.”

Her stomach lurched. Shivering, she stepped inside.

It was empty and dark except for a candle dimly lighting a corner of the room, where a woman was sitting on a soft chair.

Something wasn’t right.

“Ilsah…”

She flinched hard at the raspy sound of her surname. The thing’s voice sounded nothing like it did before.

The woman turned her head, letting the candlelight hit her face.

All feeling fled her body.

The thing’s face, its eyes…those were not the beautiful large eyes she’d see at the market.

This face—at least one large half of it—looked like it was melting. Its left eye socket was a hollow hole. Its cheeks were sunken in. Chunks of her skin on the left side were torn, leaving the back of its teeth exposed. Its mouth drooped too low. A chunk of hair on the front of the head was gone, like it had been ripped off the scalp. The skin on the face and the neck were patchy, wrinkled….corpse-like.

She was too paralyzed to scream. Her legs gave way, her eyes rolled back, and she fell with her head hitting the floor.

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“You may not be able to go back to that town. Not for many years, at the very least.”

“…How many years exactly?”

“Until, perhaps, everyone there has forgotten you.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Forgotten me? That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re right. No one from the living generation will forget, more than likely. You’ll have to wait until the next one, or the one after, if you’d like to stop by for a visit. And even then, you’re likely to find it pointless. You’re likely to have forgotten the town yourself.”

“I don’t think so. Not after what it put me through. Either way, it is where I grew up after all, as well. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your childhood home, however crappy it may have been.”

“When you get to be as old as I, you’ll find yourself wanting to revisit the past less and less.”

“….The next generation, huh? The few people I knew would be…”

“Gone.”

“Yes. Gone.”

“Sand Time will wear off their memories of that night little by little, day by day. Right now, they are on the lookout for you. At a later time, they will begin to think that storm you conjured was only a bad dream. Eventually, they will believe that you were also a bad dream.”

“Huh? If that’s the case, then why would it be dangerous for me to go back? No one will recognize me anyway.”

“It only takes a single trigger for a memory to return, which will then cause a ripple effect. The next thing you know, you’re being severely hunted down. Do not make the mistake of growing nostalgic. It’s not worth your life.”

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Almost eight months since moving to the city, Zara was able to memorize many spells and Saiyyin chants. She’d now been tasked with potion making, which was her favorite subject by far. The indigo mixture in the silver pot brewed over the hearth as Zara gave it one final stir before scooping it into glass jars. The instruction scroll lay half-rolled on the table beside her; she’d gotten good practice at making this particular potion—quick healing and sleeping—and no longer needed to refer to each step, but she liked to have it out anyway, in case she were to somehow forget something.

“Zara,” Revan’s lazy voice called from the terrace.

“Yes, sir,” Zara dutifully answered back. The room she was working in was adjacent to the terrace. They used this room as their workroom.

“I need you to pick up some herbs and seeds. I left a list for you on the table.”

“I saw. Wasn’t sure what it was though,” Zara mentioned casually. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“The streets have lightened up by now. I thought you’d prefer it that way.”

“What?” Zara looked out the open terrace door for the first time since beginning work. She’d started when the sun was much higher in the sky. Now it was setting. The street in which they lived wasn’t too busy in the first place as they were on a quainter side of the city, and would be quieter by this time of day.

“I did try to invite you for some tea earlier,” he remarked. “The weather is not so bad today, a little chilly I suppose but nothing you are not used to…”

“Are you relaxing?” Zara complained. “Why haven’t you told me to stop?”

“You didn’t hear me. Besides, you were doing very well. I decided not to bother you.”

She couldn’t see him from where she sat, but the easy sarcasm in his tone annoyed her. He was out there, sitting in front of the garden, watching the neighborhood with a cup of warm tea in his hand while she was cooped up slaving away on his work. Work she still didn’t know every detail about, despite it being a year as his apprentice. She’d learned a lot, but she wanted to know more.

“Oh, and please,” he added, “if you could also find some sea scales—the same ones you picked up that time before—that would be kind—”

“I’m tired,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

I’m really not your dear…

She put on her cloak, grabbed her satchel, and headed to the marketplace, grateful for the millionth time to be living away from the crowds of inner Darhai. This area was neither rich, nor too poor, and Revan owned a large house here, only common among the upper class.

An icy breeze slapped her face. The winter season had not fully passed. The nighttime mist would soon settle over the icy roads; Zara was careful not to slip. Perhaps it would snow a bit tomorrow.

Winters in Darhai were nothing like Pria, where the DeepWinter and snow season was a real danger. She and her family would have to prepare ahead of time, shut themselves in, keep every hearth lit, warm their beds, and feast on fatty yet delicious meals prepared special by her mother…

Zara entered a shop and found the herbs she needed. The fisher’s stall would close soon, so she had to be quick. She paid for the herbs and walked another ten minutes to her next destination. Not many people were out and about, but the few that were seemed to enjoy strolling despite the chill. The pebbled roads here were clean and spacious. Unlike the busier districts, there were hardly any carriage and cart accidents around here, nor were there beggars, junk users, and night walkers getting in the way.

Some of the buildings were high, usually four stories at most coming to a point at the top, its sharp structures and designs unique and reminiscent of the ancient Kingdom it stood on. The White Sun emblem greeted her on the local temple she passed, shining like a beacon against the twilight.

She was reminded, yet again, of Naz. How many buildings in the city had he designed? Were any of them here? She was frequently reminded of him whenever she took in the sights. And suddenly, the buildings would not seem so nice anymore.

So ridiculous, the thoughts she had. Naz was not the only architect in Darhai’s existence. She forced thoughts of him away. If she didn’t, it would lead to other thoughts. Thoughts of a miserable past, and unsatisfying farewells.

Zara was able to snag some scales off a Sorko fish—a large hunting fish with sharp jaws and quick fins—dangerous while alive, but tasty when dead and cooked. She thanked the seller and began the walk home, taking comfort in the light, misty air.

Snowy winters in Pria looked beautiful, but they were hard to live in. There wasn’t much to enjoy anyway, being shut in all the time.

Zara chuckled bitterly to herself. Winter or not, she had always been shut in. At least now, in this city running errands, she was free.

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Revan watched Zara closely through The Mirror as she walked away from the market. She’d made much progress during their time here together. That is, after she had stopped worrying about the living arrangement. This home was big enough to give her enough privacy from him. Some days, they hardly saw one another.

To the neighbors, they were simply close cousins.

That, of course, didn’t stop some gossip from naturally occurring anyway, but most had accepted it. Revan just thought they looked too different to be considered legitimate siblings, which would only cause more suspicious talk to circulate. So he’d left it at that.

Zara had gone through major depressive episodes in the first month, but as her training tasks increased, she got better. And so, through ups and downs, good times, awkward times, here they were.

And here he was, still keeping tabs on her because there were still things about this city she wasn’t fully aware of yet. Terrible things. The city was stained with a hopelessness that could not be scraped away. Even in nicer areas like this, there was no escaping it. There was always something lurking, always someone set out to end the temporary peace. He’d taught her enough magic to arm herself, however, he wasn’t fully confident in her ability to properly act in the face of danger yet.

Just when he’d ended the thought, disaster struck.

A woman leaped from the depths of a dark alley Zara was walking past.

If Revan had seen many human monsters. This was the lowest of them, as usual.

My devils. The state of her…

Revan immediately stood up and went for one of his vials of wolf fur, keeping his eye on The Mirror. The woman—or hag, as he could truly describe the wretched looking thing—grabbed Zara with her bony hands. Some of her fingers looked melded together. Her hair was thin and dry like straw, but her face….her face looked like it was melting off her skull. One eye was almost covered by the skin of what was once her brow. Her lower lip jutted downward, and a few of her teeth seemed to be growing over it. Her skin was a putrid, brownish gray. Pink sores dotted her bare arms, legs, and upper head.

Junk user. Of course.

Zara screamed. The hag screamed right back, lurching for Zara’s bag.

The street was vacant. They were alone. Even if a thousand people were around, hardly anyone would step in to help. That was how things were in these parts. One had to always look out for oneself.

Not in this case. You are lucky I am always watching you, my dear.

He raced out into the night on four strong legs and bared, pointed teeth.