The old orchard was green and alive, the trees heavy with bright red apples. No matter how many apples 

the branches held, none ever fell to the ground. The early morning light shone brightly through the 

trees, and the air was crisp, stirring the morning fog. 

      Two boys, no older than fifteen, crouched behind a small gap in the crumbling stone wall. 

      “Look at ‘em, James! So many, and dey’re ripe for da pickin’,” Max whispered, his copper hair catching 

the sunlight. He pointed through the gap, his dark eyes gleaming. “We sneak in, you climb one o’ dem 

trees, grab a few apples, and we’re out before anyone notices.” 

      “I dunno, Max. We ain’t supposed to be here; it’s forbidden,” James said, wiping sweat off his brow. 

Despite the cool morning air, he felt hot all over. “We could get in a lot of trouble just bein’ here. I don’t 

wanna think what the Master would do if he caught us.” 

      Max’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Where’s yer sense o’ adventure, James? Everybody’s scared o’ dis 

place, but nobody ever tells me why.” He grinned wide, and James knew exactly what that look 

meant—Max was ready to get them both into trouble. Like that time he let all the hens loose in Ser 

Edwin's forge. The poor birds hadn’t known what was going on, and it took nearly half the town the 

better part of a morning to catch them. Even after, Max had laughed until his sides hurt, even as Ser 

Edwin made him carry water to the forge for the next fortnight. 

      “I’ll go first,” Max said, already darting toward the gap. “If somethin’ doesn’t want me here, dey’ll turn 

me back—or strike me down, ‘kay?” He squeezed through the narrow opening, causing a few rocks to 

shift, sending a small tremor through the wall. But there was no bolt of lightning, no warning, just the 

soft murmur of the morning birds. 

      James hesitated only a moment before stepping through the gap, running after his friend into the 

orchard, praying nothing would catch them. 

      The apple trees were enormous—twice, nearly three times the size of normal apple trees. Oddly, none 

of the lower branches had apples. Only the branches near the top sported the bright red fruit. The 

lowest branch was still too far out of reach, but Max had a plan. He cupped his hands and waved them 

toward James. 

      James understood. With a quick burst of speed, he stepped into Max’s hands, who half-lifted, half-threw 

him upwards. James, fingers outstretched, barely managed to grab the lowest branch, which creaked and 

swayed slightly beneath him. 

      “Wahoo!” Max cheered, jumping in circles below. “Get us some of da big ones! Bet dey taste amazing!” 

      “Shush! Someone’ll hear ya,” James hissed, putting a finger to his lips. Max shrank back sheepishly. 

      “Right, forgot,” he muttered, then pointed upward. “Is dat apple gold?” 

Sure enough, three branches above James’ head, a golden apple the size of a grapefruit hung from a 

branch, its gleam as bright as the noon sun. James thought it odd—it hadn’t been there a moment ago. 

      As he climbed higher, reaching for the golden apple, he plucked a red one, nearly as large as his head, 

and tossed it down toward Max, who caught it with a grunt. Slowly, carefully, James worked his way 

higher, his own stomach growling with hunger. 

      “Just a minute more, and we can eat too,” he thought to himself. 

     The golden apple came free from its branch with the slightest tug. It was warm in his hand, and the smell 

of it made his mouth water. Apples were always a treat at the fall festival, and he couldn’t wait to take 

that first crisp, sweet bite. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the branch, wrapping his legs around it, 

trying to balance as he prepared to savor the apple. 

      Then, without warning, a strange sensation washed over him, like a door inside him had opened. His 

veins felt on fire, as though a thousand tiny bees had stung him all at once. The feeling surged for a 

heartbeat before fading, leaving him shaken and confused. 

      One moment, he was sitting safely in the tree, and the next—he was falling. His hand still gripped the 

golden apple tightly as he plummeted to the ground. 

Thud! 

                                                   *** 

      "Miss Silvia! Miss Silvia!" The boy’s voice rang out, desperate. Each cry was followed by a series of loud 

bangs against the wood of her cottage door. "Miss Silvia, please! Ya gotta open da door!" 

      "What is it, Max? My morning tea has not even been brewed yet, and you are banging on my door." Miss 

Silvia’s voice was sharp as she pushed herself up from her chair. The cottage was simple, with a hearth 

that still smoked faintly. Her hands, slender but firm from years of tending to the village's needs, brushed 

through her dark hair, which already carried a touch of grey. She opened the door with a swift motion, 

her hawk-like features set in an unamused frown. Her green eyes locked on the copper-haired boy 

standing there, and her heart tightened. Blood smeared his hands, and an expression she had never seen 

before—one of raw fear—marked his young face. "What has happened?" 

      "James, he fell from da tree. He ain't talkin' right, mumblin'... his words ain't makin' sense. I tried to get 

him here, but he was screaming at me to stop. I dunno what to do. Can ya help him?" Max's voice 

wavered, and tears streaked his dirt-smeared cheeks. 

      "Hurry now, lead the way." She projected a calm she didn’t entirely feel, grabbing her bag of medical 

tools with the same efficiency that came with years of experience. Her eyes flicked to the small fire 

heating her tea—she sent a brief magical thought to snuff it out, then closed the door behind her. "Do 

not dawdle, boy. Let us see if we can save your friend." 

      As they hurried toward the orchard, the air grew cooler, and the familiar scent of ancient trees filled her 

lungs. Her pace slowed only slightly as she saw the boy’s body, just as Max had described, sprawled on 

the ground, twisted in unnatural ways. The lack of blood was a small comfort, but it did not reassure her. 

      "They should not have been in here, in the temple orchard. The rules were there for a reason." The 

words left her lips before she could stop them, though she did not expect Max to understand. Her 

thoughts, however, lingered on the foolishness of the boys—what had they gotten themselves into? 

      "Max, go and fetch Ser Edwin. Tell him I need him here at once. Do not let him dawdle. And if he 

hesitates, tell him I will put a hex on his forge for a month." Her tone had sharpened, the urgency of the 

moment clear. "Then go to my cottage and fetch me the small silver bottle—the one from my deck, the 

one that sparkles. You will know it when you see it. Do you understand?" 

      Max nodded and was off before she could say another word. She let out a sigh of relief, glad that he had 

not lingered. Miss Silvia had feared that seeing his friend like this might scar him in ways she could not 

undo. 

      Turning her attention back to James, she knelt beside him. Slowly, carefully, she extended her magic 

toward him. The boy’s breathing was shallow but steady—thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully, alive. 

As she reached deeper, her heart sank. His organs were intact, his spine and brain unharmed, though 

shaken. Yet the magic she sensed told a darker story. His magical pathways had been torn open, his spirit 

exposed. He had made a terrible, dangerous mistake. The boy had reached too far into the power of the 

orchard, opening himself to something that mortals should never do. 

      "What is so pressing that you threaten a hex on me, old hag?" The rough bark of Ser Edwin’s voice 

interrupted her thoughts. She heard his heavy steps as he approached. "And you drag me out to this 

cursed place, blessed be her name." 

      "Edwin," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of fear and grief brewing inside her. "I will have to 

heal this boy’s spine, put it back into place. But when he wakes... I fear the change will already be 

irreversible." 

      Miss Silvia paused as Edwin’s worn leather boots appeared before her. She couldn’t help but notice how 

his presence—solid, reassuring—always steadied her. His grey eyes met hers, a shared understanding 

between them. 

      "He did not..." he said softly. 

     "He did." Her words were a mere whisper. "And the change is already beginning. We must stop it. But I 

cannot. My oaths bind me." 

      "I will do it," Ser Edwin said quietly. His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before he knelt next 

to James, his touch steady, his movements precise. "I will put him right. You focus on healing him." 

Miss Silvia nodded, giving him space as she turned her attention back to James. She poured her magic 

into him, steadying his spine, healing his bruises and a growing infection on his leg. As she worked, James 

stirred. His blue eyes opened slowly beneath the wild mess of sandy hair. 

      "Miss Silvia? Ser Edwin?" His voice was soft, confused. "I don’t understand... What are you doing here?" 

      "We are here to protect you, James," Miss Silvia said gently, offering a smile she hoped was as warm as 

she could make it, though her heart was heavy. "We are here to make sure you stay who you are." 

James relaxed a little, resting his head back against the grass. But in that moment, Ser Edwin’s hand 

moved with swift, precise motion. His dagger sank deep into James’ chest, piercing his heart. 

      Miss Silvia turned away before she could see the light leave his eyes, or witness the shift in his 

expression from trust to betrayal. The boy did not scream, did not cry out. 

      Silvia's breath hitched in her throat as her tears fell silently, stinging her eyes and burning her cheeks. 

She could not bring herself to look back. 

      Ser Edwin wiped the blade on the grass and stood, his posture sagging with an unspoken weight. He 

stared at the sky for a long while, the world around them eerily silent. 

      "I will fetch Max before he returns," he said quietly. "Good thinking, sending him off to your place. This is 

not something for a boy to witness." 

      Silvia squeezed his hand gently, her fingers trembling, before he walked away. She set out the stones and 

tools needed to begin the difficult and painful work of bringing James back. The quiet of the orchard 

surrounded her, thick with the weight of the task ahead. 

                                                  *** 

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

      James felt cold. A cold that wasn’t the chill of night, but the absence of warmth itself. The world around 

him seemed wrong. The moon hung high and pale in the sky, casting an eerie light over everything, 

making the ground beneath him feel too hard, too uneven. The air carried a smell—sterile and 

acrid—that burned in his nose, sharp and stinging his eyes. It was a scent he knew, one that reminded 

him too much of the place where his grandad had died, a place that had haunted his thoughts for as long 

as he could remember. 

      The orchard stood around him, barren and lifeless. The trees, once full of rich green leaves, were now 

stripped bare. Their bark was no longer the warm brown he knew but pale, grey, and sickly to the eye. 

Everywhere James looked, the world had taken on a blue hue, as though reality had been twisted, as if 

the world had been turned inside out. His hands were clammy, sweat running cold down his spine, and 

each breath seemed to draw the chill deeper into him, as if the cold was coming from within him rather 

than the world around him. 

      He stepped forward, his foot crunching down on something brittle. He looked, his heart thudding in his 

chest. Bones. Bones everywhere—human, animal, and monstrous. The stories he had heard—his 

mother’s warnings, the old tales—came rushing back, those things he had always believed were just 

that: stories. Yet here they lay, scattered across the ground in all their grisly, twisted glory. 

      "This is a nightmare," James thought desperately, trying to force his mind to accept it, to make sense of 

the impossible. "It has to be. I cannot be here." 

      A massive skeletal hand slammed down beside him, sending the bones beneath him skittering across the 

ground. The impact tore deep furrows in the earth, knocking James from his feet. The air itself seemed 

to shake with the force of it, and he lifted his head to see it—the creature. A skull the size of Miss Silvia’s 

cottage, bull-like in shape but wrong in a way he could not comprehend, loomed over the trees. Where 

eyes should have been, there was only a red, glowing void. But there was something else there 

too—hunger. The hunger of a predator. James' stomach turned as his heart raced. 

      He scrambled to his feet, his breath quick and shallow, and ducked behind the nearest thing—a fallen 

apple tree, twisted and hollowed by age. The creature’s clawed hand followed, massive bone fingers like 

spears, sharp and cruel, drove into the trunk of the tree. With an explosion of splinters, the trunk 

shattered. Pain lanced through James as debris—splinters and jagged shards—pierced his skin. He 

grunted, feeling the blood pour from his wounds, thick and dark. 

      The creature’s maw opened wide, revealing broken teeth, sharp and jagged. A grey tongue flicked over 

them, tasting the air. Its red eyes locked onto him, and James knew, without a doubt, that he was its 

prey. 

                               "By the Light. Blessed Mother. Bring him back!"

      The words reached his ears, distant but familiar—Miss Silvia’s voice, clear and unwavering despite the 

chaos around him.  

      Warmth flooded James, and the world burst back into color: greens, reds, yellows, and blues. The pain 

faded, the sticky black blood vanished from his hands, and his injuries slowly healed, as though the earth 

itself were stitching him together. James blinked, his heart steadying, his breath easing. He met the tired, 

weary eyes of Miss Silvia. 

      Her grey-streaked hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. Beads of it dripped down her nose. Her face, 

pale and unnaturally gaunt, spoke of the strain she had endured to bring him back from the brink. 

      "Miss Silvia, are you alright?" James jumped to his feet, wrapping his arms around the older woman. 

      "You look sick. Let me help you." 

      "I am fine, James. Just a little spent. Are you alright? That was quite the fall you had." Silvia chuckled 

softly and pushed herself up off the ground, leaning slightly on James for support. 

      "I feel fine," James said, shaking his head. "I don’t even remember falling, to be honest." 

      "That is normal after a fall like this," she replied, the color returning to her face as they began walking 

slowly back toward the village. "You will be right as rain after a few days' rest." 

      The walk back was slow. Miss Silvia pretended not to lean on James, and he pretended not to notice. The 

birds, which had been strangely silent, resumed their morning calls. The sun burned off the last 

remnants of fog. By the time they were halfway back, Miss Silvia stood on her own, though her pace was 

still slow. James couldn’t understand why she was so tired—he’d fallen from trees before, after all—but 

she didn’t seem eager to discuss it, no matter how much he asked. 

      "Let it be, James," she said with a weary smile and a pat on his back. "Things that used to take me little 

effort now tire me out. I’m not as young as I used to be. That is all." She gave a small chuckle. "You must 

be hungry if you went to the Orchard to steal an apple. Why don’t you come back to my place? I can 

probably find enough oats for both of us, or maybe the chicken laid an egg. How does that sound?" 

      Almost on cue, James' stomach growled loudly. He flushed with embarrassment, and Miss Silvia laughed 

softly, her smile warm. They shared the moment as the sun fully burned through the fog. 

      Her cottage stood at the edge of town, nearly consumed by creeping vines. The shutters were thrown 

wide to catch the morning breeze, and the scent of fresh ground herbs filled the air, greeting them as 

they approached. 

      James had always found it strange that, though it was summer, Miss Silvia’s garden seemed to hold 

plants that were out of season—Frostleave, Widdow's Bark, and a dozen others he couldn’t name, 

sprawling in every direction. 

      Miss Silvia hung her bag of tools just inside the door and, with a thought, lit the warm coals in the 

fireplace. The interior of the cottage was like nothing James had ever seen. The small room was 

crammed full of things. There were nearly as many plants as there were stones in the walls—some in 

pots, others growing through cracks in the stone. Tables were stacked high with books, vials, metal 

objects, and mortars and pestles in various stages of use. Near the hearth stood a small bed and rocking 

chair, a quilt draped lovingly over it. A small table beside the chair held a single book and a pair of 

reading glasses resting neatly on top. Beneath the table sat a small basket of yarn, tucked away. 

The largest tabby James had ever seen lay stretched out near the warmth of the fire, its steady breathing 

a rhythmic lullaby. 

      "Go ahead and sit in the chair. Don’t mind Whiskers," Miss Silvia called from the other side of the room. 

"He will not scratch you unless you are a Dark Spawn or a Ghoul come to get me after all these years." 

      She moved gracefully through the clutter, her movements fluid, like a dancer on stage. James doubted he 

could do the same. 

      "I’m fine right here. I don’t want to knock anything over." 

      "Nonsense," she said, barely glancing at him. "There is more room than you think." She pointed to the 

chair as she opened drawers and cabinets in the small kitchen. To James’s surprise, there was plenty of 

space as he walked. The tables didn’t feel as close as they had seemed, and he could easily move 

between them. When he looked back, it seemed as though the room still should have been crowded, but 

he hadn’t knocked over a single thing. 

      The chair felt perfect as he sat down,neither too tall nor too short, the arms perfectly positioned. "It’s perfect. I could sleep 

here." 

      "Go ahead and put the blanket on, dearie," Miss Silvia’s voice was soothing, almost melodic. "It will be a 

few minutes before I get the oats cooking and the tea ready." 

      James pulled the blanket from behind him and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was warm, like being 

hugged by his grandad or tucked into bed as a child. The aches from his fall and the tension in his 

shoulders melted away. The large tabby raised a single violet eye, glowing faintly, before yawning and 

turning back to watch the fire. 

      "That cat’s the size of Farmer Gorgie’s mastiff. I didn’t know cats could get that big." His thoughts were 

growing fuzzy.  

      He fell asleep before his eyes had even fully closed. Silvia knew the chair and blanket would work their 

magic—they always did. Still, she went about preparing the tea. She knew she didn’t have the oats she’d 

promised, but Edwin would be along soon to check on her—and the boy. 

      Sure enough, just as the kettle whistled, there was a firm knock at the door. Whiskers circled the room, 

his tail twitching, his eyes trained on the sleeping boy. The sound of heavy boots approaching announced 

Edwin’s arrival. 

      "Well," was all he said as the door creaked open. Silvia had to admit she was taken aback by the grizzled 

old man’s appearance. He crossed his arms over his leather smith's apron, his nearly all-grey hair 

showing only a few black strands in his neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, the color of morning fog, met 

hers over a nose that had been broken more times than either of them could count. She saw the 

weariness in his gaze, but also something softer, something unspoken. 

      He towered over her, standing nearly six and a half feet tall, his arms as thick as most men’s legs. Yet his 

Bulk was soothing in this moment. 

      "We seem to have stopped her magic in him, as we hoped. But it hasn’t gone away," she said, her voice 

low. She grimaced as she poured two cups of tea and handed one to him. "He will always have her touch 

on him now, and anyone who cares to look will see it." 

      "So, do we tell the Master?" Edwin sipped the tea, his eyes flicking over to the sleeping boy. "Poor kid." 

      "It would only put him in more danger. I don’t think that’s wise... not just yet." 

      "I’ll ask the Master if I can take him on as an apprentice. I’ve been meaning to get one since Kurt ran off." 

Edwin set his cup down on the table. "That way, I can keep an eye on him, at least until he’s ready for 

whatever she’s planning." 

      "Okay," Silvia murmured, still watching the boy. She let out a quiet prayer, sending her thoughts to the 

gods above. "Please," she whispered, "bright and worthy ones, keep this foolish child safe from your sister."