Jensen and Hallie's eyes widened comically at the words Priscilla uttered. The silence was deathly until a small chirp came out of Hallie's daughter's mouth from the squeezing pinch of Hallie's fingers on the child's cheeks.

Hallie quickly rubbed the child's cheeks softly, ignoring the fact that they were turning red as her eyes remained glued to Priscilla. "Priscilla— Valentine— you said?"

"A-Are you a g-ghost?" Hallie stuttered.

"Eeeeeeh, a ghost..." The little girl chirped with a laugh.

"I'm not a ghost." Priscilla waved off. "It's hard to explain— but I'm quite alive."

"Valentine..." Jensen muttered, "The whole empire heard of Duke Valentine's daughter and her demise. You're saying that was you?" He asked with a somber edge to his voice.

"Mhm." Priscilla nodded quietly. She did not know why she was even mentioning it. Would anyone believe such a fairy tale? But she felt a tug to speak to them, "It's a long story— truthfully, there's a lot about it I don't know myself. All I can say for certainty is that I'm very much alive at this moment and that my death had no credibility to it."

Jensen recrossed his arms again, his large muscles flexing against his chest in silence. It was ludicrous, but something made it hard to discredit the claims. It was a mere momentary silence before it was interrupted by the crisp sound of sniffles. Hallie shuffled over to Priscilla and embraced her from behind. "Oh, you poor child. You've had it rough, haven't you?"

Hallie was not particularly old. She was only in her mid-thirties, but even then, a mother's instincts were hard to fool. She could feel the sincerity of Priscilla's words, which sent tears to her eyes. "You're back now; that's the greatest blessing the star can grant."

"Star— star!" The little girl chirped as she also ran up to hug Priscilla.

"Bianca— don't be so naughty!" Hallie chided as she lifted the girl, cradling her. "Sorry, she can be quite a handful at times." Hallie laughed.

Priscilla laughed just the same, her eyes misted, but from a blissful joy and not an inescapable sadness. Their moment did not last as the front door to their family home barged open. Priscilla shuffled back, readying her body against the wall, coiled like a viper ready to strike.

A tall man rushed in, ignorant of the danger. Hallie quickly stepped in front of Priscilla, "It's okay! He's my brother-in-law!"

Jared blinked incredulously, "What kind of performance is this, Hall, Jens?"

"Eh, we don't have time for it! It's not good; the count's men have struck again!" Jared blurted.

"Where?" Jensen asked, his torso arching forward toward Jared.

"They came near the southern outskirts! Grabbed several young girls who were tending to the fields. They weren't alone, one of the guys said." Jared uttered in one pauseless breath. He inhaled quickly before continuing, "Strange men! With robes of crimson and gold, emblazoned with a black star!"

Jared panted out of breath before he reached and grabbed Jensen's cup, downing it in a single huff.

"Fucking hounds of the empire. Do they have no shame? What knights, what brave soldiers, they're all just bastards wearing human flesh!" Jensen spat through a grimace. "Tell me, Jare, has anyone gone after them? Have they talked to the mayor at least?" Jensen questioned, his fist striking the table with a dull thud.

"We went to see, but there was no response from him or the aides..."

"Where are the children now?" Priscilla interrupted, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she moved out of the corner. "Are they close to the town?"

"No, it's impossible— there's too many of them! And they went into the depths of the woods where they have the advantage." Jared shook his head.

"That doesn't answer my question— are they still close?" Priscilla echoed, her eyes focusing on the man.

"Girl— don't glare at me. I don't know! It'll take you at least thirty minutes to get out of the city— and then you want to find those men and the children— it's downright impossible! They'll be long gone to the count's villa by then."

Priscilla snorted and rushed out of the house. She felt no responsibility toward the townspeople, but the feeling of abandoning a child to an uncertain fate did not sit well with her. Could she turn a blind eye to another life ruined by the shackles of a nobleman's making?

Priscilla leaped into the air, the wind carrying her upward as she bounced off rooftops with the grace and lightness of a spring breeze. Her heartbeat accelerated, unknown to her; it slammed against her chest with the forceful steps of a stampede, her blood circulating through her body at levels unrecorded. Her speed reached a height where by the time anyone caught a glimpse of her shadow to lift their heads— she had already vanished.

Five minutes later, her body lunged off the town gates, heading for the overgrown woodland that bordered it. The trees shivered like a bare-skinned hunter in the tundra, leaves rustling with immensity as the woman rushed in search of the count's men. The woods were quiet— eerily so— and there were no visible traces, which frustrated Priscilla ever so.

The woman's eyes glowed bright as the wind swirled around her—transparent and silent. The sounds of life bloomed in her ears— chitters and howls, light scritches against tree bark, and then the childish, frail whimpers of a child, the dreadful begging for a mother's embrace.

Priscilla redirected her steps accordingly, breaking through the canopy of trees and emerging into a group of soldiers, knights, and cowled men. The soldiers and knights had the marks of Count Blackthorn's men, but the cowled men were ones Priscilla could not recognize. The men carried and dragged the captured children recklessly, their bodies painted with marks of blood from beatings.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

As Priscilla jumped into the fray, the men turned to her in shock. They had not expected anyone to follow them— no. They quickly realized— how did she arrive here? Where did she come from?

"Identify yourself!" One of the knights roared, his demanding voice slamming against the trees with no remorse.

Priscilla merely eyed the children, who were either unconscious or terrified and bawling their eyes out. "You tell me— what do you think you're doing to these children?" Priscilla questioned, her voice matching the knight's with a commanding air.

"Wench, how dare you question the Blackthorn Knights?" The knight huffed and puffed. His chest flexed taut against his armor. "Identify yourself now—"

"Or else we'll have you join them as one of the count's new toys." He grinned as he pointed to the children.

Priscilla's eyes fluttered, a spark flashing through her mind as her raging instincts kicked in— the compelling force slammed against her, an unruly beast one could never dismount in time. The knight blinked for a fragment of time— an insignificant moment that would prove to be his last. Priscilla vanished, only to reappear with a small fragment of ice in her hand, its sharpened blade lined perfectly with the man's throat.

Priscilla slid along the woodland floor, twisting her body along the ground with the knight's head in her grasp. Her cold gaze was an ethereal frostbite striking the men in the depths of their hearts. They blinked and blinked again. Dumbfounded. Stupefied. Incomprehension delayed their fear, but when fear struck, the cowards among them dripped piss down their pant legs, their fingers trembling as they pointed at Priscilla with judging eyes glazed with terror. "Witch!"

Priscilla flinched, a tingle coursing down her spine at the remark. But she could not afford to dwell on it as she narrowed her eyes at the cowled men who seemed unfazed by her display. They matched her gaze— their heads tilted slightly toward her.

"A heretic of the Fallen Star walks among us," One of the men uttered, his voice a hollow scrape against Priscilla's eardrums. "Your kind— should not exist. How—" He muttered, his head quivering side to side.

"Heretics— the cycle of inevitability comes yet again!" He cackled, his torso bending in on itself, shoulders trembling fiercely, as he lost control of himself.

"Heretics— They treat our Church of Zenith as a lone passage in the history books. They forsook our kindness, trust, and the magnanimity and grace we offered—"

The man and his cowled companions laughed, their cackles booming with insanity. Their laughs halted without warning as they put their hands close to their mouths and whistled. An ominous sound that scathed against all that was holy.

The soldiers and knights groaned upon hearing that scathing whistling noise— and their bodies convulsed with great fanfare. Their limbs creaked with unnatural timbre, and pupils constricted, flickering with trepidation. The men slumped onto the earth, their spines bursting from their backs as growths spread out.

Priscilla felt the rampaging beat of her heart as the creatures appeared—a moment of noise, yet it brought such a massive change. They resembled the Skriythe—but Priscilla did not know why this was.

"What is the meaning of this?" Priscilla demanded toward the cowled Zenith believer.

The man merely laughed as he lowered his cowl. His eyesockets were empty, and his skin creased with thousands of folds. "You have no power here, heretic." The man's teeth chattered. "The blood of the old will awaken once more—you can do nothing about it."

One of the men behind him threw down an object that burst with black smoke, filling the space with its thickness. Skriythe-like creatures burst out of the smoke, rushing at Priscilla; their pincered mouths snapped ruthlessly despite their short length compared to the regular Skriythe Priscilla had seen before.

Priscilla scanned the space; despite the difficulty seeing, she could roughly make out the cowled men in the depths standing and could see the children on the floor beside them. She lunged at the inhumane soldiers, stabbing out with a slither of ice, shards of it splattering across the air as it made contact with the creature's thick carapace.

It was frustrating that the bugs were always sturdy and disgusting. Priscilla rotated, sending her other hand toward the creature's face with a needle of flame. The Skriythe-man squealed from the intense heat and tried to deflect it, but Priscilla shifted her arm, lowering it at an angle and stabbing it into the soft flesh where the creature's torso and neck connected.

He howled a deathly wail of pain as green pustulant blood flowed from the wound. His mouth gurgled and bubbled with smoke, and the creature fell to its knees. But Priscilla could not rest or take joy in that fact as the other dozen men-creatures swarmed her with frenzied bloodlust.

The Church of Zenith believers snickered in arrogance as they watched the battle. To them, a heretic was nothing but an insect. The unveiled man looked to the children before shaking his head in disappointment. "They're not usable anymore, let's go." He told his companions in a hushed tone.

Priscilla may have been occupied by the battle— and her vision obstructed by the smoke, but she kept a tight grasp on the area using the small sounds carried by the wind to guide her. As the men turned to leave, Priscilla clenched her teeth, eliminating the creature closest that remained glued to her and lunging after the cowled believers. They were not easy to get rid of, however, as they continued to pester her, giving the men enough time to vanish through the forest's overgrowth.

"Damn you," Priscilla muttered as she returned her gaze toward the creatures with their clattering jaws and bony growths spazzing out from their backs.

----------------------------------------

Priscilla walked toward the town with four girls in tow. Two of them held onto Priscilla's hands while the other two clasped onto Priscilla's gown, afraid to let go. They trembled like leaves in the wind; it would have taken one push only, and they would have blown away. Her speed was far slower than if she was alone, so by the time she was halfway to the town, she could make out the sound of horses neighing and hooves trotting as they approached.

Jensen, Jared, and several more men appeared. They were disheveled as they came in a rush, but their faces were fierce with determination to fight. Among them, only one man was more distanced and tidy. The air of nobility radiated off his shiny head. "Priscilla, are you okay? Where are the count's men?" Jensen hastily asked as he saw the woman and children. "How are the girls? Is anyone hurt?"

"Spread out!" Jared muttered to the men, who dispersed radially around the woods, scanning for any lurking troublemakers from the count's side.

"They're all gone..." Priscilla replied, uncertain how to explain to them. "The girls are fine, scared, and a bit bruised but alive."

"Are you working with them?" The neat man scoffed arrogantly. "How convenient is it that they suddenly vanish, and you return with the girls a hero?"

"It's not like that, mayor." Jensen waved off in an attempt to reassure the man.

"Did I ask you, Jensen Eckhart?" The mayor glared. "Capture her, she's clearly suspicious. We'll question her, the children, and anyone else that puts our people at risk."

"We can't do that, mayor! She has nothing to do with this!" Jensen retorted adamantly.

"SILENCE!" The mayor sneered loudly. "SEIZE HER NOW!"

"If you interfere, Jensen Eckhart. Mark my words, you will suffer! Think of your family."

As the mayor spoke, several of the men peered out of the woods with chains in hand. The sound rattled against the quiet breeze that blew between the trees. Silent but persistent. Priscilla flinched at the noise; her friendly gaze toward Jensen turned into a chilling one aimed at the approaching men. Priscilla rushed at the chain-carrying man closest to her; the gown she wore ripped in several places as the children's hands had latched on so tightly to the fabric. But Priscilla did not pay it mind as she kneed the man to the face and then rushed past him into the depths of the woods.