The morning was still young when Taryn and Elara set off, the forest around them alive with birdsong and rustling leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting shifting golden patterns on the ground, but Elara barely noticed.
She walked with a determined pace, trying to focus on the path ahead, yet the weight of exhaustion clung to her like a heavy cloak. Her muscles ached, her limbs felt sluggish, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside her mind. No matter how many times she tried to piece things together, she came up empty.
What happened to me back in the clearing?
The memory was hazy, fractured like glass. The sensation of weightlessness, of something vast and unknowable surging through her veins—it was unlike anything she had ever felt. She had known there was something inside her, something different. But this?
She pressed a hand to her chest, half-expecting to feel an unfamiliar energy thrumming beneath her skin. But there was nothing. Just her own steady heartbeat.
A shiver ran through her.
She had used magic before, seen it before.
But this—what had happened back there—was something entirely different.
The light hadn't just been in her hands. It had poured from her, engulfed her whole body. And the floating…
Her breath hitched.
Magic wasn't supposed to do that, was it? Not hers, at least.
The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that she needed answers. If she didn't figure out what was happening to her, she wouldn't just be a danger to herself—she could be a danger to Taryn, too.
Elara stole a glance at her traveling companion, watching the way she moved effortlessly through the underbrush, her expression unreadable. Taryn looked so sure of herself, so grounded. But then again, she had been hiding something, too.
Elara hesitated before speaking.
"Taryn."
Taryn hummed in acknowledgment but didn't stop walking.
"Back in the fight… you moved your daggers without touching them."
Taryn stiffened almost imperceptibly but kept her stride steady. "Yeah."
"So, you have magic?"
Taryn let out a slow sigh, running a hand through her dark hair. "Something like that."
Elara frowned. "Something like that? That's not exactly an answer."
Taryn smirked slightly but didn't meet her gaze. "It's the only one I've got."
Elara crossed her arms. "Come on, Taryn. I told you about me—about my dreams, the light, all of it. The least you could do is be honest."
Taryn finally stopped walking, exhaling through her nose before turning to face Elara fully. There was something guarded in her expression, like she was deciding how much to say.
"Alright, fine. You want the truth? I don't know what I am."
Elara blinked. "What?"
"I didn't train for this. I didn't study magic. One day, it just… happened. And every time I've used it since, it's been because I had no other choice." Taryn shrugged. "I can move things with my mind. I can feel the weight of them, guide them, control them. But that's it. No floating, no glowing, no divine intervention."
Elara absorbed that. "Have you always had it?"
Taryn hesitated. "No. Or at least… I don't remember having it before the night my family died."
The way she said it—so bluntly, like a statement of fact—made Elara's chest tighten.
"I see," she said softly.
Taryn smirked again, but it was hollow. "Don't look so sad about it. I turned out alright, didn't I?"
Elara wanted to say something comforting, something that might take away the weight in Taryn's voice. But she knew that kind of grief never really left. It became a part of you.
So instead, she simply said, "You did."
Taryn gave her a half-smile, then turned and kept walking.
They traveled in silence for a while before Elara spoke again, her voice quieter this time.
"Back in the clearing, something inside me woke up. I don't understand it, and I don't know if I ever will. But… I think I need to find out."
Taryn glanced at her. "Any idea where to start?"
"No. But I know it's connected to those men who attacked me."
Taryn nodded, her expression turning serious. "Then we'll figure it out. Together."
Elara felt something ease in her chest.
"Thank you, Taryn."
"Don't get all sentimental on me, princess," Taryn teased, nudging her shoulder. "We've got a long road ahead of us."
And so, they kept walking, the unknown stretching before them, their journey leading them ever closer to their next destination.
Days passed as they traveled, making their way out of the dense forests and into the rugged hills beyond. It was a long and grueling journey, but eventually, the ruins of an ancient city loomed on the horizon.
Vaelthorn.
Once a thriving city of scholars and warriors, now little more than a shadow of its former glory. The great stone walls still stood, weathered but strong, surrounding streets filled with crumbling buildings, forgotten statues, and overgrown courtyards. A place where mercenaries, drifters, and those without a home found refuge.
Taryn led the way through the cracked cobblestone streets, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.
"Stay close," she muttered to Elara. "This place isn't exactly friendly."
They hadn't gone far when the sound of clashing steel echoed through the ruins.
Taryn's hand went to her daggers instinctively. "That's close."
Elara looked toward the source of the sound. "Should we check it out?"
Taryn hesitated. Getting involved in someone else's fight was usually a terrible idea. But her gut told her this was important.
"Let's move."
The sound of clashing steel and shouted curses rang through the air, echoing between the crumbling stone walls. Taryn and Elara sprinted toward the noise, weaving through the narrow, overgrown alleyways of the abandoned city. The scent of damp stone and dust filled their lungs as they rounded a corner—
A lone fighter stood against a circle of warriors.
Despite being outnumbered, he held his ground with an air of unwavering defiance. His long coat was tattered at the edges, the fabric torn by battle, yet he remained steady, his stance unshaken. His sword gleamed under the dim, clouded sunlight, its edge sharp and well-worn from use. Dark hair, tied back at the nape of his neck, framed sharp, angular features. But it was his eyes—piercing blue, like fractured ice—that struck Elara.
There was something about the way he moved. Every strike, every parry, was executed with a precision that spoke of years of discipline. But he was not just skilled—there was something else, something almost unnatural.
Then she saw it.
A faint shimmer of blue energy flickered around his blade, barely noticeable, like an aura of mist clinging to the steel. And when he swung, the air itself seemed to ripple in his wake.
Taryn's breath hitched. She knew magic when she saw it.
One of the warriors lunged at him, aiming for his exposed side. But instead of dodging, the lone fighter twisted his wrist, and for the briefest moment, the air pulsed. His opponent's blade slowed as if cutting through water, giving him just enough time to sidestep and drive his sword through the attacker's chest.
Elara's heart pounded.
He's fast. Too fast.
But even with his skill, even with whatever magic coursed through him, he was tiring. The sheer number of enemies was weighing him down. A second too slow, and a blade would find its mark.
Taryn didn't wait.
With a flick of her wrist, two daggers sliced through the air, finding their mark in the shoulders of the nearest warriors. Cries of pain rang out as they staggered back, clutching at the wounds.
Elara reacted instinctively. Without thinking, she raised her hand, and a pulse of light surged from her palm—a brief, unfocused burst, but enough to knock one of the attackers off balance. The warrior stumbled, his footing lost, and the lone fighter wasted no time.
He drove his sword into the next opponent, spinning with lethal grace as he cut down another. His movements were sharp, efficient—every strike meant to kill.
But Taryn had seen something.
A glint of steel, a shadow shifting behind him. One of the fallen warriors wasn't dead—not yet. He was reaching for a dagger, his eyes locked onto the lone fighter's exposed back.
Taryn moved without thinking.
A sharp whistle cut through the air as she extended her hand, and her remaining dagger wrenched itself free from its previous victim, spinning back toward her. In the same motion, she sent it flying again, this time straight at the attacker's throat.
He gurgled, choking on his own blood, before slumping lifelessly to the ground.
And then, silence.
The last body fell, and the dust settled. The lone fighter stood amidst the carnage, his breathing heavy, his sword still slick with fresh blood. He turned toward them, his gaze sharp as he took them in.
Taryn met his eyes, her own still burning with adrenaline.
"You had that handled, right?" she said, smirking despite the tension still thick in the air.
The man exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if testing for injuries. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough but steady.
"Who are you?"
Taryn crossed her arms. "I could ask you the same thing."
For a long moment, he simply stared at them, as if weighing whether to trust them or not. Then, slowly, he sheathed his sword, his grip on the hilt loosening just a fraction.
"Names hold power."
Elara stepped forward cautiously, still shaken from the sight of his magic. "What was that? The way you moved… the way your sword—"
The man's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't look away. "I could ask you the same thing."
Taryn glanced at Elara, then back at the man. Something about him felt… familiar, in a way she couldn't explain. But there was no time for hesitation.
"Come on," she said, tilting her head toward the ruined city beyond. "Let's get out of here before more of them show up. Then maybe we can all get some answers."
The man hesitated only a moment before nodding.
"You shouldn't have interfered."
The man's voice was low, steady, but there was something beneath it—something unreadable.
Taryn smirked, flipping one of her daggers in her palm. "You're welcome."
His piercing blue eyes flickered toward her, then to Elara, studying her with quiet intensity. "You fight well," he said, then turned his gaze fully onto Elara. "And you… I've never seen magic like yours before."
Elara shifted, suddenly aware of the lingering warmth in her hands from the burst of energy she had unleashed. "I don't understand it myself."
The man tilted his head slightly. "Then perhaps we have something in common."
Taryn raised an eyebrow. "You used magic, too. Your blade—there was something about the way it moved, like it was charged with energy."
The man exhaled, crossing his arms over his chest. "It wasn't always this way."
Elara frowned. "What do you mean?"
For the first time, hesitation crept into his otherwise stoic expression. He glanced at the bodies surrounding them before finally speaking.
"I wasn't born with magic," he said, voice quieter now, as if the words themselves were a burden. "It came to me the night my village burned."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he was no longer standing in the ruins of this old city but somewhere far away, lost in a memory that still haunted him.
"They came in the dead of night—assassins cloaked in darkness. They moved like shadows, killing without sound. My mother tried to hide me, but I saw everything. The screams, the fire, the steel cutting through the people I loved."
His fingers twitched, as if gripping something unseen. "I should've died that night. I was just a boy. But something inside me… changed." He flexed his hands, and for a brief second, the faintest shimmer of blue energy pulsed at his fingertips. "I don't remember much, only that when I woke up, the assassins were dead. And the bodies around me… they looked as if something had torn through them. Not by a blade, but by something else."
Taryn's breath hitched. A cold sensation trickled down her spine.
"The same assassins…?" she murmured, barely aware she had spoken aloud.
The man looked at her sharply. "You know them?"
Taryn's mouth felt dry, the memory of her own past flashing before her eyes—the night her family was slaughtered, the burning walls of her home, the moment she had unleashed her magic in a desperate act of survival.
"They took my family, too," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
For the first time, the man's expression softened, just slightly. It wasn't sympathy, not exactly—more like recognition. The quiet understanding of someone who had walked the same path of loss.
"Then perhaps fate has brought us together for a reason," he said.
Taryn let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders. "You got a name, stranger?"
"Ronan Vale," he said simply.
Elara exchanged a glance with Taryn before stepping forward. "I'm Elara. This is Taryn. We're on a journey to find answers."
Ronan studied them both for a long moment, the weight of something unspoken settling between them. Then, finally, he nodded.
"Then I will go with you."
Taryn raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Ronan's gaze darkened, his voice steady with quiet resolve. "If the people who destroyed my home are involved in whatever you're seeking, then I want to be there when we find them."
Elara felt a strange sense of relief. A piece of a puzzle she hadn't even known she was building had just fallen into place.
Taryn only grinned. "Well then, Ronan Vale. Welcome to the chaos."
And with that, their journey continued—three wandering souls, bound by fate, each searching for answers that could change everything.