The attack came without warning. Mireya was jerked awake by
screams echoing through the streets. Firelight danced outside
her window, and the scent of smoke filled her room.
Grabbing her dagger, she bolted outside. Shadows twisted
through the village, their forms slithering between the houses
like living smoke. Witches fought to drive them back—fire
bursting from their palms, water rising to strike at the
darkness. But the shadows were relentless.
Mireya joined the fight, wielding her blade with practiced
precision. She slashed through the tendrils, fire flickering from
her fingertips to burn the shadows away. Her suppressed
magic surged, wild and powerful, threatening to burst free. She
pushed it down, focusing on her blade instead.
When the last shadow vanished, the village was left in ruins.
The coven elders arrived soon after, stepping carefully over
the smoldering debris. Only one life had been lost—Uhrin, a
witch who had always kept to herself.
Mireya couldn't help but notice that Uhrin's hut had been
untouched. She had seen it clearly from above while fighting
the shadows mid-air. Like most fighter witches, Mireya had the
ability to fly—a skill that allowed her to maneuver between
rooftops and strike shadows from above, giving her a vantage
point others couldn't match.