The scent of honey and lavender swirled in the air as I lifted my cup, the warmth of the tea settling into my fingers. Across the table, my father smirked, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence.

  “You know, you might as well give up now,” he said, stirring his own cup. “I’ve got the perfect strategy. You won’t stand a chance.”

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Uh-huh, sure, old man. We both know you rely too much on luck.”

  He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Luck? Luck?! I’ll have you know I am a master tactician—”

  “Master of losing,” I cut in, grinning.

  Before he could fire back, my mother entered the room, balancing a tray filled with an assortment of snacks—sliced fruit, cheese, crackers, and a bowl of something sweet. “Alright, you two, keep the banter friendly,” she teased, setting the tray down. “No rage-quitting over a game.”

  “Tell that to your daughter,” my father muttered, feigning indignation.

  For the next two hours, we played, dice clattering against the table as we laughed, argued over rules, and built our imaginary adventure. It was the kind of night that made me feel safe—like the world outside didn’t exist for a little while.

  Eventually, my parents got up, heading into the kitchen to refill their drinks and whisper about spells and traps—probably plotting against me in the game. I smirked to myself, shaking my head.

  Then, I heard it.

  A soft sound, barely noticeable over the steady rhythm of the rain. A faint tapping against the window.

  Frowning, I stood and moved toward it, pulling the curtain back just slightly. Outside, the storm rolled on, wind howling as lightning illuminated the sky. Nothing seemed out of place. But just as I was about to turn away, a flicker of light darted past the window—a streak of soft blue, quick as a breath.

  I gasped and stepped back.

  Then, right in front of me, the light gathered, twisting and shifting, until it took shape.

  A small, fox-like figure hovered just above the ground, its wispy form shifting like smoke, glowing faintly in the dim room.

  “Milo?” I whispered.

  "You remember!" Milo said. His color flickered, reflecting the swirl of emotions inside me—confusion, surprise, a small spark of excitement.

  But before I could reach for him, I heard footsteps. My parents were returning.

  And then—

  A loud, forceful bang at the front door.

  I flinched at the sudden noise, my heart lurching in my chest. The knock—no, not a knock, a pounding—was so forceful it rattled the doorframe. Milo flickered, his form shifting erratically as his glow dimmed.

  My parents froze in the doorway, their laughter and conversation cut off in an instant. My mother’s face paled. My father’s easygoing demeanor disappeared, replaced with a sharp, calculating expression.

  The pounding came again, harder this time.

  “Nyx,” my mother said, voice tight with urgency. “You have to go. Now!”

  “What?” I barely had time to process before my father was moving, reaching for something under the table—a dagger? A wand? I wasn’t sure, but the sight of it made my stomach drop.

  The air in the room thickened, charged with something unseen, something wrong. The shadows near the front door stretched unnaturally, shifting as if alive.

  “Mom, Dad—”

  “Milo! Get her out of here.” my mother snapped, grabbing my shoulders. “Nyx, You need to run. Go to the Evergreen Guild. Find Zack there. Now, Hurry!”

  Milo darted forward, nudging at my arm. His normally playful glow pulsed with alarm, shifting between hues of deep violet and anxious gold.

  “I can’t just leave you!”

  “You have to.” My father’s voice was steady, but his grip on the weapon in his hand was tight. He didn’t take his eyes off the door.

  The shadows twisted. The door shook as something slammed against it.

  “They’re almost in,” my mother whispered. “Nyx, please—”

  The lock snapped.

  Before I could scream, Milo flared brilliantly, blinding the room in a burst of blue light. "Lets go!"

  The next thing I knew, he was tugging at me with unseen force, yanking me toward the back door.

  I stumbled, my parents’ forms already lost behind the haze of magic. “No, no, no!” I fought against Milo’s pull, but the wisp was relentless.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Nyxsandra, go!”

  The last thing I saw before I was dragged into the storm was the door bursting open—dark figures spilling inside, shadows swallowing the candlelight whole.

  Then—I was running.

  My feet pounded the rain-slick cobblestones, slipping once—twice—but I didn’t fall. Couldn’t fall. Behind me, home burned in my mind like a brand—my mother’s pale face, my father’s tense jaw, the sharp crack of the lock breaking. My lungs screamed for air, but the panic in my chest was louder.

  Milo zipped beside me, his glow pulsing wildly between alarmed gold and furious red. Keep going, his movements said. Don’t stop.

  I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t even know if there was anywhere safe left to run.

  Every shadow was a threat. Every gust of wind that howled through the alleys made me flinch. Lightning lit up the twisted roofs above me in split-second flashes—like the village was caught in some nightmare photograph, one frame at a time.

  This was my home. Was.

  Now it was alien. Haunted.

  The streets should’ve been familiar. The bakery on the corner, with its crooked window. Old Merv’s apothecary, with herbs strung across the awning like garlands. I had walked these streets my whole life.

  But now they looked wrong. The lanterns were dark. Doors hung open where people had fled or never gotten the chance. Windows shattered. The wind carried whispers—not words, just sounds, low and curling like fingers brushing against the back of my neck.

  I choked down a sob and pushed forward.

  Milo stopped ahead of me suddenly, hovering at the edge of an alley. His color dropped to a dim, warning amber.

  “What?” I hissed, my voice barely audible over the rain.

  Then I saw it.

  Two figures. Cultists. Their silhouettes stood still beneath the crooked overhang of the tavern, faces lost to shadows, hoods pulled tight. I froze, pressing my back to the wet stone wall, the rain soaking through to my bones.

  They weren’t moving.

  But they didn’t have to.

  The air around them was shifting. Warping. Like heat rising off pavement, except colder. Hungrier.

  Milo darted back toward me, nudging me into motion. We ducked into a side street, my boots splashing through puddles as I pushed forward blindly.

  I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted the salt on my lips.

  Get to Zack. Get to the Evergreen Guild.

  That was the only thing anchoring me now. That name—Zack. That place. Something my parents never told me about until the last possible second, and now it was all I had. No clue where it was. No clue how far. But it was a direction. A hope.

  And hope was the only thing I could still carry.

  I kept running.

  For three days I wandered those streets.

  ° ° °

  The village felt like a ghost of itself—empty streets, darkened windows, an unnatural silence pressing against my ears. I kept to the shadows, slipping between abandoned buildings and ruined stalls. The few supplies I had stolen were running low, my stomach twisting with hunger.

  The last words my mother’s said, echoed in my head: Find Zack. Go to the Evergreen Guild.

  I didn’t know where I was going. Didn’t know how to find this “Zack” guy or the damn Evergreen Guild. My parents dropped that name on me like it was supposed to mean something, like it would keep me safe. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t. But it was all I had.

  And hope, even the cracked, bleeding kind, was better than nothing.

  I slipped through another alley, avoiding every lantern, every flicker of movement, until the street opened wide—and I realized too late where I’d ended up.

  The town square.

  Wide. Empty. Exposed.

  And I was standing right in the middle of it, drenched and panting like an idiot.

  Then I felt it.

  Not wind. Not rain.

  Eyes.

  From every angle. Behind windows. In the alleys. Beneath hoods.

  Shadowy figures emerged, slow and quiet. They didn’t run, didn’t shout. They didn’t need to. They had me.

  Cultists, and. Spirits.

  At least a dozen of them, maybe more. They hovered above the cobblestones, their translucent forms swaying in the unseen wind. Some looked human, their features barely distinguishable through the ethereal glow. Others were twisted, warped, their very essence flickering between shapes.

  And they weren’t alone.

  The eclipse cult seemed to melt from the walls and corners like they’d always been there, waiting. But they weren’t just waiting, and watching the spirits. They were controlling them.

  Milo flared beside me, furious white light bursting from his small form. “Nyx,” he hissed, voice sharp inside my head, “don’t let them circle you.”

  Too late.

  The square was already closing. Every exit blocked. Shadows tightening like a noose.

  “Come with us,” one of them said. Calm. Chilling. Like they were offering a warm bed and not a fucking curse.

  I didn’t answer.

  Didn’t breathe.

  The rain poured harder. My fists clenched. Magic prickled under my skin, too thin, too tired. I didnt have much left in me. But I had to fight. Run. Move. Anything!

  “I said, come here!” the cultist stepped forward.

  One of them lifted a hand, and the spirits turned toward me.

  I barely had time to react before the first one lunged.

  My instincts screamed. I threw my arms up, muttering the first spell that came to mind—"Ignis!"

  A burst of weak fire crackled to life in my palm. I flung it forward, barely missing the spirit as it twisted unnaturally in the air. Another came at me from the side. I ducked, stumbling backward.

  Milo darted ahead, his light shifting into a sharp, warning red.

  The cultists murmured in unison, their voices blending into something unnatural, something that crawled under my skin.

  They were trying to trap me.

  I gritted my teeth. No.

  Raising both hands, I whispered another spell—one I had barely practiced. "Aegis."

  A shimmering barrier flared to life around me just as a spirit slammed into it, the impact sending shockwaves through my body.

  Pain.

  I was losing.

  I was outnumbered.

  The air was thick with tension as the cultists stood their ground, their dark cloaks barely shifting in the night breeze. My heart pounded, exhaustion creeping into my limbs from the relentless fight. Milo hovered close, his light flickering with urgency. I had held them off as best as I could, but I was running out of options.

  Then...

  I screamed.

  Not words—just raw sound. A flare of lightning burst above us, blinding white. Milo shrieked in a high, unnatural tone, his whole body erupting in violet fire.

  I felt the Veil shift.

  Something was off.

  Then a voice cut through the flames.

  "Come here."

  I turned my head toward the source—a tall figure standing just beyond the fire. Something about his presence felt commanding, like he didn’t just exist in the space but controlled it.

  Without thinking, I bolted toward him, my instincts screaming that staying here meant death. And it did. As soon as I put my barrier down the spirits and cultists lunged toward me.

  The moment I reached his side, he lifted a hand. A wave of force exploded outward, slamming into the cultists like a crashing tide. They stumbled back, some hitting the ground hard, others barely managing to stay upright. Dust and debris clouded the air.

  Before I could even catch my breath, the man turned to me, his gaze sharp yet unreadable. He uttered a single word—one I couldn’t even process before everything went black.

  The last thing I felt was a sudden surge of energy, the crackling of lightning in the air.

  A brilliant flash enveloped us.

  And then—nothing.

  When I woke up, everything was different.

  ° ° °