Heavy and tall waves crashed against the rocky shoreline, holding back the restless sea like steadfast guardians. Above, the rugged hills and jagged peaks stretched out beneath a sky painted in soft blues and oranges, heralding the dawn of a young morning. Long, lush meadows and plains extended along the coast, their verdant expanse blending with the salty air and fresh breeze as the calm landscape stirred to life.
Yet, as the light traveled further south, it struggled to break through the thick canopy of towering trees that started to paint the scenery, their branches intertwined as if embracing one another, concealing whatever lay hidden in the shadowy depths below.
A narrow path, worn smooth by countless mortals passing through, twisted and wound through the forest, weaving among the trees and into the tunnel of branches. Here, the warm hues of orange and blue gave way to silvers, greens and grays, reflecting off the old trunks and the ever-present puddles scattered across the forest floor. The surrounding bushes rustled softly as deer and other forest creatures moved through, the dark, almost serene atmosphere giving them a sense of calm and fueling their curiosity. Birds filled the air with song, breathing life into the winding trail and beckoning anyone daring enough to cross the rugged hills and uncover this secluded haven.
But, those familiar with the area knew that no one was brave enough to enter, no one foolish enough to step onto that cold ground and follow the path. The presence within was well known. It was no secret that witches had settled here, and not just any witches—the Arathgolethski Coven.
For the past decade, the coven had found refuge in this place, a sanctuary where they could brew and prepare for a plan that was now only days from coming to life. Yet, amid their usual calm and daily routine, something felt different on this crisp morning.
Someone was missing.
Heavy footsteps crunched against the ground, echoing through the forest like distant drums. A long coat, a white canopy with well-known blue ornaments, swept against the damp leaves and low-hanging branches. A tall figure, pale and stark against the dim backdrop, moved swiftly along the winding path, their feet finding the way as if guided by instinct, even with eyes closed. Their steps were fast, purposeful, and soon they emerged from the tunnel of bent trees into a small clearing. At its center, raised above the lake, stood a tall wooden structure, solitary like a forgotten soul.
A soft jingle echoed as silver jewelry chimed, the tall figure ascending the wooden stairs and bursting open the door.
Two pairs of eyes turned toward the loud sound.
"She’s gone!"
Thalion Freyer, the second-born but eldest son of the Freyers, shouted at the air and anyone who listened, his pale face flushed with rage and agony as he stormed through the hallway and into a small salon.
Heavy, long curtains draped over the tall windows, blocking any silver light from filtering through the mosaic panes. Dozens of candles flickered on every available surface, casting a soft glow and warmth throughout the room. Furniture, varied in style and age, was scattered around the space, some of the pieces deeply rotted and barely standing on their own, while others still served their purpose.
Thalion swept his hand through the air, knocking over the nearest cabinet. A porcelain vase shattered on the floor, its dark, dried roses losing their petals across the dusty and washed out rug. None of the owners of the two pairs of eyes batted an eyelash, one particularly remaining stoically silent, their eyes fixed on Thalion while maintaining a tense posture, as if afraid that his fury might somehow reach them.
“Fucking gone! Who saw her last? WHO!?”
Another furniture piece met its end—a low, oval stool—as Thalion’s leg sent it crashing across the room and into the walls where the green and crimson tapestry draped over, revealing patches of black mold creeping through the ripped and torn out holes.
The candles’ fire danced with the air moving, shadows playing a silly game on the walls. A single piano note, painfully out of tune, rang out in the salon, and the first pair of green eyes finally fell down on Thalion.
Celiana Freyer, his older sister and the first-born Freyer, cast a disinterested glance over at her younger brother, as though this outburst of anger and destruction were a routine occurrence.
“And here I thought today was going to be boring.”
If looks could kill, Celiana would have probably been set ablaze by the glare she’d earned. But, she remained alive and breathing by the small piano, legs leisurely crossed, revealing a pink-kissed skin stretching high up to where the black dress split on her tight. Above the waist, the soft fabric hugged her curves like a lover would, accenting the features none of her other siblings seemed to have gained. And among them all, she alone had been gifted with father’s hair, black as a raven, almost melting together with the dress as it draped over her open shoulder.
“Contain yourself; you’re embarrassing yourself in front of my guest.”
As if just noticing the other figure hidden away on the couch, Thalion finally turned his attention to a small, plump woman with a disheveled bow of brown curls atop her head. Her old apron and shredded dress were crumpled and further disheveled as she pulled her knees up and squeaked in surprise at meeting his icy blue gaze.
His eyes quickly met the familiar oval-shaped pair of ears. Not pointed.
A human.
His nose scrunched up as if suddenly hit by a distasteful smell.
“What is this?” he demanded with a step back, momentarily forgetting his original purpose as he gestured toward the stranger.
“Another gift for Mother,” Celiana replied calmly, rising from the piano to retrieve her tall glass and take a sip of whatever murky liquid was inside.
Thalion let a long sigh out, his hand catching his head, fingers pressing into his temple to soothe the oncoming headache, “Just… tell me if you have seen her?”
Celiana chuckled, a lazy smile spreading over lips. “Oh, dearest brother. I may be able to raise the dead, yet I still can’t read thoughts. I’ve seen many people today, but who is it that you are searching for?”
“Do not test my patience, Cely,” Thalion hissed through gritted teeth, throwing a sharp glare her way, “Who else but her—Illyria!”
“Ah.” Celiana mused, and seemed thoughtful for a second, though her smile did falter. “I haven’t seen her.”
“By the heavens. Why now!?”
"Please, Thalion," Celiana sighed, her face scrunching with distaste as she set the glass down. "She’ll be home before nightfall, you know her. Just another one of her pathetic attempts." She flicked her tongue out, as if the drink had suddenly lost all flavor.
"No, no, you don’t understand. The time has come—three days from now, we’ll finally be ready. And now? Now she disappears!” Thalion moved up his fingers and through his blond hair, pulling on it as his feet started to pace around the room, the old wood beneath him squeaking with every step.
“She wouldn’t play games, not this close. We can’t postpone it."
Celiana’s posture suddenly snapped to attention, her green eyes blazing with irritation. "We can still proceed with the ritual! Her presence—or absence, really—changes nothing!"
“Mother would want her there…” Thalion said, voice growing unnaturally softer for a man such as himself.
“Oh, always the favorite.” Celiana scoffed, throwing her hands up in disbelief, her chuckle tinged with unmistakable envy.
Quickly as it was gone, the fury in Thalion came rising back up, his steps quick to make him stand in front of his sister. “Don’t you dare—“
“Save your breath,” Celiana cut him off, spitting out the words and abruptly ending whatever direction the conversation was headed.
Thalion’s nostrils flared as he took a few ragged breaths before turning sharply, ready to leave the salon. "Where are the twins?"
“Eldrin’s in his usual spot,” Celiana muttered after a brief pause, settling back at the piano. “And Riela—well, she hasn’t recovered from... you know.”
Thalion’s hands ached with warmth at the memory of last night, but he pushed the thoughts aside—there was no time for that. "You’re not to speak of this to anyone. Not to the others, and especially not to Father. He can’t know."
“My lips are sealed,” Celiana hummed.
“I mean it, Cely. She couldn’t have gone far. I’ll search beyond the border tonight. If Riela shows up, tell her. She’ll know what to do. And if you hear anything—anything at all—I want a raven sent to me immediately.”
