ARAH
She was transported to a lavish party at a big house that didn’t belong to Marianne and her father. The air was filled with chatter and laughter. Couples danced in the spacious center of the room as violins and cellos played in the background. Women talked about fashion and jewelry, while the men were engrossed in serious discussions about business and war.
In the corner, she spotted Marianne, drinking alone, fully aware of the other women gossiping about her—women who once fawned over her to be friends. Arah pursed her lips. She hated those types of people.
“I cannot believe Madame invited her,” one woman commented in a shrill voice. “She is nothing but a faded glory now. No one cares for her anymore.”
“If she possessed even a shred of decency,” added another, “she would not dare show her face in society any longer.”
Even men would quietly advise one another not to ask Marianne to dance. Some even deliberately avoided walking
ARAHDark Plane.This was one of those moments where the word felt familiar... like it was right there on the edge of her memory, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t grasp it completely.Drusden continued explaining to Marianne the two types of witches and how a human could cross over to that other dimension and receive a gift. It was different for everyone, he said, and there was always a cost. No one knew what that price would be until after what he called a ‘cosmic trade’ was officially made.Arah wondered what the Dark Plane was like. Just the name itself evoked a sense of evil and danger. Could sylphs and salamanders travel there too? Would they also gain additional power?“How am I supposed to cross this...” Marianne gestured vaguely, a slight frown forming on her face. “Dark Plane you speak of?”“You cross it as you would cross any other place, woman.” A raspy voice echoed from the shadows at
ARAHCould he see her? How? She held her breath, not daring to move. Even as he inched closer, her body stayed locked in place. Her lips trembled, her mind racing between trying to make sense of the situation and figuring out what to do if he decided to attack or something.Zephyr’s thick brows furrowed, his indigo eyes so close they seemed to pierce straight into her soul. He lifted a hand, then stopped, his fingers just a breath away from touching her curls. Arah’s stomach clenched with fear. It felt like this had all happened before.“They say time and space bend differently in the ruins of Yonah’s Temple,” he whispered, his voice making her heartbeat quicken even more. “Strange thing, it is.”“What is happening, My Lord?” Drusden asked from behind.“Little Rabbit.”Arah blinked, the words making the back of her neck prickle.Zephyr’s lips twitched, caught between a smile and a chuckle. His eyes scanned her face, t
ARAH“Leave my mind, sylph!” Marianne’s distorted voice echoed in Arah’s ear, and an intense tingling sensation shot from her feet upward, stealing her breath for a moment.Her mind snapped back to the sight of the cell. A force slammed into her like a kick to the stomach, hurling her across the room. Her back collided with the wall, a groan tearing from her throat. Her muscles and bones ached, and a sharp ringing settled in her ears. Disoriented, it took her a few seconds to regain her senses. She cringed as something sticky clung to her hair—she was inches from the toilet, which reeked of piss and leftover excrement.Gagging, her head throbbed with the sound of fists battering against the steel door, growls and curses filling the air. Her wind tattoo coiled around the slit in the door, keeping it shut.Stringmaster stood across the stinking cell, fists trembling at her sides as if all her emotions had gathered there. Arah looked at the
ARAHMore than anything, that was what intrigued her the most. “Why is a sylph helping witches on Earthland?” She still couldn’t make sense of it. Sylphs were supposed to be protectors of humanity... guardians against supernatural and interdimensional threats. That was their purpose, their life mission. Why would one be helping a human gain powers by accessing a hostile dimension that even higher mortals wouldn’t dare venture into?It reminded her of what Gildeon had once told her about a group of sylphs stationed on Earthland by the Shining Keeper. They were soldiers tasked with eliminating threats to lower mortals and maintaining the balance of power within Earthland.Hunters.They were built differently from the Shamibar sylphs.Was Zephyr one of them? But something else was off about him, something unnatural that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. And then there was that odd sense of familiarity. Had she heard of him back in
ARAHShe helped Zylas prepare lunch for everyone in one of the prison kitchens. It felt strange doing something so mundane with a witch, and just hours before they were set to fight another coven. But she welcomed the downtime—a quiet moment before the chaos that was bound to unfold later.Besides, this was her chance to figure out Zylas’s weaknesses, even though Gildeon had already told her that he was the one she didn’t need to get close to. But with Lokius currently in some kind of hibernation and Vienna busy discussing strategies with Drusden, Arah didn’t have much of a choice. She might as well hang around with Zylas and make herself useful.She used to underestimate Zylas’s role in the coven. With his weird, carefree attitude at times, it was hard not to question why they seemed to value him so much. If it was his cooking, well, that was something she could easily agree with. He wasn’t as graceful as Tonio in the kitchen, chopping onions l
Long Time Ago (Part 1)YOUNG GILDEONHis fist smashed into Baltae’s face with a sharp crack, sending him skidding across the rough ground. The air stank of sulfur and ash, smoke hissing from the cracks in the earth. Around them, a group of sparring younglings had dropped their blades and formed a circle, but their shouts were just a blur in Gildeon’s ears.His chest heaved, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He jumped on Baltae, fists swinging again and again, each punch making his knuckles burn. Anger roared inside him, making his head throb and his arms shake, his breathing short and wild.‘Kill him!’ the monstrous voice echoed in his head. He yelled, trying to shut it up while still swinging his fists.Suddenly, arms wrapped around his neck from behind, squeezing tight. Paikon—smaller, but still strong enough to pull him back as Baltae scrambled to his feet.Baltae swung, but Gildeon twisted jus
Long Time Ago (Part 2)YOUNG GILDEONLarge brown eyes, each as big as his head, stared directly at him. He pulled his knife from the sheath on his leg and sliced open the dead swamp beastling’s belly, its guts spilling out in a rush. The smell hit him—rotten fish and sour mud. He scrunched his nose, trying not to gag. He had killed and cleaned beastlings plenty of times by now, but the stench still made him sick.Wincing each time his back throbbed, he sliced through the slimy membranes. He had to be careful—one wrong cut and the coresac would burst, ruining the meat and possibly hurting him. He scooped out the intestines and organs, their weight squishing in his hands, and dumped them into the bucket under the table, blood dripping down his arms.He hated this. But it was better than being stuck underground with old salamander bones and going hungry. His other hand shifted into its beast form,
Long Time Ago (Part 3)YOUNG GILDEONOld Haemos had left for an expedition to the east, taking a whole battalion with him. Gildeon saw his chance. He packed supplies—food, water, salve, and some materials to build a shelter. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, so he had to be well-stocked.Gildeon slipped out through a tunnel most salamanders didn’t know about. The path led into the growing jungle, but something stopped him. Someone was following. He grabbed a stone and hurled it toward the thick bushes near the rock wall.“Ow!” a small voice squeaked.Gildeon frowned. “Nalini?”The girl appeared from the bushes, rubbing her head, her wheat-colored hair shining in the daylight. “Why’d you do that?” she whined.“Why are you following me?”“I saw you take a bunch of meat from the smokehouse,” she said, coming up to him and shaking the sack on his back. “I was gonna tell the cooks, but
ARAHFear coiled around her ribs like a vice.“I-it’s me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.Gildeon didn’t flinch. His lips remained curled back, exposing sharp teeth. His expression was predatory, enraged. In his eyes, she was someone else—an enemy.What had Drusden done to him?She tried to choke out his name again, but her throat tightened, the pressure crushing her windpipe. Her pulse pounded—a frantic drumbeat against his grip. The steam curling from his scaled body rolled over her in suffocating, blistering waves.How the hell was she supposed to stop this?Through tear-blurred eyes, Arah caught a flicker of movement—an outline shifting, pulsing like a mirage behind Gildeon. Her eyes widened as she remembered her creature-helper.Gildeon hissed, his body tensing as his free hand shot back, claws poised to seize whatever had latched onto him. The creature clung to his neck, jaws clenched, its form flickering in and out of focus.The grip around Arah’s throat sl
ARAHDays passed. Drusden had recovered, but he remained at Roselia’s farmhouse.Roselia taught him about the old world and the ways of hedge witches. Drusden then hunted the dark witch responsible for the devastation—and eventually killed him.Together, they worked to cleanse the village of its plague and heal the people.Arah witnessed something shift between Roselia and Drusden. It was likely during this time that they began developing feelings for each other.Drusden also bonded with young Alaunus, though their connection was anything but paternal. He spoke to Alaunus about mankind’s corruption and the rewards of embracing a higher power as a witch.Roselia noticed it too, and Arah was sure it bothered her.Then came the day Drusden told Roselia everything—about Zephyr, about the vision of an army—an elite force of witches transformed into higher mortals meant to help Zephyr rule over Earthland.Arah wouldn’t have been surprised if Roselia had kept this knowledge even from Gildeon
ARAHTo say this was a massive shock would be an understatement. The idea of a lower mortal becoming a higher mortal was probably the last thing she had ever expected to hear.How could that even be possible? Flying to Shamibar in Zylas’s dragon form was already mind-blowing. But the idea of altering the very nature of a mortal by merely passing through the Mad End’s Wall? That was a whole different realm of insanity.No matter how she tried to make sense of it, the logic eluded her. Unless Zephyr was lying to Drusden. Maybe the sylph simply said whatever he needed to get what he wanted.“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she whispered.In the next memory, Zephyr was gone. Arah barely had time to take in her surroundings before Drusden crumpled to the ground. Blood seeped from his ear as he fought to stay conscious.The stench hit her—a suffocating, sickly blend of rotting meat, unwashed bodies, and the sharp tang of smoke. She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat
ARAHThe next memory swept her onto the battlements, where she had a clear view of the invasion unfolding below. This was a different place, a different time. A different nation. The people spoke in foreign tongues.Men in ragged clothing, their faces twisted with barbaric fury, slaughtered civilians with swords and axes. Limbs were severed, bodies crumpled in pools of blood. Women screamed as they were dragged away—some ruthlessly stripped of their clothes, preyed upon by these animals. Children’s throats were slit without hesitation.Arah grimaced in horror at every atrocity, her stomach churning. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget—to block out the carnage. But every anguished scream, every whispered prayer of the helpless, cut through her like a blade, carving into her heart and twisting her gut.Zephyr’s voice interrupted her thoughts.“Look at them,” he said to Drusden as he stood on the parapet ledge, gazing down at the massacre below. “Look at how your kind d
ARAHZephyr brought Drusden to Yonah’s temple. And as she had with Marianne, Arah watched Drusden enter the Dark Plane with Zephyr’s help. It took longer this time, and at one point, she thought Drusden would die right there on his knees.When Drusden snapped back to consciousness, his palms slapped against the stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat beading on his forehead. His skin was ghostly pale, his wide eyes unfocused—like a man who had stared into the abyss and seen something stare back.“What have you sacrificed, human?” Zephyr asked, crouching before him.Drusden slowly lifted his head, fat tears streaming down his cheeks. “My spirit will live on even after death,” he said softly. “I will never be able to reunite with my family.”Arah couldn’t begin to imagine the misery Drusden would endure for the price he paid.A small smile appeared on Zephyr’s lips. “For that sacrifice, the power you obtained must be great. Show me.”Without a word, Drusden exhaled, and a bi
ARAHAnother death was reported—a woman who sold milk and eggs, saving every coin to buy medicine for her bedridden father.Arah watched as Drusden slammed his fists onto the desk, sending a quill and inkpot rattling, scrolls tumbling to the floor. His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring as he ducked his head, a muscle ticking in his temple. Even his men, though silent, shared his frustration.She still didn’t know how the deaths were connected to the ministers, but she believed in Drusden’s suspicions. This whole thing reeked of injustice. And more than anything, she wanted to see what he would do about it.The next day, Drusden and his men arrived at one of the ministers’ workshops. The place reeked of ink and damp parchment—likely the very goods being produced here.“Y-you shouldn’t be here, Inspector,” one of the workshop guards stammered, his face pale. “The ministers won’t take kindly to this.”Drusden barely spared him a glance. “I’m not here for their kindness, boy,” he said sharp
ARAHDrusden looked almost the same as he did in the present—just younger. His brown hair was longer, and his face was more open, easier to read. There was no trace of his usual smugness. Instead, he was serious. Dutiful. His tone lacked the usual edge of playfulness she had grown so used to.How could he be the same Drusden, yet different at the same time? Maybe witch power really could change people after all.She followed Drusden through the streets until he stopped in front of a small house. Sympathy softened his features as he spoke to the victim’s wife. Inside, four children sat around a table—faces thin, clothes worn—with nothing but bowls of plain porridge in front of them.Arah felt a tug in her chest. It was obvious they weren’t eating enough. And now, with their provider gone, how would they survive?“I am deeply sorry,” Drusden said.The woman broke down, shoulders trembling as she wept.Drusden’s gaze flickered to the children, their wide eyes full of questions they were
ARAHIt was up to her to pull him out of it.The weight of that realization pressed down on Arah like a boulder. She was determined—of course, she was—but how was she supposed to do it? The thought of failing, of not being enough to help Gildeon, curled around her ribs like a vice.She shook her head, shoving the doubt aside. This wasn’t the time for uncertainty. Gildeon needed her, and that was all that mattered.She sprinted down the prison hallway, dodging jagged chunks of fallen stone and splintered beams. Behind her, the sounds of battle raged—Roselia and Lokius locked in a deadly clash.Then, a sharp cry of pain.Roselia.Arah faltered, her body twisting instinctively toward the sound. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn back, to help. But she knew Roselia wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t forgive Arah for wasting time—not when Gildeon’s life hung in the balance.Gritting her teeth, Arah forced her feet forward.Outside, the fog wall loomed before her—a towering, imp
GILDEONIn a blink, he was back in Drusden’s throne room. He dropped to his knees, palms flat on the cold floor, breath ragged. He hadn’t even realized he’d shifted back to his mortal form. His chest tightened, a storm of emotions threatening to tear free.His mysterious birth mother. His father’s death…He slammed his palms against the floor, frustration boiling over. Haemos and Kohina knew who he really was. Why the fuck had they kept it from him?Footsteps. Brown boots halted in front of him—Drusden’s. The Headwitch crouched, head tilted.“If you need a shoulder to cry on, mine’s available, salamander,” Drusden mocked.Gildeon’s glare burned as he met the bastard’s smug face.“Not gonna lie. Your father’s memory might be my favorite one I’ve delved into.” Drusden paced, dragging from his cigarette. “Learned a lot about your kind. Shame we never got the real answer about your mother.”He stopped, gaze lifting to Dragon Zylas as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “I really thought I’