The whisper of my breath fades into the distance as my mind drifts away from the physical plane. I float in silent darkness. Shimmering threads sway in the void, visible only when the light catches their edge. I reach out my awareness, brushing against them, feeling their soothing hum resonate through my body.
“Very good,” a distant voice says.
Light seeps into the darkness and I become aware of the hard floor beneath my legs. “Concentrate,” my grandmother says sternly, her voice closer than before. “Someday, you may need to use magic without the luxury of a silent room.”
I furrow my brows and shadows swallow the light. I breathe deeply and reach for the threads once more. I draw them together carefully, twining them methodically. I watch with pride as the rune begins to form, glowing ever brighter.
As threads become scarce, I find myself stretching my consciousness further. I exhale heavily as I strain myself, heat rising to my cheeks. “Take it slowly. Magic doesn’t rush,” my grandmother instructs.
My fingers curl on my knees. A thread slips from the rune. No. Not again, I think desperately. Heat builds within me, and suddenly a thread slithers into the rune, glowing with orange light.
“Very good. Now-” my grandmother pauses. “What are you doing?”
I watch with amazement as more threads fill the rune, their orange light racing across the other threads like fire. “Lilia. Stop this,” my grandmother says, her voice harsh.
I don’t even register her words. I’m frozen, mesmerized, as threads flow from inside me, sealing every gap. The rune shines with power. I reach my hands up to project it just as my grandmother shrieks “Stop!”
I return to my body, the rune dancing in the air in front of me. The candle’s wick flickers suddenly with flame, then roars, the tongues of fire leaping to the wooden floor. I watch in horror as my spell blooms beyond my control. The magical fire thrashes wildly, racing along the floor toward me.
“Avasa!” my grandmother commands with all the control and precision I lack. The flames instantly die, leaving not even a wisp of smoke, but the scorch marks are reminder enough.
My grandmother turns toward me, her eyes alight with rage. “What have I told you time and again, child?”
I sit in silence. She isn’t looking for an answer.
Her voice is cold. “Magic is not a toy. It is a tool. We have rules for how to use it. Do you remember the first rule?”
Now she wants an answer. “Never take more than you need,” I whisper.
“The rune you just created was unstable and dangerous. You let the magic come from within yourself. That is wyrm magic,” she nearly spits the word. “We survive because we borrow from our surroundings. We use our magic sustainably. Had I not been here, who knows what that rune could have done?”
I can’t look her in the eyes. “Yes, grandmother.”
She sighs. “I need new herbs for the apothecary. Why don’t you fetch them? When you return, I want you to look over the chapter on rune formation one more time.”
I stand and bow to her. “Thank you for the lesson.” I turn and begin to walk out of her home.
“Lilia,” she calls. I turn, my heart rising slightly. “Send in your brother. I’ll begin his lesson early.”
Any hope present on my face is washed away instantly. “Yes, grandmother.”
I pass through the fabric draped over the entrance to my grandmother’s home. My brother rises from where he waits, looking at me expectantly. “That was fast,” he says, smiling. “Did you get it already?”
I glare at him.
He cringes. “Don’t worry, Lilia. Some people just pick it up a little slower. Nothing wrong with it.”
I know it’s not fair, but I hate his easy smile. My brother has never experienced failure. He formed a rune months ago, on his very first try.
“I can give you some tips later if you want,” he offers. “It’s really quite simple when you think about it the right way.”
“No thanks,” I mutter. “You can go in. Grandmother’s waiting for you.” I walk away before I can say something I’ll regret.
I’m not in the mood to chat with the rest of the village. Before the other huts come into view, I turn sharply, slipping between the pines and disappearing into the woods.
***
The rest of the afternoon blends together as I wander the forest. At first, I focus on gathering herbs, but my attention gradually slips. My eyes rise from the ground ahead to the trees around me. The chill in the air foreshadows the coming winter, but the prevalence of pines means the tree cover is mostly still green. The rare patches of orange against the emerald sea create a sharp contrast.
A blur of motion draws my attention as I marvel at the colorful leaves. I scan the skies and find what caught my eye: a hawk soaring just above the trees. As it drifts away, I begin to walk to keep it in my sight. As it continues to make its way across the sky, I follow, breaking into a run.
As I race through the forest, I leap over logs and rocks, imagining that I’m flying just like the hawk, powerful and free. What if I just followed this hawk, wherever it goes? What if I run away, far from my brother and my grandmother and the expectations? What if I stay in the forest, just myself, more complete than I could ever be in the village?
Suddenly, the hawk dips below the trees, and I stop, my breath catching up to me. My wild theoreticals are snuffed out like my rune not so long ago. Maybe my grandmother is right. I need to focus more on my studies. I act like the expectations are unreasonable, but really, I don’t do much to fulfill them.
Still, I don’t turn back just yet. After what is sure to have been another perfect session with my brother, my grandmother’s dissatisfaction will be at its apex. Delaying her inevitable lecture by even a few minutes couldn’t sound better.
So I find myself continuing toward where the hawk dived, wondering what it saw. Slowly, I become aware of the silence of the woods around me. The songbirds have already migrated, but even still, the complete stillness is unnerving.
I scan the ground and trees for wildlife, like a chipmunk or squirrel, but there’s none in sight. I’m so lost in looking around me that I almost don’t notice when the air in front of me ripples with an invisible force.
I stop suddenly, leaning backward. In front of me lies a wall of magic that curves inward to form a dome around the forest. I take a step back. I’ve seen the wards before, but never so close, and never alone. I reach a hand out tentatively and the air once again vibrates with latent power.
A memory surfaces automatically. Grandmother? I ask. Why do we have the wards?
She leans down. She was still taller than me when I asked her. Well, little one, she explains, the world is a very dangerous place. It is filled with dangerous, cruel people. People who would want to hurt you, or use you. The wards protect us.
But what would happen if I crossed the wards? I ask.
Concern twists her face. I don’t know. It was our ancestors, long ago, who created the wards. I simply maintain them. But listen to me, Lilia. You must never try to cross the wards. They are made with very powerful magic. And more importantly, I fear for what would happen to you outside the forest.
I squint at her in confusion, my little brows puckering. But… why don’t we leave the wards? There could be more woods out there to explore!
She is quiet for a long time. Because it is how it has always been done, she finally answers. Lilia. Do not ask me about this again. We do not cross the wards. Trust that they keep you safe, and will continue to keep you safe. If, someday, you become their Keeper, I will tell you more.
As the memory fades away, I bring my hand back to my chest. After that day, it became my intention to become Keeper. I told grandmother—and myself—that it was because I wanted to protect the village. But I know that’s a lie. I simply couldn’t let go of the idea of a whole other world beyond the borders of the forest.
But now, faced with a tangible reminder of what separates me from that outside world—of which I know nothing—that dream seems as childish as ever. There isn’t anything for me out there. I don’t even know if there’s anything out there at all.
I step back from the wards. Enough distractions. I’ve spent so much time wishing things were different, but they aren’t. Maybe it’s time to suck it up and make the best of what I have.
I turn reluctantly and force myself to begin the long walk back to the village. The small book of magic I keep in a pouch on my waist seems heavy. I should start studying.
No. I’ll allow myself this last bit of freedom. Then I’ll commit myself to weaving runes. The right way. For the first time in my life, I know what I have to do.
So why does it hurt so much?
A sharp crack jolts me out of my thoughts. I turn to my left, looking up the incline that rises beside me. That sounded like bone. Curiosity fills me. I wonder if it’s a wolf digging into its catch.
I creep up the hill, hunched over. Maybe that’s why the animals have been so quiet. As I reach the top I kneel down and crane my neck to see what awaits me.
My heart stops at the sight of thick, curved claws digging into the ground. As I look up, my mouth falls open.
An enormous black reptile stands there, its weight distributed between its enormous talons and the tips of its half-folded wings. Its serpentine head currently hovers above a bloody carcass, but I catch a glimpse of huge fangs as it rips a strip of meat off. Its powerful tail ripples with muscle, lashing back and forth.
There is a wyvern in the woods.
