The soft rays of the sun, just beginning to creep over the hills to the east, streamed through the attic’s window as Liora’s eyes fluttered open.

  There was no familiar heaviness in her limbs, no fog clouding her thoughts as she woke.

  For once, Liora woke feeling light. She woke up happy.

  Today was the last harvest’s festival, and Liora had a date.

  Sure, Nelgar was more like a brother to her than a love interest. But he was handsome, strong, and well known in the village. She wouldn’t dare to kiss him, but all the girls in Mosswick would think she did.

  Liora, the girl with the sweats. Liora, the girl without a mother. Liora, the girl who was too skinny for her dress.

  Liora, the girl who kissed a man.

  She smiled, her face flushing at the thought.

  Poor Nelgar, if he only knew what he signed up for.

  She dressed quickly, smoothing the wrinkles from her simple cotton skirt before pulling a shawl over her head. Her aunt and uncle were still asleep when she slipped out of the house, the cool morning air brushing her cheeks.

  The village was alive with activity, men pushed wheelbarrows loaded with crates, women carried bundles of cloth and yarn upon weaved baskets strapped to their backs and children dragged bundles of art supplies across the dirt on tattered rags, their laughter mingling with the hum of industry.

  Liora made her way to the bakery, sidestepping a group of women struggling to carry a wooden table too heavy for them and ducking just in time to avoid a ladder being carelessly hefted past her.

  As she opened the door to the bakery, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out, aggressively reminding her that she had skipped breakfast.

  “Liora!” A familiar voice cried out. “Be a dear and leave the herbs on the counter!”

  Liora set down the satchel and quickly gathered the herbs she knew the baker would want: thyme, rosemary, sage, and dill. As she worked, she noticed assistants moving loaves of bread from the oven to cooling racks. She briefly wondered what the herbs would be used for after the bread was already baked. The thought was short-lived, as Sandra, the baker, approached her.

  Sandra was a blond, middle-aged woman of short stature, her full chest and waist cleverly concealed by layers of clothing.

  Her husband had passed three summers prior, and in the past year, she had taken to trying to relive her lost youth.

  "You wouldn't guess it," she said playfully, "I learned a new recipe."

  "You did?"

  “A traveler from Kohol taught me,” she said, brushing her hands off on her apron. “I think he took a likin’ to me.”

  “What did he teach you?” Liora asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Butter dip, they call it.”

  “Butter dip?”

  Sandra nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep, satisfied breath, as if savoring the memory of its taste.

  “Ye make it with herbs, salt, and butter,” she said, her eyes opening with a glimmer of excitement. “And ye dip the bread in it.”

  “Sounds delicious!” said Liora, her curiosity piqued.

  “It is, lass!” Sandra replied with a broad smile. “But ye’ll have to wait until the festival!”

  Liora nodded and smiled back. “I’ll see you then!”

  “Wait!” Sandra said suddenly. “You look hungry, lass.”

  Liora stared at her grumbling stomach. Her dress looked looser than it did yesterday. She should probably eat.

  “I’ve got a fresh loaf just for you.” Sandra reached for a warm round of bread from the counter, wrapping it in cloth before pressing it into Liora’s hands.

  The heat warmed her palms, the scent of fresh yeast filling her nose. Her mouth watered despite herself.

  “Thank you dearly, Sandra,” Liora said, cupping Sandra’s hand in gratitude.

  “Don’t ye mention it!” she replied, waving her off with a warm smile. “See ye at the festival!”

  Liora tucked the bread into her satchel, already anticipating the first bite, and stepped out of the bakery.

  Her next stop was the inn.

  The Old Oak Inn stood at the edge of the village square, its weathered timbers darkened with age and moss creeping along the lower edges of its stone foundation. The sign above the door—a roughly carved depiction of an oak tree—swayed gently in the morning breeze, its iron bracket groaning softly with each movement. The paint on the sign had faded long ago, leaving only hints of green and brown, but the shape of the tree was unmistakable.

  Liora stepped inside, taking a gratuitous bite of the warm bread as she pushed open the solid oak door, which creaked loudly with the motion.

  The inside of the inn buzzed with activity. The center of the inn usually had several tables and chairs, but they were cleared to the side as young performers gathered there. A few of them were likely from other villages as they were unknown to Liora. They spoke rehearsed lines and moved around the center of the inn systematically.

  “Let’s get these chairs onto the square!” announced a middle aged man bursting through a side door.

  Liora stepped aside as a few young men entered through the door behind her. In the chaos, she waited patiently for an opening in the chaos to reach the kitchen..

  As she entered the kitchen, Liora noticed further chaos around her. It seemed as if all of the mothers of the village had gathered here. Every counter was filled to the brim with ingredients, as the women worked tirelessly mixing, kneading and cutting.

  Spotting a small corner of a large empty counter, Liora placed a pouch of ginger and heather there.

  As she turned around and began to walk out of the kitchen, she heard a call.

  “Liora!!”

  The cry echoed through the kitchen, more of a wail than a call. Liora froze mid-step, her shoulders sinking with resignation. She’d attended funerals where widowers wept with less emotion than what was on display now. And yet, she knew the source of the voice all too well—someone who had a knack for the dramatic.

  Liora turned back toward the source of the call. Janis stood there, her lithe frame taut with energy. Her protruding nose curved inward at the tip, giving her profile an almost birdlike quality, while her expressive eyes, set slightly closer than most, darted with urgency. Her mouth was small—almost delicate—but somehow capable of producing a bellow that could rival the loudest town crier.

  “We’ve run out of mushrooms!” Janis’s words tumbled out in a flurry, cutting off any chance Liora had to greet her. “The festival is ruined!”

  Loud and dramatic though she was, Janis had a knack for getting straight to the point.

  “I’m sorry, Janis,” Liora managed, holding back a sigh. “But I think the festival will survive without mushrooms.”

  “Save it!” Janis bellowed, thrusting a hand toward her. “Ye know the forest better than anyone here. So ye’re going to help me!”

  Liora hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. The idea of helping Janis wasn’t appealing—she’d often been the source of the very gossip that kept Liora on the outskirts of village life.

  “I’m sorry, Janis,” Liora said, her voice steady but weary. “But my hands get too sweaty to pick mushrooms. You’ve said so yourself.”

  Janis reeled back as though slapped, her face painted with shock. “I never said such a thing!”

  Liora raised her hand in mock imitation of Janis’s earlier gesture. “Save it, Janis.”

  The clattering of pots and chopping of knives slowed around them. Liora could feel the kitchen workers’ gazes flitting toward her, cautious but curious, though none dared openly stare.

  “I’ll pay ye in coins,” Janis offered after a tense pause, her voice softening. “Please, Liora.”

  Liora tapped her chin thoughtfully, drawing out the moment. “A generous offer,” she said at last, her tone laced with mock seriousness. “But I’ll take that—and a public apology. Here. Now.”

  The color drained from Janis’s face, only to return as a deep, strawberry-red flush. She glanced around the room, clearly weighing her options.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, barely audible.

  Liora crossed her arms, her gaze steady. “Louder.”

  Janis’s eyes widened, and then, with a deep breath, she bellowed, “I’m sorry, Liora! There ain’t nothin’ wrong with yer sweatin’, and I’m sure yer mother wasn’t a witch!”

  Liora raised an eyebrow, unmoving.

  Janis threw up her hands, exasperated. “And yer not too skinny! Ye’ll bear many children when the time comes!”

  Satisfied, Liora uncrossed her arms and gave a sharp nod. “I’ll get your mushrooms.”

  ---

  As Liora passed Dalke’s hut and stepped into the forest, her eyes fell on Brynnor, seated on a tree stump with his sword resting across his knees. The old man worked a whetstone over the blade with practiced precision, his sharp eyes flicking between the steel and the horizon to the west.

  Nelgar usually trained with Brynnor in the mornings, but today, the clearing was empty except for the lone swordsman.

  A pang of unease tightened her chest.

  What if he’s gonna skip on me?

  The thought made her stomach twist, but she shook it off with a huff. Nelgar wasn’t the type to go back on his word—not without good reason. She adjusted her satchel and pressed forward, letting the sound of her footsteps on the forest path drown out her doubt.

  The mushroom glade lay not far from the glowing creature’s pond, tucked into a damp hollow where the forest seemed to breathe with collected moisture. She and Danica had stumbled upon it the same day they discovered the pond. Here, the air was cool and earthy, carrying the scent of decaying leaves and damp soil.

  Clusters of mushrooms thrived in the shaded glade, their varied shapes and colors dotting the forest floor like the boulder field outside of the village. Liora scanned the clearing, her gaze settling on the familiar purple caps of Wood Blewit mushrooms. They were easy to spot among the moss and darker fungi. She crouched low and plucked the mushrooms carefully, their spongy stems yielding easily. One by one, she tucked them into her satchel until it bulged, full to the brim.

  Satisfied, Liora slung the satchel over her shoulder and began her journey back through the forest’s winding paths. As she neared the trail leading to the mysterious pond, she stopped.

  A quick visit couldn’t hurt.

  When she reached the pond, she slowed her steps, her gaze drawn to its still surface. The water reflected the dappling sunlight through the canopy above, its calm broken only by the occasional ripple. Liora stepped closer, her heart beating a little faster. Only Danica knew how to summon Glowtoad, but maybe—just maybe—she could catch a glimpse of it swimming beneath the surface.

  She crouched by the edge, peering into the water, her breath held as though even the slightest sound might disturb whatever lay below. Then she saw movement at the far end of the pond. The creature had hopped out of the water and onto a rock on the shore.

  Its faceted eyes were pointed in her direction, although Liora could not tell if it was staring at her or at something else in the general area.

  A rustle in the underbrush stole her attention. Liora froze, her breath catching as a sleek shape slithered toward the water’s edge—a snake, its scales glistening in the sunlight, its body undulating with eerie grace. Its eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto the glowing creature, and Liora felt a chill creep down her spine.

  Glowtoad, perched innocently on the mossy rock, seemed oblivious to the danger, its glow casting faint ripples of light over the pond’s surface.

  Liora’s chest tightened, her instincts screaming at her to do something. To move, to shout, to warn the creature. But her body refused to obey. The snake’s hypnotic movements froze her in place, her limbs heavy with fear. She opened her mouth, but no sound came, only a shaky exhale that dissolved into the forest air.

  Then it struck. The motion was so fast, so violent, it took Liora’s breath away. Its jaws closed around the glowing creature, and in an instant, it dragged its prize back into the underbrush. The rustling leaves fell still, the silence deafening.

  The glow didn’t fade. Instead, it intensified, seeping through the snake’s jaws as though the light was being absorbed into its very skin. The creature convulsed, its body writhing unnaturally as if struggling against an unseen force. Liora caught a glimpse of its eyes—they burned now with a pale, eerie light.

  Liora didn’t wait to see what would happen next. She turned and fled, the snake’s pale eyes burned into her memory.

  ---

  Liora bolted for the village, stumbling over roots and stone. Her heart still pounded from what she’d witnessed, the image of the glowing creature trapped in the snake’s jaws burned into her mind. She clutched her satchel tightly, the bulging mushrooms threatening to spill out with each hurried stride.

  She returned to Janis, her breath unsteady, her hands trembling as she pulled the satchel from her shoulder. She forced herself to move through the bustling kitchen, the clatter of pots and the chatter of women barely registering in her ears.

  Janis was exactly where Liora had left her, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. At the sight of Liora’s approach, she huffed.

  “Took ye long enough!” Janis said, reaching for the satchel. “I thought ye got lost out there.”

  Liora didn’t answer right away. She swallowed hard, the image of the snake’s pale, burning eyes flashing behind her eyelids.

  Janis frowned, her fingers stilling on the strap. “Liora?”

  Snapping herself from the daze, Liora blinked rapidly and shoved the satchel into Janis’s hands. “Here. Mushrooms.”

  Janis scoffed but took the bag, peering inside with a satisfied nod. “At least ye picked good ones.” She looked back up, her smug expression faltering slightly. “Ye alright?”

  Liora hesitated, then forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just—just in a hurry.”

  Before Janis could press further, Liora turned away, rubbing her hands against her skirts as if to rid herself of something unseen.

  She needed fresh air.

  Liora stepped out of the kitchen and into the open air, inhaling deeply as if the crisp autumn breeze could wash away the unease still clinging to her skin. The marketplace had transformed while she was in the woods—bright banners fluttered between the buildings, and wooden stalls, now draped in colorful cloth, brimmed with harvest goods. The scents of roasting meat and spiced cider thickened the air, mingling with the ever-present warmth of baking bread.

  Children dashed through the square, their laughter ringing like wind chimes, while merchants called out their wares with booming voices. Musicians gathered near the old oak tree at the square’s center, tuning their instruments as villagers eagerly assembled for the first dance.

  Liora exhaled, pressing a palm to her forehead. The image of the snake and the glowing creature still flickered in her mind, but the village’s energy was infectious. It was impossible to linger in the shadows when the world around her was bursting with light and life. She had to push it all aside for now.

  A familiar voice called her name.

  "Liora! There you are!"

  She turned just in time to see Danica bounding toward her, her brown hair adorned with tiny woven flowers. Her friend skidded to a stop, her eyes flicking over Liora’s face. "What’s with you? You look like you saw a ghost."

  Liora hesitated.

  Should I tell Danica about what I saw? About the snake and the way it—

  Danica rolled her eyes before Liora could answer. "Never mind that! You can tell me later—you promised we’d dance tonight!"

  With a tug on Liora’s arm, Danica pulled her toward the crowd, toward the music, toward the warmth of the festival.

  The night had only just begun.

  ---

  Liora stepped out into the square, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced cider. Laughter and lively chatter filled the space between bursts of music from a trio of fiddlers near the center of the square. Lanterns, newly lit, cast a warm glow over the wooden stalls, their flickering light reflecting off the ribbons and garlands strung between the thatched rooftops.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  She adjusted the strap of her satchel, shifting it nervously on her shoulder. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Nelgar’s familiar broad frame, for the easy swagger that made him stand out even in a bustling square.

  But he wasn’t there.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Could he have forgotten?

  She turned on her heel, pushing past a group of boys chasing each other with straw dolls, ignoring the friendly nods and half-heard greetings from the villagers. Maybe he was just late—training with Brynnor or caught up in another task for Elder Pilos.

  Still, she had expected him to be here already. Nelgar was always where he said he’d be.

  A hand grabbed her wrist. “Liora! You look lost.”

  Danica’s voice was light, teasing, but Liora caught the flicker of concern in her friend’s expression.

  “I’m not lost,” Liora muttered, shaking her head. “I’m looking for Nelgar.”

  Danica’s brows knit together. “Haven’t seen him all evening.”

  Liora exhaled sharply, crossing her arms. “He promised he’d be here.”

  Danica nudged her with an elbow. “Maybe he’s waiting for you somewhere else? Or maybe he’s too shy to be seen walking in with a lady.”

  Liora forced a chuckle, but it felt hollow. The thought that he might be avoiding her gnawed at her confidence.

  I should have known better

  Why would Nelgar want to spend the night of the festival dancing with her? If the other girls saw him with her, they would assume that they were a couple.

  Nobody wants to be with the village outcast

  A sudden thumping sound made Liora twitch. The deep, resonant beat of a frame drum pulsed through the festival square, steady as a heartbeat. It echoed off the buildings, drawing heads toward the musicians gathering at the center of the square.

  Then came the lute—its rich, harmonic strumming weaving into the rhythm, filling the air with warmth. Liora could feel the beat in her bones, without thinking, she began tapping her foot, her body falling in step with the melody.

  A high, lilting flute trilled through the air, while the fiddler added a lively addition, her bow gliding swiftly over the strings, her presence bringing a surge of excitement to the crowd. A boy with a tambourine jumped in last, shaking the instrument with wild energy, his movements erratic but infectious.

  The festival square came alive. The scent of roasting meat and sweet bread mingled with the crisp bite of the autumn breeze. Laughter bubbled over the crowd, mingling with the rhythmic claps and stomps of the gathered villagers. Children wove between stalls, their hands sticky with honeyed treats, while elders chuckled over shared tankards of cider.

  Yet even as she let herself move to the music, Liora's gaze darted through the crowd.

  Where was Nelgar?

  Her stomach twisted—not just from worry, but from hunger. She had eaten little that day, and the festival’s offerings called to her like a siren’s song. The air was thick with the fragrance of sizzling meat, fresh bread, and the warm spice of baked apples.

  Drawn by the scent, she wandered toward a familiar stall, where Old Wenna stood behind a table laden with skewers of roasted meat.

  "Liora!" Wenna called, waving frantically. "Come, come!"

  Liora couldn’t resist. Her body moved of its own accord, drawn to the stall by sheer instinct.

  A dozen skewers lay on the wooden counter, the rich aroma of mutton, garlic, and sage rising in the cool evening air. The fragrance dulled all her other senses—there was only hunger now. She needed one.

  Wenna, sharp as ever, snatched up two skewers and thrust them into Liora’s hands.

  "Take 'em, lass!" she beamed. "Take 'em 'fore the boys get to 'em."

  Liora’s stomach clenched in anticipation, but before she grabbed one, she cupped Wenna’s hands in her own—a quiet gesture of thanks. Then, she tore into the first skewer with ravenous delight.

  The slow-roasted meat melted onto her tongue, the juices bursting with savory richness as she chewed. She made quick work of the first skewer and was halfway through the second when Wenna lifted a hand, stopping her.

  "I haven’t even brought out me secret weapon yet!" Wenna grinned, reaching beneath the stall.

  She produced a basket, its contents hidden beneath a linen cloth. With a dramatic flourish, she pulled it back, revealing a mountain of golden-brown fritters, their crispy edges glistening with honey and warm apple filling.

  She knew those cakes.

  They were her favorite.

  "I saved a few just for ye," Wenna winked. "Go on, take a couple!"

  Liora didn’t wait. She grabbed two and sank her teeth into the first one, her eyes fluttering shut as the crisp, honey-glazed exterior gave way to tender apple and spice. The warmth of the filling spread through her mouth, the sweetness almost overwhelming after the savory mutton.

  She devoured the first cake, but as tempting as it was to eat the second, she tucked it into the inner pocket of her dress for later.

  "Thank you, Wenna," she murmured between lingering bites, her voice full of gratitude.

  "Anytime, lass."

  Liora turned, licking a sticky trace of honey from her thumb as she drifted back toward the heart of the square. But before she could take another step, a hand wrapped around her wrist.

  "Dance with me, Li!"

  Danica’s bright eyes gleamed with mischief as she yanked Liora forward.

  The sudden pull lifted Liora off her feet, her boot catching on an uneven cobblestone. She nearly went sprawling, but managed to steady herself by clutching Danica’s arms—her palms already damp with sweat, making her grip unsteady.

  “Danica—!” she started, but her words dissolved into laughter as Danica twirled her into the forming crowd.

  The villagers broke into song, their voices ringing through the night air:

  “Hey! Hey! Hey! The Old Light shall light the way!”

  “Hey! Hey! Hey! We shall dance the night away!”

  Liora’s world spun, a shimmering outline of colors with Danica’s grinning face in the middle. Her chest burned as the music thrummed louder and louder with each passing second.

  And then, just as suddenly as it began, Danica let go.

  Liora staggered, her vision tilting, reaching blindly for anything to steady herself—her fingers brushed against fabric—then collided with something solid.

  “Oof—watch it, Li!” A familiar voice snapped her out of the haze.

  She looked up, realizing she had smacked straight into Falben. “I—sorry!” Liora sputtered, her hands pressed against his chest to catch her balance.

  Falben rolled his eyes, brushing her off as she pushed away.

  “Try not to take me down with you next time.” He muttered. Before she could reply, someone tugged at her sleeve.

  “Are you ok Liora?”

  The world steadied. Elseth stood before her, brow furrowed.

  “Ye! Danica just spun me too hard is all,” Liora said with a breathless chuckle.

  The three of them danced together—leaping, swaying, laughing—blending into the rhythm of the crowd. Elseth’s hair kept slipping from its braid, and every few minutes she stopped to tuck it behind her ear, grinning sheepishly each time.

  “You look beautiful,” Liora told her, a bit surprised at herself for saying it aloud.

  Elseth flushed and gave her a bashful smile. “Only because you're next to me.”

  Then, quieter: “I hope next year’s dance is even better. Maybe… maybe with someone special.”

  Liora bumped her shoulder, smiling. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  ---

  As nightfall enveloped the crowd, Liora could see more people crowding in. The festival was in full swing.

  The song came to a close as the band took a well deserved break. The trio took advantage of the respite to catch their breath.

  "I’ve never seen you dance before Liora!" Elseth panted, laughing as she fanned herself with her hands.

  “Me neither!” replied Liora, laughing.

  A finger tapped Elseth’s shoulder. As Elseth turned, Liora caught sight of a tall figure, dark hair framing a shy but determined expression.

  Taron.

  “Hi– Elseth.” said Taron, his face turning an unusual shade of dark pink. “Could– I have a dance?”

  Elseth said nothing. She curtseyed and grabbed Taron’s hand, dragging him deeper into the crowd.

  Liora smiled. Elseth had always been nice enough to her. Taron was a bit of a troublemaker, but he had a good heart. She was happy for them.

  She turned to Danica and caught her speaking to Allen, a young farmer who Liora noticed eying Danica at the previous festival. She could not hear what was being said, but was able to guess.

  Danica turned towards Liora, her face flush, whether it was from the dancing or from the proposal, Liora could not tell.

  Danica opened her mouth to speak, but Liora beat her to it.

  “Have fun! I’ll be fine!” she said with an eager smile, although she could feel a pit forming deep in her stomach.

  Danica hesitated, but eventually turned around, pulling Allen through the crowd and towards a table of food.

  She was alone.

  The pit in her stomach deepened, threatening to swallow the warmth the night had given her. What was new? She had always been alone. Even when the villagers smiled at her, even when they laughed beside her, there was always something different about her—something that kept her as an outsider.

  And Nelgar? That bastard hadn’t even bothered to show.

  She exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together to keep her disappointment at bay.

  I should just go home.

  Lowering her head, she turned away from the scene and took a step towards the direction of her cottage.

  She barely took two steps before she bumped into something.

  “Oof!”

  She looked up—and was met with golden curls, flushed cheeks, and a pair of bright blue eyes.

  “May I have the next dance, my lady?” Jonnan’s voice was far too serious for the ridiculous way he bowed, extending his hand toward her.

  Liora blinked, then let out a laugh—an actual, full-bellied laugh that startled even herself.

  A puzzled look appeared on Jonnan’s face.

  "Have I said something wrong?" he said, his face reddening further.

  She clapped a hand on his shoulder, still catching her breath. “No, no—” she gasped. “You just—sounded a bit dramatic.”

  “I was trying to be chivalrous.”

  “Well, sir—” she said, suppressing another laugh. “If you insist.”

  She dipped into an exaggerated curtsy, her skirt sweeping the ground.

  Jonnan’s smile returned in full force. “Then, my lady, shall we?”

  Liora rolled her eyes, but took his outstretched hand.

  And as the next song began, she let him pull her back into the dance.

  The two spun gently to the melody that flowed through the crowd. Liora was happy to notice that this song’s tempo was much slower.

  “Just don’t spin me.” She mumbled under her breath.

  “What?”

  Liora shook her head.

  “Nothing!”

  Jonnan placed his hands at her elbow, arms stiff and awkward as he stepped side to side to the music. His face flushed a deep red and the smile on his face looked more like a grimace.

  Liora felt heat rise from her stomach. This was Jonnan, the only boy that she couldn’t get out of her head. Since the days when they were young disciples at the Old Light Temple, Liora had been mesmerized by his blue eyes and freckled cheeks. Now Jonnan looked more like a man than child, but he still had that boyish charm that had infatuated her.

  She moved his arms away from her elbows and around her waist.

  Jonnan relaxed visibly, his arms no longer felt stiff and his grimace transformed into a warm smile. Though his face was still a deep red.

  “Liora–” He began, but his voice drifted off as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

  “Yes, my lord?” Liora asked dramatically.

  “I like you–” Jonnan’s words stumbled out of his mouth. “I wish I had told you sooner.”

  Liora’s smile widened. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

  Unaware, they drifted closer, their bodies swaying in unison to the gentle rhythm of the music. She held her head on his shoulder, leaning into him as they danced. Liora could smell a faint earthy scent coupled with lavender.

  “You smell nice,” she said, not looking up.

  “You can thank Maris for that,” he said, his grip beginning to feel more comfortable and less awkward. “Mother made a lavender scented soap for the occasion, the herbs came from your aunt’s garden.”

  “I think she has a future as a soap maker,” Liora said, smiling.

  “Will you dance with me after this song is over?” Asked Jonnan, his voice cracking with a tinge of anxiety.

  “I will.”

  Then suddenly-

  A loud crash, like a stall tipping over, tore through the music, and then—a sharp sting. A searing heat spread through her shoulder.

  Liora gasped, instinctively reaching for the pain, but her arm barely moved. Her shoulder was stuck—pressed against Jonnan’s chest. Confused, she tried to pull away, but something held them together. With a desperate shove, she broke free, a sharp pain tearing through her flesh.

  Jonnan didn't move.

  His bright blue eyes locked onto hers—no, not onto hers, but through her. A hollow, distant gaze.

  Her breath stifled as her eyes fell to his chest.

  An arrow.

  Its shaft jutted out between them, wet with blood—her blood and his blood.

  She screamed.

  ---

  Screams rang through the air—sharp and full of panic. People shoved and stumbled, their faces twisted in terror. A woman barreled past her, her gown smeared with crimson, her wide eyes staring at something unseen. Through the chaos, Liora barely acknowledged that Jonnan had fallen limply at her feet.

  A heavy force slammed into her from behind, knocking her off balance. She stumbled, barely catching herself in time to see a man crash to the ground. Before she could react, another figure lunged forward, straddling the fallen man’s chest. A dark cudgel rose high into the air—then came down.

  Again.

  Again.

  Liora's breath hitched, her mind stuttering between reality and nightmare. Blood spattered across the cobblestones, gleaming dark in the lantern light.

  Another scream tore from her throat, but it was lost in the chaos.

  She had to move.

  She had to run.

  Liora darted through the panicked crowd, her breath ragged, her mind racing for an escape from this nightmare. Scrambling, she found a path ahead that was clear of people, she made a run for the outskirts of the village, towards the safety of her aunt’s cottage.

  A figure stepped in front of her, blocking the way.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dirty brown hair hanging in matted locks over an eye patch. His remaining eye glinted with cruel amusement as he tilted his head.

  “Where are ye going, lass?”

  Liora skidded to a stop, her heart slamming against her ribs. She turned, ready to flee—

  A rough hand clamped around her arm.

  Panic shot through her. She tried to wrench free, but his grip was iron.

  “I’m going to–”

  A sharp hiss filled the air. The man sucked in a breath, his grip loosening.

  An arrow jutted from his chest.

  Liora stumbled back as his body sagged, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. She noticed movement on the rooftops.

  Two figures stood atop the bakery, raining arrows down on the invaders.

  Brynnor and Dalke.

  Dalke moved with fluid precision, his green hunter’s outfit blending with the shadows as he loosed arrow after arrow. Each shot was smooth, practiced, and deadly.

  Beside him, Brynnor was almost unrecognizable beneath the gleam of his chainmail, but Liora knew him by his size—by the way he moved. The retired ranger was a storm of efficiency, his hands steady as he nocked, drew, and released, each arrow finding its mark.

  Hope flickered in Liora’s chest.

  But for every bandit that fell, an unarmed villager crumpled without resistance.

  An old man stumbled and collapsed onto the dirt. Before he could rise, a heavy boot pressed hard against his chest, pinning him down.

  Liora’s breath caught as she saw the glint of an axe raised high.

  She squeezed her eyes shut just as the blade came down.

  The sickening crunch that followed made her stomach turn.

  Liora turned away, flinching from the carnage, but as she did, she heard—no, felt—a low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through her very bones.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  A massive dog loomed before her, its black fur bristling, its chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Its eyes—if they could even be called that—were hollow voids, devoid of pupils, their emptiness sending a chill down her spine.

  Beneath its thick coat, something unnatural pulsed. Blue veins, luminous and web-like, traced eerie patterns across its face, their glow shifting with every twitch of muscle. Its long snout jutted forward, its nostrils flaring as if scenting something beyond the physical. But the nose—it was translucent, almost glass-like, revealing the shifting, pulsing mass beneath.

  The beast inhaled sharply, and Liora felt its breath more than she heard it—a rasping, wet sound, hungry and searching.

  She took a step back.

  It took one forward.

  The creature opened its mouth and released a sharp and shrill bark as it locked eyes with her.

  “You found one,” said a gruff, unfamiliar voice behind her. “Good boy.”

  Liora didn’t bother to look for the source of the voice, she turned and ran as fast as her feet would take her.

  She could hear the creature chasing after her—its panting was rapid and erratic, a desperate, fevered sound that made her tremble in fear.

  The homes in the center of the village were built close to one another, their walls forming narrow alleys between them. Liora sprinted toward one, her body twisting as she forced herself through the cramped passage. The walls felt as though they were closing in, the rough stone scraping against her arms as she ducked and wove through the darkness.

  The dog was still behind her. Its claws scraped against the dirt, gaining ground with every bound. The sound of its breathing grew louder, more fevered, until it was nearly upon her.

  As the alley opened into a street, she veered sharply to the right, taking the corner as hard as she could. Without hesitation, she cut right again into another alley—this one even narrower. Her eyes darted wildly until she spotted an open cellar door.

  Liora threw herself down the stairwell without hesitation, her hands barely catching the railing to keep her from tumbling. She landed hard at the bottom, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she scrambled backward into the shadows.

  Feeling around the walls inside the dark cellar, Liora found a large barrel. She let her hand guide her to the edge of it, where she found an opening between the barrel and the wall. She squeezed herself in, thankful that she was slim enough to fit.

  Liora tried to make herself as small as possible, crawling on the ground and squeezing herself in.

  Above, the dog skidded to a stop.

  Its breathing filled the alley, thick and guttural.

  For a long moment, there was silence.

  Liora allowed herself a sigh, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

  Shaking uncontrollably, she tried steadying herself against the wall. She thought of all the poor souls outside, running for their lives or getting cut down.

  I hope Aunt Maris and Uncle Rannick found a place to hide

  Suddenly, there was a loud creaking sound, followed by another.

  Then—sniffing. A deep, rasping inhale that rattled through the air like dry leaves caught in a storm. It was searching for her.

  Along with the creeping terror, Liora felt something else. The air around her seemed to thicken and change, as if it became something else entirely.

  But she had no time to contemplate it further as lantern light glowed from around the corner, illuminating a snout and eyes devoid of life, staring at her.

  A man with a sleeveless jerkin emerged from the shadows behind the creature, a cruel looking knife in his hand.

  “Good boy.”

  Liora screamed.

  The sound tore from her throat before she could stop it, raw and desperate. She tried to push herself further into the crevice behind the barrel, her hands scrabbling against the rough stone wall, but there was nowhere left to go.

  The dog growled—a low, guttural sound that rumbled through the cellar like distant thunder. It bared its teeth, saliva dripping from its long snout, its glowing veins pulsing in the dim lantern light. The man behind it flashed a toothy grin, twirling the wicked-looking knife between his fingers.

  "Now, now, no need for all that," his deep voice crooned menacingly, as he stepped forward. "Ain't no use screamin'—no one's comin' to save ye."

  Liora’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as her mind raced, searching for something—anything—that could save her.

  The dog took a step closer.

  The lantern’s glow cast long shadows over the cellar, flickering across the damp stone floor. The stench of stale grain and mold filled Liora’s nose, mixing with the pungent musk of the beast standing before her. The man took another step, his boots crunching against the dirt.

  She had to move.

  Now.

  With all the strength she had, Liora kicked out, her foot striking the barrel beside her. It tipped, crashing forward and spilling its contents across the floor in an avalanche of dried apples and straw. The dog yelped and leapt back, knocking into its handler.

  Taking her chance, Liora lunged.

  She dove past the man, feeling the rush of air as his knife missed her by inches. She hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs—but she didn’t stop. Scrambling to her feet, she bolted for the stairs.

  "Get her!" the man roared.

  Behind her, the beast snarled, tripping over the spilled barrel. Liora flew up the steps two at a time, her legs burning, lungs screaming.

  She burst into the alley, into the cold night, heart thundering against her ribs. The village square was chaos—firelight flickered on walls, shadows darted between fleeing villagers and raiders. Screams echoed in every direction.

  But she had no time to think.

  Behind her, heavy paws pounded against the cellar stairs.

  Liora ran.

  She tore through the alleys, breath ragged, each footfall echoing in her skull. Claws scraped the cobblestones behind her. The beast's panting was wet, erratic—like a dying thing hunting its last breath.

  She rounded a corner, nearly colliding with a fleeing child, and stumbled over something in the dirt.

  A blue ribbon. Torn, dirt-streaked—trampled underfoot.

  Elseth’s.

  Liora froze for half a heartbeat. Then came the growl behind her, and she ran again.

  She couldn’t outrun it. She had to hide.

  Skidding around a corner, she nearly slipped. Crates stood stacked beside a smithy wall. She didn’t think—just moved.

  Fingers digging into splintered wood, she hauled herself up, her right arm screaming, blood soaking her sleeve. Below, the beast slammed into the crates, snarling, scrabbling for purchase.

  Liora rolled onto the rooftop, gasping. Her body throbbed with every heartbeat. She lifted a hand to wipe her brow, but pain flared through her arm. Gritting her teeth, she clutched the wound and took a shuddering breath.

  She had made it.

  Then—a shadow.

  A boot crashed into her ribs.

  Pain exploded through her side as the roof vanished beneath her. For a heartbeat, she was weightless—then the ground slammed into her.

  The impact cracked through her body. Air fled her lungs. Her vision dimmed.

  Hands grabbed her, flipping her over. Through the haze, she saw a man kneeling beside her, grinning.

  "Thought ye could run, did ye?" He seized her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His breath reeked of rot and ale. "Ain’t she a pretty one?"

  A voice from nearby: “She’s marked.”

  The beast stood a few paces off—its ghostly snout twitching, its veins glowing with faint blue light. Its eyes, dull and dead, never left her.

  “That so?” The man chuckled. “Looks like you’re one of the lucky ones.”

  “How many were marked?” another raider asked.

  “More than expected.”

  “Could’ve been more—if we hadn’t wasted so many.”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  The man yanked her to her feet, spitting on the cobbles as he dragged her away.

  She clenched her fists, trying to pull away, but another pair of hands grabbed her from behind, twisting her arms painfully. Rope coiled around her wrists, rough fibers biting into her skin.

  "Let go of me!" is what she meant to say, instead a guttural groan escaped her lips as she spat a clump of dirt.

  She thrashed violently with all the strength she had, as sharp pains shot through her ribs and arm, but her captors only laughed.

  “Feisty one,” the man muttered, tightening the rope with a sharp tug. His fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to look up. “Keep struggling, girl. Makes it more fun.”

  She twisted violently, but the pain stole her breath. Another yank nearly pulled her off her feet, her knees buckling from exhaustion.

  A knot of fear lodged itself in her throat. She turned her head frantically, looking for someone—anyone—who might help.

  But the village square was in chaos. People lay motionless in the dirt, some groaning, some too still. Others were being rounded up, herded like cattle.

  She caught sight of a familiar face—Danica. She was being dragged by her arm, her mouth moving, shouting something Liora couldn't hear over the chaos. Then Liora saw another figure—Falben—his scarf ripped from his neck as he was shoved forward by one of the raiders.

  "Danica! Falben!" Liora’s voice cracked, but they were too far, lost in the sea of captives.

  The man holding her yanked her forward. "Enough of that. You belong to us now."

  Liora stumbled but refused to fall. She would not let them drag her like an animal.

  One of the raiders grabbed a length of rope and looped it around her throat like a leash.

  She froze—her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

  "That’s better," the raider sneered. "Now, move."

  With a rough jerk, they pulled her forward, forcing her into the line of captives. She had no choice but to walk.

  And as they marched her away from Mosswick, the fires still burning behind them, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.