3. Chapter Three #2
Physiologically, Beasts bear traits reminiscent of legendary creatures: wings akin to those of skyward drakes, horns that spiral like the ancient earth-rending wyrms, and eyes that shimmer with the light of aether.
These features are not mere ornamentation but serve as focal points for their innate magic.
Wings grant them flight and wind-based sorcery, while horns are believed to act as conduits for more destructive magics, such as fire and lightning.
The shimmer in their eyes, often described as a “Star-Glow,” hints at an ability to see beyond the veil of reality, perceiving realms and energies beyond human understanding.
Unlike humans, who must study for years to master even simple spells, the Beasts draw upon their powers with the same ease with which they draw breath, making them both formidable allies and dangerous foes.
Pure embodiments of The Rift- that we, as mere mortals, can scarcely comprehend.
After hours of devouring the pages, I lay down, willing my restless mind to calm, though it refused to settle. Images from the book lingered behind my eyes—the men with horns and wings, their forms both majestic and terrifying.
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to my reflection earlier in the window.
How plain I seemed compared to the creatures in the book, compared to the Riftborn who once were.
I was unremarkable, just like everything else in this town.
And then there was Colin—my only suitor— if he could even be called that.
He was the only one who’d ever shown interest in me, though for reasons I doubted were entirely noble.
I wondered if this was all there was for me. A life of solitude. What if I never left this place? What if no one came for me? Forced to live a life as forgettable as the town I called home.
Then, my mind returned to the trees. The figure.
The way it had stared at me, its presence lingering long after it disappeared into the darkness.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I pinched my eyes shut, trying to push it away.
But fear gave way to something else—something deeper, heavier.
A sudden ache swelled in my chest, and I felt tears spill from my closed eyes.
My life was dreary enough, and I couldn’t even wallow in that dreariness in peace—some shadow had to come along and ruin even the quiet of my sorrow.
I cried for the Riftborn, for how something so beautiful could be erased so cleanly from history.
I cried for all the parts of the world I would never know.
The tears came quietly, but they came for some time, soft and unrelenting, until exhaustion overtook me.
At last, I drifted into sleep, the weight of my sorrow trailing me into my dreams.
The fire roared behind us, its crackling voice echoing through the chaos. I was tossed over the familiar shoulder. I felt the heavy thud of footsteps beneath me, each step jarring against my fragile frame. Fear pressed down on my chest, too heavy to allow me to look up.
But slowly, hesitantly, I peeked over the broad shoulder carrying me.
The place I once called home was disappearing, swallowed whole by the flames.
The golden glow of its timbers turned to blackened ash, and embers swirled in the air like fireflies.
A gust of wind swept through, carrying with it a storm of ash and smoke that filled my lungs.
It burned with a searing intensity as if somebody had rammed a fireplace poker down my windpipe.
The scene was agonizingly familiar, a terrible memory etched into my soul.
I’d seen this before—every night, I think.
But this time, the pain was sharper, the air heavier.
I began to cough, my body heaving violently in a desperate attempt to expel the acrid taste from my throat.
For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was how my home had felt: consumed by fire, carried away by forces beyond its control.
Then, a voice broke through.
Low, beautiful, and rasping, it breathed my name.
Evandra…
I froze. No one spoke to me in my dream. Ever. The voice was dark, unnaturally deep, and it reverberated through me like the rumble of distant thunder.
The familiar smell I had clung to—a warm, comforting scent that was wholly my father—shifted.
It was gone, replaced by something new. Spice and incense lingered in the air, rich and heady.
It was a scent I thought I recognized, though I couldn’t place it.
Familiar, yet strange. But there was more.
Beneath the spice and incense, something sharper cut through—a coppery musk that clung to my senses with a metallic tang. Blood.
My breath hitched as I realized the man carrying me was no longer my father. He was someone else, someone unknown yet somehow intimately familiar. The sensation of being held shifted, the embrace at once protective and unnervingly alien.
The flames raged on behind us, but it was his presence that consumed me now.
I gasped, jolting upright as the feeling of thick smoke was still palpable in my lungs.
My chest heaved, my fists tangled in my damp bedsheets, a thin sheen of sweat slicking my skin.
The bright sun streamed mercilessly through the window, its warmth a cruel contrast to the cold dread pooling in my gut.
My head pounded, a sharp, relentless ache like a knife twisting behind my temple.
The dream lingered, vivid and unshakable.
The figure’s face… Something about it had pierced through the haze, jerking me awake as if pulled from drowning.
I stumbled from my bed. Every muscle was sluggish, and I braced myself against my vanity.
I splashed cool water on my face, letting the shock of it chase away the lingering fog of the dream.
My breath steadied as I peered down into the basin.
For a fleeting moment, my reflection stared back at me from the rippling water, pale and tired, but then—a sharp pain lanced through my skull, sudden and blinding.
A flash—not in the room, but behind my eyes.
I stumbled back, pressing my palms to my temples, my eyes clenched shut.
The glint lingered for a heartbeat—bright, impossible, beautiful—and then vanished, leaving behind a faint shimmer in my vision and a thrum low in my chest. Like something ancient had stirred. Like something had seen me.
Star-Glow. The words from my book echoed in my mind. Eyes that shimmer with aether. Vision beyond the veil. I clutched the edge of the basin, struggling to make sense of it. Could exhaustion do that? Could stress conjure something so vivid—so real?
My heart pounded. I stood there, dripping and trembling, staring at my reflection like it belonged to someone else.
I shook my head, forcing the thought away.
Exhaustion, I told myself. That’s all it is.
Just a dream. Just stress. Just… a moment.
But as I turned away from the mirror, a shining glint still danced faintly behind my eyes. And something deep in my chest stirred.
I quickly pulled on a dress from my wardrobe, one I knew was unflattering but blissfully comfortable. It was the sort of morning where comfort was all I could manage.
Shakily making my way to the tavern, I was met halfway down the stairs by the savory aroma of my roast, the rich scent immediately calming my senses.
As soon as the hearth came into view, my eyes darted instinctively to the forest through the window. It remained unchanged: dark, foreboding, and still too quiet. My flesh prickled and caused my hair to stand on end. I tore my gaze away. Maybe I hadn’t imagined what I saw yesterday.
Papa was already seated at one of the tables, his thick glasses perched on his nose as he thumbed through a book. The firelight flickered across his weathered face, the familiar sight anchoring me for a moment.
“Good morning, Papa,” I said, swinging around to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for my gift. I love it.”
“You’re welcome, my girl,” he replied, his eyes still fixed on the book in his hands.
He wasn’t a man of many words, but the sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips said enough. I paused for a moment, my gaze flitting between him and the darkened tree line beyond the window. The trees were as ominous as ever, their shadows creeping closer in the morning light.
The day passed with some semblance of normalcy until the copper bell over the door rang its familiar chime.
“‘Ello, Miss Evandra.” came the thick northern lilt I knew well.
I turned to see Mr. Trebuie hanging his felted hat and coat on the rack near the door.
“Hiya. Lunch?” I called out.
“Yes, please!” He said, settling into his usual corner seat by the window. I brought him a steaming cup of tea and a plate of roast and bread. Setting it down, I sank into the chair across from him, eager for a distraction.
“How are things? Feels like it’s been a week or two since I’ve seen you.” I said, resting my chin on my hand.
“Oh, aye. Had to ride up to Castle City for supplies,” he replied between bites. “Heard some strange talk while I was there.” He stated. I raised an eyebrow.
That flicker of unease returned—the same one I thought I’d shaken off after last night.
“Castle City always has its fair share of strange,” I said, trying to sound dismissive, though I leaned forward without meaning to. “What is it this time?”
His expression darkened as he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
“Three politicians. Inside the Castle gates.
Tore to shreds, like wolves got to ‘em. But ‘ere’s the strange bit: no animal made it past the guard. No prints. No blood trail. Nothing.” A cold rush flooded my chest. I set the teapot down with more force than I meant to.
“You’re saying… it wasn’t an animal?” I clarified slowly.
Trebuie shook his head. “I doubt it. Those men were no saints—crooked as a broken wheel, the lot of ‘em—but this wasn’t some random attack. Felt like retribution, if you ask me. The kind you can’t explain.” He took a sloppy bite of his roast, some of the brownish gravy dribbling down his chin.
“Something strange is happening lately,” I murmured, mostly to myself. The figure in the woods flickered back through my mind.
“Well,” Trebuie added, sitting back with a satisfied sigh, “that’s why me and the missus never moved to the city. Too much sin draws too much trouble if you ask me.” He loudly sipped his tea. I nodded before excusing myself.
As the day dragged on, I couldn’t shake his story from my mind. Strange attacks, the darkness of the woods, my dreams shifting for the first time, and the figure I’d seen watching me all wove themselves into a single, nagging unease.
By nightfall, the tavern was quiet. Papa sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, his book open in his lap. I approached hesitantly, clearing my throat.
“Papa… Can I ask you something?” I began slowly, still unsure if I should share what I’d seen. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the pages in his hands. I lowered myself into the chair beside him, clasping my hands tightly in my lap. “Have you ever seen anything… strange in the forest?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. The silence stretched, and I caught the faintest tension in his jaw before he finally spoke. “No,” he said at last, his tone sharp and clipped. “Though I’m not always paying attention.”
The answer felt too quick, too careful. Papa wasn’t one to lie to me, yet something about the words seemed…
rehearsed, as though he’d said them before.
His eyes flicked toward me, then away, and for an instant the firelight caught on something like sorrow in his gaze.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sighed, setting the book aside with deliberate calm.
“Eva, my dear, listen closely.” His voice lowered, steady but carrying a weight I couldn’t name.
“In my seventy years of life, if I’ve come to understand anything, it’s this: no matter how harmless something may appear, there is always a shadow lurking within.
Some shadows are buried so deeply that no one should ever uncover them.
” He hesitated, just a breath too long, before adding, “And sometimes it’s better that way. ”
I studied his face, but his eyes had fixed on the fire, as though afraid of what I might read there.
“The forest and the grasslands beyond Winshire stretch farther than anyone has dared to map,” he went on.
“There are things out there the world chose to forget—things better left forgotten. If you’re seeing shadows in those woods, my advice is simple: stay away.
Don’t go looking for answers.” His tone hardened. “Some truths do more harm than good.”
The words lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and strange, and for a moment they felt less like a warning and more like a confession. Little did he know, my nightmares had already begun to conjure such things.
I furrowed my brow, unsettled, and then—just as the heaviness became unbearable—a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Boo!” He turned to me as I jolted, laughing his deep, rolling laugh. I managed a smile, but the sound rang hollow. Behind his humor, I could still hear what he hadn’t said.