The bell tower in Dophis chimed four times, signaling the approach of late afternoon. The sound echoed through the rustic village, a gentle reminder of the day winding down.
Zepp wiped the perspiration from her brow, carefully balancing a small woven basket filled with freshly picked herbs and neatly rolled bandages as she made her way along the uneven stone path. Each step felt like an adventure along the familiar route, with the scents of rosemary and thyme mingling in the warm air. Today was healing day, a cherished tradition in Dophis. It meant traversing the village from one end to the other, delivering essential supplies and doing her best to avoid tripping over Tibor's notoriously wayward chickens that roamed freely, clucking and pecking at imagined treasures.
Despite her weariness, she found joy in her task. Helping others was woven into the fabric of village life. Everyone in Dophis had a role to play, and even though Zepp lacked the spell-casting prowess of Selva, the village's revered witch, she possessed a plethora of skills. Skills like preparing potent poultices, tending to ugly wounds, and executing about twenty other tasks that the townsfolk often neglected to associate with witches.
However, as she walked, a sense of unease flickered at the back of her mind.
The villagers greeted her with polite smiles and cheerful chatter, but there was an underlying strain etched into their expressions, an unspoken tension that lingered like storm clouds on the horizon. Eavesdropping on hushed conversations between adults, Zepp caught snippets of unsettling words:
"...sighted near the border. If it's true..."
"...can't let panic spread. We're too close…"
Curiosity sparked within her, but she didn't dare to ask. She already knew they wouldn't share the truth with her.
Later that evening, inside Selva's cottage, the warm glow of the fire flickered against the stone walls as Zepp stirred a bubbling pot filled with fragrant herbs and roots. She stole glances at her master, who sat quietly in a corner, her fingers delicately cradling a steaming cup of tea, seemingly lost in thought.
"Is something happening at the border?" Zepp ventured, trying to keep her tone casual, though her heart raced.
Selva, her sharp gaze unwavering, didn't flinch at the question. "What makes you ask that?"
"I overheard some people. Their tone sounded serious," Zepp replied, her frown deepening.
The witch took a measured sip of her tea, the liquid swirling in harmony with her thoughts. "When you live near the edge of a kingdom, you often hear whispers of serious matters."
Zepp's expression shifted. "So it's not nothing, then?" She bit her lip, anxiety creeping in with every passing moment.
A heavy silence enveloped them for a heartbeat before Selva spoke. "It's not your burden to carry yet."
"Yet?" Zepp echoed, her youthful pout evident. "You always say that. I'm sixteen, you know."
"Sixteen and impatient," Selva retorted with a hint of bemusement.
"I'm not impatient," Zepp shot back defensively, crossing her arms in protest. After a beat, she relented, adding, "…Okay, maybe a little."
Selva's smile was faint, a soft curve that graced her lips, but it did little to reach the depths of her soulful eyes.
That night, Zepp couldn't sleep.
She perched at her window, her knees pulled to her chest, gazing out at the dense woods that bordered the village. The night air was thick with tension, and a restless energy thrummed in her chest, as if an invisible force pulled at her ribs. A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach, a sensation she couldn't quite untangle.
Pressing a trembling hand over her heart, she whispered into the stillness, "Why do I feel so… off?"
She didn't expect a response; the vast darkness beyond the village offered no comfort.
Yet, far beyond Dophis, across the slumbering forest, rumors stirred in silence about the shifting armies, vanished mages, and power long thought buried.
None of them spoke her name.
But the world was moving anyway.