***
The city stretched in a peculiar pattern of gray and brown buildings, where narrow alleys wound between the houses like veins on an old leaf. Two-story structures of darkened stone and timber pressed close together, their steep roofs reaching skyward as if trying to touch the clouds. In some houses, windows glowed with a strange bluish light, while on the cornices crouched stone gargoyles whose eyes seemed to follow passersby. The people who had moved here four months ago were still settling into these ancient walls, struggling to adapt to the quirks of old architecture.
At the heart of this labyrinth rose a fortress—a massive structure of gray stone whose walls seemed to have absorbed centuries of history. Its towers, crowned with metallic spires that gleamed even on overcast days, loomed over the city like silent guardians. Along the crenellated battlements, adorned with mysterious symbols and faded coats of arms, patrolled sentries clad in matching steel armor, their breastplates etched with fine lines of runes no one could quite decipher.
Inside the fortress, in the great hall, a young man of twenty-seven paced before a group of rangers with the air of someone personally insulted.
"So, you're serious? You really managed to lose an entire convoy?" His voice dripped with venomous contempt. "Will anyone care to explain to me how you failed to track the attackers? Or is that beyond your professional competence?"
The rangers stood at attention, avoiding their commander's furious gaze.
"With all due respect, sir, we combed a five-mile radius," one of them dared to answer. "No traces. As if they vanished into the earth."
"Oh, how fascinating!" the commander threw up his hands theatrically. "Maybe they flew away on dragons? Or perhaps aliens abducted them? Go on, surprise me with some more brilliant nonsense!"
"We questioned every witness," another ranger tried to interject. "No one saw anything."
"Outstanding! Absolutely brilliant!" he clapped slowly, mockingly. "An elite unit of rangers can't find a single boy! You know what? Maybe I should recruit a squad of village grandmothers. I'm certain they'd do better than you lot!"
His tirade was cut short by the sudden entrance of a young woman. Her presence changed the atmosphere in an instant—violet eyes, rare in these lands, drew attention at once, and her cloak, beneath whose folds glimmered sparks like a starry sky, betrayed her as a mage. Despite her youth, she carried herself with striking dignity, and even the guards at the doors straightened reflexively when she appeared.
"Leave us," she commanded, her voice firm, brooking no argument. "At once."
The rangers did not need a second order; they hurried from the hall, quietly closing the heavy door behind them. Their footsteps faded in the long fortress corridors.
"Any information on the boy's whereabouts?" she asked as soon as they were alone. Her voice echoed softly against the vaulted ceiling.
"None," the man spat through clenched teeth, drumming impatient fingers on his sword hilt. "It's as if he vanished."
"And what will Father say, hmm? Mark?" Her tone was steady, but he caught a glint of mockery in it. She paced slowly across the hall, her cloak shimmering with constellations at every step.
"Or perhaps"—he narrowed his eyes, watching her intently—"you were the one who helped the boy escape?"
The girl paused by one of the ancient tapestries, tracing its woven patterns with thoughtful fingers.
"Don't be foolish, Mark," she replied, her voice turning unexpectedly serious. "We both know that's not in my interest. That boy is needed by all of us. Without him…" She hesitated a moment. "Without him, the future will become far more difficult than we can afford."
Mark studied her face, searching for even a flicker of deceit.
"Then enlighten me," he folded his arms across his chest, "since you're so clever. Where do we find him?"
She turned to him, her violet eyes seeming to glow faintly in the hall's half-light.
"And what if I don't know where to find him?"
Mark's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. The air between them crackled with tension.
"Then Father will be… very disappointed, dear sister." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "I won't let anyone stand between me and this mission. Father entrusted this to me—me! And I won't share the success with anyone, not even you, dearest sister."
"You've always been ambitious, brother," she shook her head, the starlight of her cloak reflecting in her eyes. "But your ambitions often blind you to reason."
"You don't get to judge my decisions!" he roared, slamming his fist on the table. Maps and scrolls jumped from the blow. "I command this garrison, and—"
"And you're doing a marvelous job of losing key targets," she interrupted coolly, her calm tone only fueling his irritation. "Well then, brother…" she reached to the pouch at her belt, "you're going to owe me."
A scroll she tossed landed directly on the map he had been studying.
"What is this?" Mark snatched it up, his fingers trembling slightly at the touch of the ancient parchment.
Unfurling it, a chill ran down his spine. Before him lay a detailed map of a land considered a death trap for mortals. The intricate lines of ink formed the contours of the cursed forest, at whose heart loomed a sinister mountain. Few ever returned from there alive. Even the strongest band of pioneers had barely escaped, leaving behind only a single survivor.
"Is this your idea of a joke?" Mark hissed, his grip on the scroll so tight his knuckles whitened. "This is suicide, and you know it."
"Look more closely," the girl stepped beside him, her finger tracing the map, leaving a faint trail of light in its wake. "Not the center. See?" She pointed to a small mark near the forest's edge. "This is an area we can handle. Even you."
The last words carried a faint smirk, though her eyes held absolute seriousness. Mark bent over the map, studying the spot. Indeed, this part of the forest lay well away from the infamous mountain, yet close enough to inspire unease.
"I have business to attend to," the girl said, turning toward the exit. Her cloak swept the air, scattering a shower of sparks like falling stars. Without sparing her brother a glance, she walked toward the hall's massive doors, her steps light, barely touching the stone floor.
Clark—Mark—watched her go, rage boiling inside him. That self-assured girl, who fancied herself special because of her gift, had always grated on his nerves. He imagined the day when those violet eyes would dull, lose their glow, and become empty and lifeless. The thought brought a cruel smile to his lips.
Clutching the scroll, he allowed himself to savor the fantasy of her death. How delightful it would be to see that starry cloak soaked in blood, its magic extinguished forever. Soon, sister, he thought, folding the map. Very soon, you'll make your final mistake.