The Hand That Hunts
Psalm 139:11–12 (NIV)
"If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,'
even the darkness will not be dark to You;
the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You."
---
The great gate of the House of Blood opened like the mouth of a beast. The hinges screamed as Kaelith's carriage rolled out, its wheels crushing the thin layer of crimson salt that coated the courtyard floor. Behind her, the fortress shimmered faintly in the dawn—a monolith of obsidian and vein-lit ruby, still pulsing from the ritual blood of the night before.
Kaelith sat rigid in the carriage, gloved hands folded across her lap. Across her brow, the mark of obedience glowed faintly—one perfect drop of the Scarlet Mother's blood, sealed into her skin. It burned when she disobeyed thought. It silenced her dreams.
The driver said nothing. He dared not. The four pale horses pulling the black carriage moved like ghosts through the mountain fog, their hooves never leaving prints.
At the gates, Seraphine herself had spoken a final blessing—or a curse.
"Six days, Kaelith. By the seventh, I will drink from the ruby cup."
Kaelith had bowed. "As you command, Scarlet Mother."
Now, alone with the wind's cold breath and the endless road, she heard only the faint, rhythmic echo of those words.
Six days.
The moons were waning, the Veil thinning. And somewhere far ahead, a name pulsed faintly in her thoughts like a heartbeat she could not silence.
Ashley.
---
The First Day – Through Shadowed Plains
The first stretch of the journey wound through the black plains where even grass grew brittle from old ash. Once, these lands had been fertile, touched by light from the Living Flame. Now they slept under the curse of memory.
Kaelith looked out from the carriage window. The world was colorless—gray sky, gray soil, gray wind. In the distance, pillars of ancient stone stood half-buried, marked with the sigils of the Old Wardens—those who had served Yeshua before the rise of witchcraft. Their language was long forgotten, but one word remained visible on the nearest slab: Veritas.
Truth.
Kaelith looked away. She had no use for truth. Only completion.
At dusk, she camped by a dying stream. The night insects were silent; even their songs feared the presence she carried. When she closed her eyes, sleep came slowly, coiling with whispers. She dreamed of fire—not the blood flame of the House, but white and clean, whispering her name as if inviting her to remember something she never knew.
She woke before dawn, sweat on her neck, the serpent mark burning faintly beneath her collarbone.
---
The Second Day – The Falcon Border
By the second day, the road curved into the territories of the Falcon Kingdom, where banners of gold and crimson still fluttered proudly from ruined keeps. Once, this had been the continent's heart—the land of artisans, kings, and holy architects.
In its earliest age, the people of Falcon had followed the Living Flame as the purest reflection of Yeshua's Word. Their creed had been simple: "The Fire does not consume; it refines."
But centuries of kings and bloodshed had twisted that truth. When the first witch courts rose in the east, Falcon sought power to rival them. The priests of the old Flame turned their prayers into weapons, binding fire through dominance instead of devotion.
And thus, the Church of the Burning Sky was born—a faith that looked holy but reeked of arrogance. Their temples were vast and golden, yet cold; their altars burned with witchfire stolen from the House of Blood itself.
They said, "Power proves purity."
The lie became law.
Kaelith passed through the outskirts of their dominion unnoticed. Even now, the steeples of the old Falcon churches pierced the horizon like spears thrust toward heaven. At night, she saw their torches flickering from afar, each one a counterfeit of light—burning bright, but cold.
---
The Third Day – The Forest of Asani
The land softened as the third day dawned. Hills rose like gentle waves. Pines thickened, and the air grew heavy with the scent of green life. The carriage slowed as the horses entered the first reach of the Forest of Asani—the last wild remnant of the first creation.
The locals called it the breathing forest, for even in stillness, its leaves rustled as if whispering in secret.
Kaelith dismounted. She sent her driver back toward the Falcon capital, taking only her black satchel, her curved dagger, and a silver mirror no wider than her palm and a horse..
The forest greeted her not with silence but with memory. Each step she took stirred faint echoes in the soil—fragments of song, prayers that had once risen like mist. The serpent mark across her throat began to sting, and for the first time in years, she felt something other than obedience: unease.
She pressed onward.
By nightfall, she found the ruins of an old chapel swallowed by ivy. It bore the emblem of the Living Flame—a simple circle with a single upward tongue of fire. She paused there, her breath shallow.
Something inside the ruin glowed faintly, like candlelight. She did not enter.
---
Meanwhile — The Found and the Forgiven
Far away, dawn rose soft over Mahogany Village. Mist drifted between the thatched roofs, and the bell of the small church tolled once—a call to morning prayer.
Elena stepped outside, shawl drawn against the chill, her bare feet brushing dew. She had spent much of the night writing in the Canticle's margins, tracing faint impressions of the parables that now lived within her heart.
As she passed the old path that curved down toward the lower ridge, she saw a shape collapsed among the roots of an oak.
A woman.
Elena ran forward, kneeling beside her. The stranger's hair was tangled, her clothes scorched and torn, her breath shallow but steady. Ash clung to her skin. Her eyes flickered open—gray-blue, haunted—and for a moment, recognition struck like a spark.
"Ashley," Elena whispered.
The name itself seemed to stir the air. Ashley tried to speak, but only a rasp escaped her throat.
"Don't," Elena said softly. "You're safe now."
With Ye's help, they carried her back to the village.
---
The Cleansing
Inside the church, light filtered through the high, narrow windows. Ashley lay on a cot near the altar while Evelyn heated water in a copper basin. The scent of rosemary and cedar filled the air.
Her old robe was removed—its dark weave burned through with faint symbols that no longer glowed. As the steam rose, Elena gently washed the ash and blood from her skin. It came away slowly, like old paint peeling from wood.
When she finished, she wrapped Ashley in clean linen and set a small bowl of broth beside her.
Ashley looked at her through tired eyes. "You know who I am."
"Yes," Elena said. "And I know who you were. The Fire remembers both."
Ashley's lips trembled. "He… remembers?"
Elena smiled faintly. "He remembers everything He made."
Ashley began to cry—not loud, not broken, just soft, shaking tears that darkened the linen pillow.
Evelyn turned away quietly.
Later, when the others left, Ashley whispered again. "I thought the light would not have me back."
Elena touched her hand, still scarred faintly red from witchfire. "The light never leaves. It waits until we stop running."
Outside, the morning bell tolled again.
---
By the second night, strength began to return to Ashley's voice. She sat near the hearth while Ye repaired the church's outer door. The villagers watched her warily at first. But when Elena placed the Canticle before them and read from the Third Song—The Parables of Light, something shifted.
"Two travelers walked through shadow.
One cursed the dark, the other lit a small flame.
Both reached the mountain, but only one left a path for others."
When she finished, Elena looked up. "She is the second traveler," she said quietly. "She has come from shadow to light. That is what the flame does—it remembers, even when we forget."
The villagers nodded slowly. Even Vivian, the mother whose daughter had been healed from madness, came forward with a loaf of bread. "She may eat at my table," she said.
Ashley's tears returned then—but they were lighter, less burdened.
---
The Fifth Day – The Edge of Asani
Back in the forest, Kaelith's progress slowed. The road had long since vanished. Branches hung heavy with moisture, and each breath she drew carried the scent of life she could not name.
At night, she camped beneath an oak that had grown around the ruin of an altar stone. She felt the hum of the land pressing through her boots—gentle, insistent.
Her serpent mark burned again. This time, she knelt and pressed her palm to the earth. It pulsed once, warm against her skin.
A voice, quiet as breath, whispered from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"Why do you hunt what seeks no war?"
Kaelith drew back, dagger raised. "Show yourself."
Only silence answered.
When she looked down, she saw that her reflection in the dagger's blade was not her own. The eyes staring back glowed faintly gold.
She dropped the blade.
---
The Sixth Day – The Crossing
By the sixth evening, Kaelith reached the crest that overlooked the valley of Mahogany. From here, she could see the faint smoke rising from the village, the new church standing near the fields.
She dismounted, her boots sinking into the soft moss. The air trembled faintly with the sound of bells—the same sound that had haunted her dreams since the House of Blood.
Her mission's end lay below.
But for the first time, Kaelith hesitated.
She reached for the small silver mirror in her satchel. It was the Matron's gift—a channel through which the Scarlet Mother could see and command. She held it up, waiting for the bloodlight to shimmer across its surface.
Instead, her own reflection stared back, eyes hollow and unsure.
"You are marked," she whispered to herself. "Obedience is life."
Yet beneath her collar, the mark no longer burned. It was cold.
In the far distance, a faint song carried through the wind—a human voice, soft and fragile, singing from the village church.
Kaelith stood very still, listening.
She did not know that the voice belonged to Ashley, whose repentance now filled the village with quiet awe.
---
That night, Ashley knelt before the small altar, candlelight dancing across her face. Elena stood beside her, reading softly from the Canticle:
"Do not seek the throne of fire; become its warmth.
The flame that rules burns out; the flame that serves endures."
Ashley whispered, "Then I will serve."
At that same moment, beneath the trees, Kaelith whispered to the wind, "Then let it burn."
Two voices—one of mercy, one of vengeance—rose together under the twin moons of Astra.
And somewhere between them, unseen, the Living Flame stirred—watching, waiting, remembering.