You know me as Nova, but the world knew me under a different name. To them, I was the Flame Hunter. A name that made even the bravest tremble.
Besides these two names, countless others were given to me over the course of my long life, and not all of them were particularly flattering.
I was born in Grania - the country of humans. Before the longest and most arduous journey of my life was about to begin, I had the fortune of calling a small, idyllic village my home.
It lay far to the west and was so small that it could not be found on any map.
Yet I would soon lose it again. And with it, so much more.
My father and I were on our way to the stagecoach that traveled to the capital. To get there, we had to walk to the rendezvous point. It was located along a road that lay on the main trade route. That was why all the surrounding villages made use of this option.
A rather long walk, but without our own horse there was no alternative.
Since my father had barely exchanged more than three words with me over the past few days, a dull ache settled in my stomach. He had never been very talkative, but this kind of silence was a remarkable intensification even for him.
When his brow furrowed along the way and his face took on dark features, I knew it was because of my journey.
"Why the weapon?" I addressed him and pointed at the sword he had brought along.
He briefly looked at me with narrowed eyes, which made me bite my lower lip.
Great, I just made it worse, I thought and gave him a warm smile.
But the dark cloud I could almost see hovering above him did not vanish.
"Are you expecting an ambush?" I asked with a raised eyebrow and a grin.
He continued to walk stubbornly beside me without answering or acknowledging me in any way.
So I added with a laugh:
"You know, Oakrest is pretty safe. There are not even any bears or wolves here. Or are you afraid a few squirrels might ambush us?"
My father did not react to my bad joke and suddenly came to a halt. I did the same, studied him closely and tilted my head to the side.
Of course I understood that he had to be worried. It was the first time I was traveling on my own, but I was more than old enough, and I had not seen my friends who lived in the city for over two years. He could not protect me forever anyway. Sooner or later, he would have to let go. The world could be dangerous anywhere. We had both learned that lesson more than once.
A woman pushed past us with a child in her hand. My gaze followed them. Two dozen steps away, I spotted the old stagecoach. A few people had already gathered there.
I turned back to my father to say goodbye. His eyes were lowered to the ground and he seemed lost in thought.
The hand of his left arm, which like his right arm was marked by countless scars from earlier battles, tightened around the sword.
"We are about to depart! Anyone who wants to come should board now!" a voice called from the direction of the stagecoach.
"Dad?" I asked and placed a hand on his arm to draw his attention back to me.
He blinked several times as if I had just pulled him out of a dream. Then he ran his free hand over his bald head and pressed the sword into my hand. I swung my cloth bag over my shoulder and took it.
At first I hardly looked at it, since I assumed it was just another sword from his collection, but something about it felt wrong. Even for a one-handed sword, the weight was far too light. In that regard, it felt more like a dagger.
The plain, unassuming design, the black hilt and the equally black scabbard. I ran my fingers over the pommel, still unsettled by the lightness of the weapon. I had often asked him what material it was made of, but I had never received an answer. For some reason, he had always made a great secret of it.
What I had initially taken for just any sword turned out to be the sword.
My father had not made any for many years. This one came from the time when he had still been a weaponsmith. As he said himself, it had been his finest work, even though he had forged it when he was young. It had carried him through many battles.
With wide eyes I asked:
"Do you actually want me to take it with me?"
He gave a brief nod. For a few breaths, I forgot what I had wanted to say. In the end, I collected myself and stared at the one handed sword.
"Are you really that worried? You normally never let it out of your hands," I remarked with drawn together brows and looked at him.
He answered gruffly:
"Your swordsmanship leaves a lot to be desired, but in an emergency it could make a difference. It is better if you have it with you. Just carrying a sword at your side alone scares many people off."
"How mean," I muttered. The corners of my mouth drooped.
It was true that I could not hold a candle to him when it came to swordsmanship, but I did at least know more or less how to defend myself.
"I do not think it will be necessary. Besides, I am not quite as helpless as you think," I replied and held the weapon back out to him.
He shook his head and pushed it away from himself.
"You never know. I just want to make sure," he said in a calm voice.
When I continued to hesitate, he added quietly:
"And do not forget what you promised me. If you are not unarmed, you do not have to use it."
His chin lowered as he looked me in the eyes with a serious expression.
I nodded and looked aside. It was unmistakable what he meant by 'it'.
Then I said:
"Thank you. I will take good care of it and bring it back to you."
In my eyes, setting out on a journey armed was not necessary, but if it helped him sleep better, I would do it.
"Have you thought of everything?" he changed the subject. "Can you stay with Val?"
"Dad… how old do you think I am?" I said with a grin, one hand in front of my mouth.
He audibly exhaled through his nose.
So I sighed:
"Yes, everything is taken care of. I will manage. I will be back in a few weeks."
Instead of being satisfied with my answer, all that came from him was a deep:
"Hm."
Before he had wrapped himself in silence a few days ago, he had tried several times to convince me not to go. But I had not let myself be swayed. He seemed to have a bad feeling, but I assumed that was simply because I would be traveling alone. He would have to get used to that, sooner or later.
"Then take care of yourself," he told me in a stern tone. Though his words sounded more like an order than a request.
He occasionally went too far with his protectiveness, yet those words stirred a pleasant warmth within me.
I replied with a smile:
"I will. And you please make sure to eat properly while I am gone, all right? Do not keep forgetting."
With his arms crossed, he studied me for a moment, which made my back tense. The deep scar that ran from his right eyebrow down across his eye made his gaze look sharper.
He let out a long breath and ran a hand through the beard streaked with gray.
"Write to me if you end up staying away longer. Or if anything happens. Lucian still has one or two pigeons of mine," he said as we walked toward the stagecoach.
"I will," I assured him.
Back then, I took our time together for granted. Only later did I understand how precious every single moment had been. I had not realized how little time we truly had left with each other.
In hindsight, I deeply regret not having made use of it…
A few weeks later, I reached the capital of Grania. At sunset, the old stagecoach rattled over the cobblestones and came to a halt at the edge of the market quarter.
Relieved, I jumped down, glad to finally be able to move, and stretched. My bones cracked in response and my legs felt heavy.
The smell of smoke, roasted meat, and fresh bread filled the air. For my growling stomach, it was not easy to endure.
Loud shouting, whining children, the clatter of hooves, and the squeaking of wagon wheels rained down on me as a storm of sound. Even at this hour, many people still pushed through the streets: women and men in linen clothing carrying their purchases in baskets, children darting between the stalls, and craftsmen offering their goods in soot smeared aprons.
Among all the simple folk, only a few merchants stood out in clothing of finer quality, making their way through the crowd with heads held high.
After about an hour, I reached the inn that belonged to my friend Val. She was one of the reasons I had come here.
The warm evening sun shone on the old wooden building. It was a dark, two story house whose facade had been washed gray by the weather. Beneath the windows hung boxes filled with colorful flowers, like the ones seen everywhere in Grania.
Someone was standing in front of one of the flower boxes and watering them. A few drops missed their mark and splashed onto the ground.
The person had chestnut brown hair and sun tanned skin. Since the sleeves of the fitted linen shirt were rolled up to the shoulders, a bluish, diamond shaped tattoo on the right side immediately caught my eye.
A tattoo I had seen many times before and that made the corners of my mouth twitch upward.
As I drew closer, she turned around. More water sloshed out of the bucket and left a dark stain on the stone floor.
Her dark golden eyes began to shine and a broad grin spread across her face.
At once, Val set the bucket aside, dried her hands on her apron, and hurried the last few steps toward me.
She wrapped me in a tight embrace and said:
"Ah, Nova. How wonderful that you are here!"
A hint of lavender and thyme surrounded her.
"Hi," I murmured into her shoulder.
Val tightened her arms around me even more, making me gasp for air.
"It has been so long since we last saw each other! I am so happy that you came to visit us!" she said in a bright, warm tone.
She released me at once when she noticed I could not breathe, stepped back a little, and rubbed the back of her neck.
"I am sorry, I guess my excitement got the better of me," she apologized with a laugh.
"I do not mind," I replied with a smile.
She turned toward the inn, looked back over her shoulder, and beckoned me over with her hand:
"Come in, come in. I made fresh stew. You must be hungry."
At the thought, my growling stomach tightened slightly.
"Stew sounds good," I replied and followed her.
Since my last visit, Val's inn had truly flourished. Every table was full, all the rooms were occupied, and even additional staff hurried through her kitchen.
Val herself kept getting up now and then during the meal to lend a hand to her employees whenever they fell behind.
At some point, it grew dark outside. The tables gradually emptied.
Val leaned over the table, propped her head on her arm, and looked out the window. Shadows had formed beneath her eyes.
I studied her with a faint ache in my stomach. Hopefully she was not overworking herself. Whenever something was important to her, she tended to push herself a little too hard.
She sighed softly:
"Does not look like Lucian will make it today. He actually wanted to eat with us."
I turned my face toward the window as well, but since the candlelight reflected in the glass, I could not make out anything outside.
After Val mentioned Lucian, I wondered whether he would find a little time for us in the coming days. Since he had begun serving at the palace, one hardly ever saw him. Of course, as his friends we were very proud of him. The palace only took in the best of the best. Still, I would have liked to see him.
Even on my last visits, I had never managed to catch him for more than two hours per stay. If at all. Since then, nearly all of our communication had been limited almost exclusively to letters.
"But that just means I have more of you to myself. Now we can talk properly. That is a nice change from always just writing," she laughed and winked at me.
"Besides, I understand you better in person, since I do not have to spend half an hour deciphering your handwriting first," I teased her.
She leaned back, making the old wooden chair squeak, raised her index finger and said:
"You are quite cheeky. Lucian's handwriting is not much better either."
"Actually, it is," I replied dryly. "He has very neat handwriting."
"Either you are just being mean right now, or he puts in more effort when he writes to you. Whenever he is supposed to write something down for me, I cannot read a thing," she laughed.
She stretched while still seated. Meanwhile, my attention was drawn to a few guests who were leaving the inn. One of Val's employees bid them a friendly farewell before starting to clear the table. He carried so many empty plates into the kitchen that the dishes clattered loudly.
When I looked back at Val the next time, her eyes were already closing. I touched her hand resting on the table, causing her to startle and look around, blinking.
"Not much sleep?" I asked her in a gentle voice.
"I just had a lot on my plate, that is all," she replied.
I pointed at the employee who had just hurried out of the kitchen again to collect the remaining dishes:
"You do not absolutely have to stay up, do you? Can your employee not take care of the rest?"
"Only here for a few hours and you already want to boss my poor employees around," she shook her head and clicked her tongue.
I raised an eyebrow. She laughed:
"Yes, of course he will take care of it. I did not stay awake because of the inn."
"We can continue talking tomorrow," I said, pushed my chair back, and stood up.
"All right then. But you will not get rid of me tomorrow," she gave in and followed my lead.
Val showed me an empty room, then said her yawning goodbyes and trudged off to bed. I waved at her and then closed the door behind me.
The room was nothing special, but it was cozy. There was a bed with a blanket that bore a green floral pattern, a dresser, a bedside table, and a bench that stood directly in front of the room's only window. Like the rest of the inn, the entire room was made of wood and therefore had its very own charm.
I used the free evening to take a long bath. Kindly enough, Val had placed a wooden tub in my room. Even though filling and emptying the tub had been a dreadful chore. Still, it was far better than having to wash myself in the cold river. So I was grateful for it.
A few hours later, I sat down on the bench in front of the window to read.
Normally, one could hear the noise of the city even through the closed window. If only because the house was ancient. Something was always going on in this great city. At least, that had been the case the last time I had stayed overnight at Val's inn.
But on that night, it was unusually quiet. A silence that sent a faint chill down my spine.
One floor below, I caught a few muffled voices, but there no longer seemed to be as many as before my bath. Most of the guests had probably gone home or up to their rooms.
I opened a window. It stuck a little, so I had to give it a jerk to get it open. The pane rattled in the frame. In fright, I nearly bit my tongue. But luckily, it remained intact. A broken window was the last thing I needed.
Cool night air streamed into the small room. I rubbed my arms and was just about to close it again when a shadow detached itself from the darkness between the houses opposite.
A strip of light fell from one of the windows onto the street and caught the moving shadow for the blink of an eye. The outline fit that of a human, and whoever was out there at such a late hour in complete darkness seemed to be running very fast.
The streets in this area were narrow and twisted together, so that no more than a dozen steps lay between us. The person's breathing was heavy, as if after a long run.
At the next corner, two more people joined in, carrying a lantern and hurrying through the night as well. The three of them almost collided.
A deep voice called out:
"Do you want to run us over?! Watch where you are going!"
As the man gesticulated wildly, the lantern in his hand swung back and forth. The light flickered restlessly with his movements.
"Nothing happened. We are all in a hurry because of the curfew," someone else replied. The tone was lighter.
"Please… get… the guards! Quickly!" their counterpart shrilled. The panting nearly swallowed the words.
I froze. The guards? Was there a raid? I stepped back from the window, my hand resting on the frame.
It did not matter. It was none of my concern.
Then I heard the lighter voice ask:
"Oh… Are you not…? What… What is going on?!"
"I-I…," the panting person tried to explain, before visibly flinching. From the sound of it, I could tell it was a woman.
Three more shadows rushed out of the darkness toward her.
One of them ordered in a cutting tone:
"Go home. We will take care of this."
Two of them now slowly approached the woman. She took a few steps back, and one of them grabbed her by the arm.
"No, get the guards! Otherwise they will not leave me alive!" the woman cried and immediately tried to tear herself free.
My fingers clenched so tightly around the window frame that my knuckles stood out white.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, I saw another image before my eyes. One that I tried to suppress. My cries for help that no one had answered. The sheer amount of blood, whose scent had hung heavy and metallic in the air. And then-
I squeezed my eyes shut, braced myself with both hands against the window frame, and took a deep breath.
No. Do not think about it. It is not the same.