I remember the sound of my mother's voice before I remember the sound of fire.
When I was five, nights in Witchfire Hollow were my favorite. The lanterns floated on their own, drifting around our little wooden house like sleepy fireflies, and Mother would sit beside me by the window with an old leather book on her lap. Its pages smelled of smoke and moonlight — the scent of stories that had lived too long.
"Once," she began, brushing her fingers gently through my hair, "there were wizards so powerful they could move the stars themselves. But power, Elara, is never what makes someone great. It's the heart behind it."
I remember leaning closer, eyes wide as her soft glow of magic made the pages shimmer. Tiny lights rose from the book, forming the shape of robed figures surrounded by fire and mist. I gasped and clapped my hands.
"Did the wizards win, Mama?"
She smiled — that kind of smile that hides both truth and sorrow. "No one wins when pride rules the heart. They forgot the ones they called their friends — the witches who shared their power — and from that day, magic itself began to weep."
I frowned. "But they'll be friends again someday, right?"
Mother paused. The lights flickered out.
Her hand trembled just slightly as she closed the book.
"I hope so, little ember," she said softly. "But if they don't… promise me you'll remember who you are. Remember that even one spark can light the dark."
I didn't understand then what she meant. I only knew her voice, her warmth, the soft beat of her heart as I fell asleep in her arms while the night sang outside our window.
——
I remember that evening so clearly — the last time the sun touched Witchfire Hollow.
The sky was painted gold and lilac, and my friends and I ran through the meadow, chasing the little sparks of magic that drifted from the fire lilies. When we caught them, they turned into tiny lights that tickled our fingers before vanishing. We laughed until our stomachs hurt. I thought the world would always sound that way — laughter, warmth, and wind through the trees.
"Race you to the stream!" someone shouted.
I ran barefoot, the grass brushing my legs, my braids bouncing behind me. The stream shimmered like melted silver under the setting sun. I dipped my hands into it, watching ripples chase the reflection of the mountains.
That's when I felt it — the air shifted.
The laughter stopped.
A strange hum rolled through the ground, deep and heavy, like thunder trying to speak. The sky — once soft and golden — bled into a harsh red. One by one, the floating lanterns across the Hollow flickered out.
"Wh-what's happening?" my friend whispered.
Then I heard screams.
The grown wizards and witches began running toward their homes. Spells flared across the sky — flashes of blue and white colliding like stars crashing together. The smell of burning wood and iron filled the air. My heart began to pound.
"Mama," I whispered, turning toward our house. "I have to go home."
I ran. My legs were small, but fear made them faster. Smoke already rose in the distance — I could see it curling above the trees. When I reached our house, the door was open, and the glow of firelight spilled out.
"Mama! Papa!"
I found them in the center of the room. My mother was clutching her spellbook, whispering incantations too fast for me to understand. My father was strapping on his cloak, his shadow magic coiling around his arms like living smoke. Their faces were pale, eyes full of urgency.
"Elara!" my mother gasped when she saw me. She rushed forward, kneeling to my height, holding my face with trembling hands. "You have to stay hidden, do you hear me? No matter what happens—stay silent. Don't move until it's over."
"But what's happening?" I asked, my voice breaking.
My father's voice was steady but dark. "The Mages broke the pact. They're attacking."
I didn't understand. The Mages? The ones from the fairytales? The ones who were supposed to be our allies?
He lifted me and carried me toward the back room, where an old chest sat open — one that hid a hollow beneath the floor. "You'll be safe here," he said, placing me inside. "Close your eyes, my little star."
But I didn't.
Through the crack of the floorboards, I saw them. My mother standing tall, fire magic gathering in her palms, golden and fierce. My father beside her, shadows weaving into shields around them both. Their voices rose together, chanting a spell that made the entire house tremble.
Then the front door exploded.
A wave of blue energy shattered the wood into splinters. The sound made my ears ring. My mother screamed a spell, a torrent of flame bursting forward—but it met something stronger. A cold, white light, unfamiliar and merciless.
The Mages had come.
I couldn't see their faces clearly, only the silhouettes—dark robes, glowing runes on their staffs, eyes that shone like frozen stars. One of them raised a hand, and the fire died instantly, as if the air itself had been stolen.
"Seliora Veyne," one said, his voice deep and cruel. "Your kind should have stayed in the shadows."
My father lunged to protect her. Shadow met light. The blast threw him across the room. I bit my lip hard to stop myself from crying out.
"Papa!"
My mother turned, her face streaked with ash and tears. "Run, Elara!" she shouted.
But I couldn't move. My whole body felt frozen, every heartbeat echoing in my ears. Then another flash — blinding white — and I saw her fall.
Something broke inside me.
The house cracked with magic. Fire raced up the walls. My hiding place shattered as the floorboards splintered. I crawled out, stumbling through smoke and sparks, tears burning my face.
"Mama?" I whispered. "Papa?"
They didn't answer.
The world around me was burning, screams fading into silence. And through it all, I saw the mages' shadows walking through the smoke — tall, calm, and cold as if they hadn't just destroyed everything I loved.
So I ran.
I ran until my lungs burned, until the ground disappeared beneath my feet and the Hollow was only a memory. I didn't know where I was going — only that I had to go, because if I stopped, I'd fall apart.
The night swallowed me whole, and the stars above looked down — quiet, distant, and uncaring.
The rain felt endless.
It fell like the sky itself was crying for Witchfire Hollow.
I kept running, though I could barely see through the blur of rain and tears. My feet slipped in the mud, my dress torn and heavy with water. Every sound made me flinch — thunder, a rustle, the crack of lightning that looked too much like magic.
I didn't know where I was going.
All I knew was that home was gone.
"Mama…" I whispered, my voice lost in the storm. "Papa…"
The rain answered with another cold slap against my skin. I was so small, so tired, and the world suddenly felt too big. My legs gave out, and I fell onto the muddy road.
I remember staring at the sky, at how the lightning painted the clouds silver for a heartbeat, then left everything dark again.
Maybe this was it. Maybe the Mages had won. Maybe I would see my parents soon.
Everything blurred. My body grew heavy, my thoughts softer.
And then — nothing.
---
When I woke, there was warmth.
A strange, golden light touched my face. I gasped, sitting up too quickly — my head pounding as the world came into focus.
I wasn't outside anymore. I was in a bed — a large one with silk sheets and golden embroidery. The air smelled of lavender and polished wood. Curtains of white lace swayed gently beside tall windows, and a chandelier shimmered above me like a constellation of trapped stars.
For a moment, I thought maybe I had died and gone to the stories Mama used to tell me — the ones about the halls of light where kind spirits lived.
But then I touched my arm. It hurt. I was alive.
My heart began to race.
I climbed out of the bed, trembling. My bare feet touched a soft rug instead of dirt. Everything around me looked too beautiful, too clean — too wrong.
There was a table near the bed with a bowl of fruit and a folded towel. A fireplace burned quietly nearby, giving off that same calm warmth that once came from home.
"Where… am I?" I whispered.
Before I could think, the door opened.
I froze.
A man and woman stepped inside. The man was tall, his blond hair tied neatly, his clothes dark blue trimmed with silver. The woman beside him wore a long gown the color of midnight, her hands clasped delicately in front of her. They both smiled when they saw me — but something in their eyes felt sharp, like glass hidden beneath silk.
"Oh, thank the stars," the woman said softly, rushing forward. "You're awake!"
I shrank back instinctively, clutching the blanket.
"Easy, little one," the man said, his voice deep but gentle. "You're safe now. We found you on the road last night, nearly frozen."
The woman knelt to my level, her perfume sweet like roses after rain. "We brought you home. You must've been through something terrible."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat hurt too much to speak.
The man smiled faintly. "We're the house of Velanthor," he said. "I am Duke Arcten Velanthor, and this is my wife, Duchess Lyra Velanthor."
Their names sounded powerful. Familiar. Like the names whispered in the stories — the ones my parents warned me to be wary of.
Mages.
My pulse quickened. My eyes darted to their hands. His ring shimmered faintly with runes. Her necklace pulsed with contained energy. I knew that glow. I'd seen it destroy my home.
The duchess tilted her head gently. "What's your name, sweet child?"
I hesitated. My lips parted, but no words came out. I wanted to scream that I knew what they were — that they had killed everyone I loved — but my voice failed. I was just a five-year-old girl, alone and trembling in their world.
The duke exchanged a look with his wife. "She must be frightened," he said quietly. "We should let her rest."
The duchess reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face. I flinched. Her smile didn't fade.
"Rest now, darling," she whispered. "You're safe here. No one will hurt you."
Her hand lingered for a moment — soft, but cold.
They turned and left the room, their voices fading down the hallway. The moment they were gone, I exhaled shakily and curled up on the bed again. My fingers dug into the blanket as my heart pounded against my ribs.
Safe.
They said I was safe.
But I had seen what Mages could do.
And I knew — deep down — that nothing born of fire and betrayal would ever be safe again.
Maybe if I just sleep again these horrible nightmares will go away... The rain never stopped.
——
When I woke again, the rain had stopped.
The storm was gone, replaced by sunlight streaming through the tall windows, painting the floor with gold. For a moment, I almost forgot where I was. The warmth, the silence — it all felt unreal, like a dream stitched together to hide a nightmare underneath.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up. My head still throbbed, but my body didn't hurt as much anymore. My clothes had been changed into a soft white gown, far too fine for someone like me. The scent of flowers lingered in the air — lilies and something sweet I couldn't name.
That's when it struck me.
They didn't know.
The Duke and Duchess didn't know I was a witch.
If they did… they would've left me on that road to die. Or worse.
I swallowed hard, remembering Mama's voice. "Hide your flame, my little ember. The world fears what it cannot control."
I looked at my hands. No glow. No ember. Nothing. Good. I had to keep it that way.
---
The floor was cold beneath my bare feet as I stood and made my way toward the door. Every step creaked softly, and my heart pounded faster. When I opened it, the hallway beyond almost blinded me with light.
The walls were covered in paintings — portraits of noble faces and tall figures wearing mage robes lined with gold. The carpets were deep crimson, the kind that swallowed sound, and the scent of lavender followed me everywhere.
I wandered through it quietly, afraid to touch anything. The house was enormous — ceilings high enough to hold the clouds, stairs curling downward like a ribbon.
I hesitated at the top of the grand staircase, staring down at a chandelier made of crystal and silver. That's when I heard her voice.
"Elara?"
I turned. The Duchess, Lyra Velanthor, stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her gown shimmered with pale blue silk, and her golden hair caught the sunlight like a crown. Her eyes widened when she saw me out of bed.
"Oh, heavens, you shouldn't be walking yet!" she said quickly, hurrying up the steps.
I stiffened, unsure whether to run or stay. But she didn't seem angry — only concerned. Her hand brushed my shoulder lightly, guiding me downward.
"Come, sweet one," she said. "You must be hungry. Let's not have you fainting again."
Her tone was gentle, almost motherly. I followed silently, my eyes darting around the shining hall as we descended.
Every corner glittered with wealth — golden vases, soft carpets, tapestries depicting ancient battles where mages stood triumphant. I tried not to look too long. The embroidered faces of the defeated witches made my chest tighten.
When we reached the dining room, sunlight poured through tall glass windows, catching the silver utensils and polished wood. A maid curtsied as we passed, whispering something I couldn't hear.
Lyra smiled and motioned for me to sit at the table.
I did, feeling small against the giant chair.
As she poured tea into a delicate cup, she spoke softly, almost to herself. "It's been so long since this house has had a child's voice in it," she murmured. "So long since laughter filled these halls."
I looked up at her. "You don't have a child?"
Her hand paused on the teapot for just a moment before she smiled again — a sad, distant smile. "No," she said. "We tried for many years, but the gods had other plans. So when we found you lying in the rain, I thought… perhaps it was fate."
"Fate?" I echoed, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
"Yes." She knelt beside me, her gown whispering against the marble floor. Her eyes met mine — bright, warm, and so sure. "You were all alone. No parents, no name, no home. We couldn't just leave you there. We thought… maybe the stars sent you to us."
I didn't know what to say. My throat tightened. They thought the stars sent me — but the stars had burned my home.
She reached for my hand. I almost pulled away, but her touch was soft, careful. "We've always wanted a child," she said. "Someone to love. Someone to call our own. Would you let us do that for you, little one?"
My lips parted, but no words came out.
A child's heart doesn't know how to argue with kindness, even when it comes from danger.
"I…" I swallowed, staring at her hand. "I don't understand. Why are you being so nice to me?"
Lyra smiled — bright, almost radiant. "Because, my dear, you deserve kindness. You've suffered enough. Let us take care of you."
Her words should have soothed me. Instead, they made something twist inside my chest — confusion, fear, longing.
I thought of Mama and Papa. Of the flames. Of the Mages.
Of everything I had lost.
But I was five.
Alone.
And the woman before me was offering warmth in a world that had turned cold.
So I nodded. Slowly. Hesitantly. "O-okay…"
Lyra's smile widened with quiet joy. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me close. Her perfume was soft — roses and rain.
"Oh, thank you, darling," she whispered. "You'll never be alone again."
I pressed my face into her shoulder, unable to speak.
But deep down, I knew something she didn't — something I had to keep buried forever.
I wasn't her blessing.
I was her secret.
The last witch, living under the roof of those who destroyed her kind.
I pressed my face into Lyra's shoulder, letting the warmth comfort me, though a small part of me still trembled.
Then she pulled back slightly, brushing wet strands of hair from my face. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled — soft, curious, and almost knowing.
"Elara," she said.
I froze.
My head snapped up. "H-How… how do you know my name?"
Lyra chuckled lightly, the sound like wind chimes caught in sunlight. "Oh, dear little one," she said, crouching down to my level again. "I didn't hear it from you. I… saw it."
"Saw it?" I asked, confusion twisting my small hands into fists.
"Yes." She leaned closer, her gaze dropping to the pendant around my neck — the one I had clutched ever since I woke in this house. The silver charm glimmered faintly, etched with swirling runes. In the sunlight, the letters shimmered, almost like they were alive.
"That necklace," she whispered, touching it carefully with the tips of her fingers. "It has your name. Elara. I could see it."
I blinked, staring at her, unsure whether to feel scared or amazed. "I… I didn't tell anyone my name," I murmured.
Lyra smiled, warm and gentle. "I know, sweet one. The stars, perhaps, or your magic whispered it to me. I only know that it belongs to you."
I swallowed hard, holding the necklace tightly. My fingers felt the runes under my skin, the faint warmth pulsing like a heartbeat.
No one — not the Mages, not the Duke and Duchess — could possibly know my magic. Not yet.
And yet… somehow, she had seen it.
"Your parents… gave it to you, didn't they?" Lyra asked softly.
I nodded. I didn't speak. The memory of Mama's hands, the tiny spark of fire in her smile, burned behind my eyes.
Lyra's expression softened. "Then it is ours to cherish now, just as it was theirs. It carries your story, little one. And stories, when kept safe, are powerful."
I didn't understand what she meant, but something in the tone of her voice — gentle, yet certain — made my chest tighten. She didn't know the whole story, the truth of who I was. Yet she treated me as if I were precious, as if my life mattered.
I looked up at her, my small eyes full of hesitation. "Do… do you really mean it? That you want me?"
Her smile widened. "Oh yes, Elara. You are ours now. And we've waited so long for you."
I nodded again, unsure if it was relief, fear, or both. All I knew was that I had no other choice. I was alone in this world, a small ember of Witchfire in a house that shone like a castle, and I had to survive.
But as Lyra straightened and reached for my hand again, guiding me toward the grand hallway, a quiet thought flickered through my mind:
They think I'm just a child, maybe even a mage… but they don't know the truth. Not yet.
~{ 6 Years Later}~
Six years had passed since that stormy night.
I had grown up under the careful guidance of Lyra and Arcten Velanthor. Their kindness, their patience, and their expectations shaped me into someone the town came to admire. They had nurtured my mind, polished my manners, and encouraged me to study everything a noblewoman of magic could know.
And I had thrived.
Now, at sixteen, I was known as Elara Velanthor, daughter of Arcten and Lyra Velanthor — a young noblewoman whose intellect and grace drew attention wherever I went. My black hair flowed like midnight down my back, my violet eyes catching the sun in the rare moments I dared to look away from my books. People called me refined, poised, even extraordinary. And I tried to live up to it.
The library of the Velanthor estate was my sanctuary. Towering shelves lined the walls, bursting with books on magic, history, politics, and theory. I spent hours reading, taking notes, and questioning every detail. Other girls came to gossip, to flaunt dresses and jewels, but I preferred scrolls and scrollwork.
Even in the heart of the town, I was known for my intellect. Nobles whispered about the "young Velanthor prodigy," while tutors praised my focus and discipline. Yet, as much as people admired me, they never truly knew the world I carried inside — the memory of smoke and fire, the shadows of my real parents, and the ember that refused to die.
Arcten and Lyra had enrolled me in the Mage Academy, a place of learning and social refinement. I was shy at first, untested among other mages, but I quickly adapted. I was careful to hide my true power, mimicking the spells and methods of my classmates. I excelled, impressing both teachers and peers.
And yet… there was a hole that magic could not fill.
I often wandered to the restricted sections of the library, my fingers brushing over leather-bound books filled with mage incantations and alchemy. I knew that somewhere, hidden in dusty corners, there had to be books of witchcraft — the craft my parents had taught me in whispers long ago, the fire that flowed through my veins.
But all I found were books about mages. Their spells, their methods, their pride. There were no whispers of Witchfire, no lessons on the bloodlines that had once burned across the Hollow, no guidance for someone like me.
I closed one particularly thick tome, the pages cold under my fingertips, and stared out the window. The gardens of the Velanthor estate were bathed in sunlight, the fountains shimmering in the morning light. Everything looked perfect, orderly, safe.
But perfection had a cost.
I could feel it in my chest, a tightness that reminded me of the night my parents fell, the screams I had buried under years of etiquette and lessons.
At sixteen, I was still the little girl who had run through the rain, the girl who had clutched her mother's pendant and wished the world could have been different.
I wanted to learn.
Not just the magic of the mages. Not just the rules of noble society.
I wanted my magic back.
Witchcraft. The kind that burned like an ember in my veins, the kind that had been my birthright.
I rose from the table and let my hand linger on the spines of the books. Even in a library full of mage knowledge, even surrounded by the wealth of the Velanthors, I could feel it — the spark waiting for me to notice it.
One day, I would find it. One day, I would reclaim what was mine.
But for now… I focused on my studies, my manners, and the world that everyone else believed I belonged to.
Even as my violet eyes burned with curiosity and fire, I smiled politely, hiding the ember that refused to die.
--
The soft scratch of my quill was the only sound in the study.
I had brought out my diary, a leather-bound journal I had claimed as my own, and was writing down everything I could remember about herbs. Mama had taught me once, a long time ago, how to use them to heal — how to make tea from lavender to calm a fever, how to mix roots and petals into a poultice that soothed cuts.
I wanted to start there. If I could understand the magic of herbs, maybe I could find a way to touch Witchfire again. Maybe I could begin to remember what I had lost.
Lavender, sage, chamomile… I wrote every detail carefully, noting colors, smells, textures. My violet eyes traced the letters as my hand worked, my mind wandering through memories of my mother's gentle voice.
Then, suddenly, the door burst open.
I flinched, my quill falling onto the page with a loud clack. My heart raced, and I jumped to my feet.
"Elara!" Lyra's voice rang through the room, filled with excitement. She stepped inside, her gown swishing as she moved, her face bright and radiant.
I blinked, my chest still tight from surprise. "Lyra… you… you startled me," I murmured, clutching the edge of the desk.
She laughed softly, placing a hand over her heart. "Oh, my dear! I meant no harm. But you will never believe the news I bring!"
I tilted my head, curiosity overcoming my caution. "What news?"
Her eyes sparkled as she handed me a sealed envelope. The wax bore the insignia of the Mage Academy.
"You've been accepted!" she exclaimed. "They wrote this themselves! Elara, I am so proud of you!"
I stared at the envelope, fingers trembling. My chest tightened. Acceptance? A new school? It sounded… exciting, but also terrifying. I wasn't ready. Not fully. My studies of herbs and whispers of Witchfire weren't enough. I didn't know what awaited me there, what magic I might need to hide, or how to survive among mages who would never understand me.
But there was no choice.
I took a deep breath, steadying my hands. "I… I'll go," I said softly.
Lyra clapped her hands together, smiling wider than I had ever seen. "Oh, Elara! You are going to do wonderfully! You must know, this is a place of learning, refinement, and… well, discipline. But you have the mind and spirit to excel!"
I nodded again, still clutching the envelope. "What kind of school is it?" I asked cautiously, curiosity mixing with anxiety.
Lyra's eyes sparkled even more. "It's a Mage Academy, my little star! You'll live there in the dormitories, with other young mages. You'll study spells, alchemy, strategy… and make friends, of course!"
I paused. Dormitories. Roommates. Strangers. Other mages. My stomach tightened.
A roommate. Someone who might see through the mask I had built so carefully.
But I stayed calm. I had to. I couldn't let fear rule me, not now. I had survived worse. I would trust the process.
Lyra's excitement was infectious. She came closer and embraced me, her arms warm around my shoulders. "Elara, my pride cannot be contained! You have grown into such a fine, intelligent, and capable young lady. I know this school will only bring out the brilliance I've seen in you."
I nodded into her embrace, hiding the small tremor in my chest. I wanted to ask questions — about the dormitories, about the roommates, about what if someone suspected my secret — but I held my tongue. For now, I would trust her. For now, I would take the first step.
The Mage Academy awaited.
And I had no choice but to face it.
TO BE CONTINUED~