Fir paused mid-step, rubbing at the stubble sprouting on his chin."…Why are we going to the capital again?"
Donavan slowed his pace, eyes distant."There's someone I need to meet there. It's… very important."
Zanaria, walking alongside Zai, was still catching her breath from the last scuffle. She leaned forward, hands on knees, chest rising and falling in quick, eager gasps. Then she straightened with a grin that stretched ear to ear."…Great! Then we should take a detour."
Fir, Zai, and Donavan all came to a screeching halt and turned to stare.
Zai wiped sweat from his brow."Didn't you say no detours?"
Zanaria waved a dismissive hand, the corners of her mouth twitching into mischief."Forget that rule—ha! This'll be faster, I promise! We'll reach the capital in under twelve hours if we swing by…"
She stopped walking and drew in a long, melodramatic breath—enough to remind everyone she was still very much alive.
Zai tilted his head, curiosity sparking."…Where is this… detour exactly?"
Zanaria's grin widened until it threatened her cheeks. She lifted a hand and traced an elaborate sigil in the dusty road with her fingertip, then looked back at Zai with mock seriousness."You know exactly where we're going, dear student—" she paused for dramatic effect, eyes twinkling,"—to the Covenant of Witches!!"
She marched forward again, voice rising."You're supposed to be impressed! Act impressed—or I'll turn you into frogs!"
__________
"I swear it was here… Come on, which tree was it... this one? No, that one—ugh, nahhh."Zanaria grumbled as she pressed her hand against yet another tree, scanning the dense, quiet forest with narrowed eyes. She moved from trunk to trunk, muttering under her breath, occasionally sniffing the bark like a bloodhound.
The trio—Zai, Fir, and Donavan—stood back, watching in confused silence as Zanaria patted trees like she was inspecting fruit at a market.
Eventually, Zai stepped forward."Uh… Teacher? Wasn't there a password or something? And a locating spell? I remember you made me say it when you brought me here years ago."
Zanaria paused, sighing dramatically."Yes, yes, obviously. But they rotate the entrances now—something about enhanced security ever since that basilisk snuck in and crashed the Solstice Feast."She eyed a tree thoughtfully and rubbed its bark."I know this one hasn't moved. It's gotta be one of these…"
Zai and Donavan, unsure what else to do, exchanged looks… and then, for reasons even they couldn't explain, also started touching trees.
"Guys! I found it! I think... maybe!"Fir's voice cut through the forest. The others turned to see him standing next to a tree that looked—odd. Too smooth. Almost plastic. Its leaves didn't rustle, even in the breeze. It looked like it belonged on a stage set, not in nature.
Zai squinted."That has to be a trap. No way it's that obvious."
"Nope," Fir replied confidently, hands on hips."I don't sense any traps. Feels totally normal. Ms. Zanaria, could you check?"
Zanaria wandered over, giving the tree a skeptical look. Then she placed her palm against it. Her eyes widened.
"This is it!"She began chanting something in a tongue older than kingdoms. The tree shimmered. The forest spun. Reality tilted——and all four of them vanished in a flicker of pale violet light.
They reappeared in a bustling street market.
It was loud. Colorful. Chaotic.
Witches of every kind bustled past—green-skinned, horned, floating, laughing, arguing, or bartering for cursed trinkets, potions, or live frogs that were probably magical.
"Huh. That was it. Neat."Zanaria dusted off her robe and strolled confidently down the street like she owned the place.
Zai stood still for a moment, looking around with a strange expression.He remembered this place.He'd only been here once before, right after Zanaria took him in. It was where she had introduced him to the Covenant—his first glimpse into the strange, terrifying, and oddly warm world of witches.
Donavan scanned the market, awestruck.(I've read about this place... but I never thought it was real. Gods help me, what is this place?)
Fir, meanwhile, sniffed the air like a hungry dog."Mmm… Something smells amazing. We should check it out."He called out with a grin,"Hey Miss Zais—uh, not-mom—we're going to follow this smell! Wanna join us?"
Zai groaned and muttered to himself,"Why did you have to say not-mom out loud…"
Fir just laughed and waved him along.
Zanaria didn't even turn around."Go ahead, I'll catch up… Don't buy anything that screams unless it's at least 50% off!"
Fir shrugged at Zanaria's parting words—he still had no idea what "unless it screams" meant—but his nose led the way. After winding through crooked alleys of the witches' quarter, he stopped in front of a tiny, vine-covered cottage. A thin wisp of steam drifted from the chimney, carrying a rich, savory scent.
On the door, a single sign: a hand-painted roasted frog on a skewer. No words—just that juicy cartoon frog mid-sizzle.
"This must be it," Fir said, tugging the door open. Inside, the warm glow of lantern light spilled over jars of glowing herbs, bubbling kettles, and shelves stuffed with strange, croaking creatures in jars.
Zai froze at the threshold. Something about the place tugged at his memory.
Before he could think, a bearhug knocked the breath from his lungs. A dark-skinned woman, stout and rosy-cheeked, squeezed him so tightly he saw stars.
"Zai! You're back! Oh, my goodness, look how you've grown! Come give Aunty Lula a hug!" she squealed, twirling him until he was dizzy.
Fir rolled his eyes behind Zai's back—of course Zai got the enthusiastic hug first. Donavan raised an eyebrow, thoroughly bewildered by the whirlwind of affection.
Zai finally managed a gasp."Ahh… Ms. Lula, you're already hugging me—could you put me down? I'm going to be sick!" He staggered, clutching his gut.Lula ignored him and pinched his cheeks until they turned rosy."Who are you calling 'Ms.', huh? It's Aunty Lula to you, young man!"
Zai winced, rubbing his cheeks."Mmm… sorry, sorry, Aunty Lula. Please—this hurts a lot!"
Giggling like a child, Lula let go and beamed at him."Oh, you're so precious! Now, come in—try my special frog-on-a-stick stew. It'll warm you right up! And don't worry, I only pinch the cheeks of my favorite apprentices!"
Zai staggered toward a nearby stool, while Fir sniffed the air appreciatively and Donavan cautiously edged inside, eyes darting around for magical traps.
Fir tilted his head, gaze slowly dragging over the woman who'd just spun Zai like a rag doll. Dark skin with a bronze shimmer caught the candlelight like polished mahogany. Her hair—a lush cascade of silvery white curls—tumbled down her back and shoulders, contrasting brilliantly with the deep violet of her off-the-shoulder dress. The dress itself hugged her curves with unapologetic confidence, slitted along the sides and cinched at the waist with a belt made of rune-etched bones. The low neckline teased just enough to short-circuit Fir's thoughts.
Her eyes—sharp and feline, a gleaming amber—watched him .
"...So, uh... who's the lovely lady?" Fir asked, voice cracking slightly as he forced himself to look at her face instead of her everything else. His inner voice screamed I like this. I like this very much.
Zai, still rubbing his cheeks from the attack, nodded."Well, as you probably heard... that's Aunty Lula. She's a witch, just like my teacher. We met years ago. I'm surprised she even remembered me."
Lula, brushing flour from her hands with a practiced flick, waved them toward the table."Now, now! Sit, sit! You have no idea how long I've been sending letters to that stubborn old hag Zanaira, begging her to let you visit. But nooo, she wouldn't part with you for even a second! Hah! So selfish!" she said, resting a hand on her cheek in theatrical exhaustion.
"Anyway, I've been preparing something special just for today! Come on, I'll let you and your little friends try it!"
With a sway of her hips that made Fir's brain reboot, she strutted into the kitchen, immediately busying herself with pots, herbs, and a glowing blue fire under a cauldron.
Donavan, still eyeing the roasted frog sign from earlier, leaned toward Fir and whispered, "It's not, like... frog stew or anything, right?"
Fir scoffed. "What's wrong with frog stew? Frogs are delicious!"
Zai just shrugged. "I'm impartial toward food. Not like I can taste anything anymore."
The room fell silent.
Even Lula froze mid-stir.
"...What?" she asked, still smiling, though her voice dropped a degree.
Zai blinked innocently."Well, Teacher can't cook. Anything she made made me violently ill. So, I used magic to, uh... sort of... kill my taste buds permanently. Haven't tasted a thing in years. Why are you all looking at me like tha—OW! OWOWOW Aunty Lula, PLEASE!"
Lula had seized his cheeks again, pinching harder than before, her teeth bared in an exaggerated motherly fury."You killed your taste buds because that withered kitchen-goblin couldn't boil water properly?! I swear, if I ever see her again I'm going to shove a toad up—Never mind! We're fixing this, right now!"
With a dramatic snap of her fingers, a jar of shimmering, golden fairy honey flew off the shelf and landed in her palm. It glowed faintly, pulsing with warmth.
"Here. This'll fix your tongue. It'll sting like hell, though. Try not to scream too loud."
"Wait—what? Wait, no, hang on—!"
Before he could finish protesting, Lula had jammed a generous spoonful into his mouth.
Zai dropped like a rock.
He convulsed on the floor, groaning and twitching like a man being electrocuted from the inside. Fir nearly panicked—until Zai sat bolt upright, panting.
"Phhww… haah… haah… I... I can taste?!" he gasped, eyes wide in shock. He ran his tongue along his teeth, then smacked his lips. "*Is this what it's supposed to be like?! This is so weird!"
Before he could ramble more, Lula placed a steaming plate in front of him. It looked... ordinary. A creamy stew, some roasted vegetables, a slice of fresh bread.
"Eat it. It's your early birthday gift," she said, her smile now warm and soft.
She handed plates to Fir and Donavan too, then leaned in close behind Zai—close enough to brush against him—and whispered, "Made it just for you, sugar."
Zai took a cautious bite.
Then froze.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Zai...?" Fir asked, his fork halfway to his mouth.
Then the tears fell. An uncontrollable river of sobs poured from Zai's eyes as he sniffled, shook, and openly bawled at the table. Lula stepped forward and wrapped him in a gentle hug, her large hands cradling the back of his head as if he were a child again.
"I'm glad you liked it," she murmured.
Through the crying, Zai managed only one muffled, heart-wrenching word.
"Mom... it tastes like Mom's."
"Alright, alright… just let it out," Lula murmured gently, voice a balm as she rubbed slow, motherly circles on Zai's back. His head rested on her shoulder, body shaking with each sob that escaped him. Tears soaked into the fabric of her dress, but she only pulled him closer, humming a quiet tune from another time.
Fir glanced from his plate to Zai, stunned. He slowly brought a spoonful to his mouth. The flavor hit him like a lightning bolt—warmth, comfort, something forgotten. His eyes widened."That's… b—Brother?" he breathed, barely above a whisper, the word caught between awe and disbelief.
Donavan watched the two, his expression unreadable. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Let's hope I don't get cursed," and lifted a spoonful to his lips.
The taste hit him instantly.
It wasn't comfort. It wasn't home.
It was blood.
Zai's blood.
Donavan choked on the bite, breath hitching as a flood of memory crushed into him like a tidal wave.
A battlefield, soaked in ash and fire.The final fight.Zai—once kind, once human—now twisted into something else. The Star Eater, a glowing monstrosity of power and malice, his eyes burning blue like collapsed stars.Donavan remembered lunging, remembered landing a hit. A deep gash across Zai's side.The blood that sprayed had splattered into his mouth.
It burned like acid. Magic-soaked. Condensed suffering. The taste of a dying universe.
That same wretched flavor now coated his tongue.
He lurched forward, gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood cracked beneath his fingertips. His stomach rolled. He wanted to scream. To vomit. To kill.
Lula noticed the sudden shift in him. She blinked and offered another spoonful, smiling sweetly. "Oh dear… looks like you had a bad one. Take another bite. It'll fix it."
Donavan stared at her. For a moment, all he saw was an obstacle.I could end this now, he thought. Kill them all before he becomes that thing again.
His fingers twitched near the blade at his belt.
But he forced himself to breathe. Swallowed the bile. Controlled the rage. He picked up the spoon, his hand trembling violently, and took another bite—forced himself to swallow.
His eyes slid to Zai, who now looked... distant. Older. His face clean, jaw sharp, eyes neutral—but behind them, kindness flickered like a candle resisting the wind.
Donavan stared into those eyes and asked, voice low, hoarse, "Zai… why did you save me that day? The first battle against the Second Brother's army. I was meant to die. I felt it. So why?"
Zai tilted his head, lips curling into a small smile. He raised a finger, cheerful and oddly oblivious."Well, you're a friend! I always help friends!"
Donavan let out a bitter laugh—hollow, forced. "Right. A friend…"
He reached into his satchel and pulled out his rations. Dried meat. Salted until it felt like chewing leather in a desert. He bit into it, the taste making his mouth go drier.
Zai noticed.
"Here. Try this." He handed Donavan a small silver flask. "Made it a while back. Never got to test it."
Donavan looked at the flask warily, then uncorked it and sniffed. The scent was soft and warm—honey, clover, a hint of sunlight. He took a sip. Sweetness flooded his senses, then something deeper—energy, warmth curling through his veins.
"That's holy honey," Zai said cheerfully. "Took a while to make, but it boosts stamina and keeps you from tiring. Useful in long fights."
Donavan stared at the flask.
"Thanks… friend," he replied.
But even as he said it, the word burned in his mouth like a lie.
The memory was too strong.
Blood. Screams. The corpses of allies. Of lovers. Of family.Of his wife. His child.
All strewn in the aftermath of Zai's betrayal. And those same eyes—those dead, glowing inhuman eyes—looking down at him as if he were already forgotten.
Donavan's hands clenched beneath the table until his knuckles bled. The spoon trembled in his grip. His breathing came shallow, ragged.
Without another word, he stood.
And walked out.
The cottage door creaked as it opened, then slammed shut behind him with finality. The scent of Lula's hearth was replaced by the cold bite of forest air. He stood beneath a crooked tree, fists clenched, shoulders shaking—not with cold, but fury barely held in check.
The wind howled.
And in the back of his mind, the voice whispered again.
"He'll do it again."
_____________
Outside Lula's cottage...
Donavan stood beneath the twisted branches of a crooked tree, trying to steady his breath, but his lungs felt tight, like iron bands were crushing his ribs. His hands trembled—not from cold, but from the ache of memory and the sheer weight of fear.Fear of Zai.Fear of what Zai would become.
The Star Eater.
The thing that tore the stars from the sky and carved death into every breath of the world.
Donavan's hand drifted to the sword at his hip—his only solace in a time that was not yet his own. It wasn't the holy blade, not yet. That sword—the one that could sever even fate—still waited for him in a future he prayed never came.
He gripped the hilt tightly, like a man clinging to a lifeline in a storm.
Behind him, soft footsteps.
"Hmm… that was surprising," Lula said, voice lilting like a song but touched with concern. She held a plate in one hand, the other resting lightly on her hip. "I've never seen anyone get two bad memories back-to-back. That's rare."
She held the plate out to him, smiling gently.
"Just try another bite, sweetie. I promise, this one's good. Not for your tongue—but for your mind. Chef's guarantee, cross-my-heart on the How-To." Her wink was playful, but her eyes were gentle. Knowing.
Donavan stared at the plate. His vision blurred. He didn't even remember taking it—but he ate. Fast. Desperate.
He didn't chew. He didn't savor.
He just swallowed, plate clean in seconds.
Lula stared at him in horror, blinking. "…That's not how it's meant to be eaten, dear."
Elsewhere... another time... another world.
Moonlight bathed the hilltop in a silvery glow, where Donavan sat in full battle armor, holy sword driven into the earth beside him like a headstone. He stared at the stars—quiet, vigilant, haunted.
A soft rustle.
Henrietta, radiant in her simple linen robe, came to sit beside him. Her stomach was full and round with life. She leaned gently into him, her presence calming like a warm blanket in winter.
He wrapped an arm around her, pressing his cheek to her hair. His hand moved to her belly, slow and tender.
"And how's our little hero doing in there?" he asked with a soft chuckle.
Henrietta huffed. "Who knows? If he's anything like his father, he'll be stubborn and loud."
Donavan chuckled again—short, tired.
She turned her head toward him. "What's bothering you, Don?"
He was silent for a long time before speaking, voice strained and low.
"It's... Zai. He took a quest from the guild. Said it was just an old dungeon. But when he came back, he wasn't the same. He didn't even speak much. He just... looked at me."He paused."And his eyes… his eyes didn't look like Zai anymore. There was fear. Anger. Grief. And something else—like something was trapped in there. Screaming."
Henrietta was quiet, listening.
"I don't know what he saw. But it broke something in him. I—can you check on him? You're the best healer I know. And… he's my friend."
Henrietta frowned but nodded. "I'll try. You're right, we don't get along, but if something's wrong with him, I'll find out."
She turned to the sky, stars glittering in the darkness above.
But then her voice caught in her throat.
"…Donavan?"
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"Open your eyes," she whispered, rising to her feet. "Donavan, open your eyes—what's happening?!"
He opened them.
And the world stopped.
The stars were vanishing.
One by one, they winked out of existence like candles in the wind, swallowed by something vast, cold, and ancient. Even the moonlight faded, leaving only pitch.
A darkness that shouldn't be.
A darkness that hated.
The kind that left silence screaming in your ears.
No one understood what it meant back then. But a few did. A precious few.
And they began to prepare.
But it wasn't enough.
Morning never came.
The sun was gone. No light. No warmth.Only cold.
Crops withered. Rivers froze. The wind howled like a dying god.The mages, witches, and wizards poured their souls into keeping the world alive.
But they, too, vanished—one by one, consumed by the inevitable.Fir disappeared while searching for answers. And what he found was worse than death:
It was Zai.
Zai had done it.
He had killed the sun.He had murdered the stars.And in the silence of space, in the corpse of a world floating without light, Fir died screaming.
After that, only a handful remained—Donavan, Henrietta, and a few desperate souls clinging to hope like ash.
Until it was only Donavan and Zai—On a shattered chunk of earth drifting through the void, surrounded by the frozen remnants of a universe that once was.
And Donavan failed.
Failed so utterly, so spectacularly, that even the unbreakable holy sword—blessed by gods, forged by angels—was shattered in his hands.
Henrietta's body, lifeless and cold, rose to shield him one last time.
Even in death, she saved him.
She gave him one final gift:
A chance.
She sent him back—through time, through pain, through death itself—so he could fix his mistake.
And now, here he was.And he had done nothing.He had let Zai live.
_________________
"Oh dear…" Lula whispered, her smile fading. "I hope your friend's okay... The stew was only meant to bring back good memories, not—"
She froze.
Zai slumped forward—unconscious, body collapsing into hers like a marionette with cut strings.
Then Fir followed, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Lula's eyes widened, and her voice cracked into a scream."No—no no no—gods damn it! It's that old hag! How dare she—in my home?!"
She turned toward the shadows."Farya! Show yourself!"
But before anyone could respond, the door exploded inward.
Zanaria stormed in, robes flaring, eyes glowing bright purple, her voice a blade."I just felt my students collapse—Lula, you have five seconds to explain before I rip your soul in half."
Lula shouted, pointing toward the back room."It's Farya! That witch! She hijacked my memory spell—twisted it! Look, I didn't mean for this! Help me fix it!"
Zanaria didn't hesitate. She dashed through the cottage, her boots slamming against the wood, and flung the door open.
And there she was.
Lula?
No—something wrong.The second "Lula" turned, her smile grotesque. Her body shimmered, warping—skin twisting, hair bleeding into sickly light pink, features deforming into a small, delicate face with enormous glassy eyes and a mouth that looked less like lips and more like a beast's maw.
She grinned."Oh, Zanny, you found me!" she said in a childlike, sing-song voice. "I just wanted to see something interesting. And look what I found… your dear little students."
Zanaria's magic flared dangerously, cracking the walls with pressure."What. Did. You. Do."
Farya twirled, delighted."I put them in a dream. A race. First one back gets a reward!"She licked her lips."And I wanted new flavors."
Zanaria raised her hand. The air around her turned sharp and burning. She was ready to strike—ready to kill.
And then—
She collapsed.
Zanaria's dream…
A quiet rocking chair.
An old gray-haired woman swayed back and forth in the dim light.
Behind her stood a man—blurry, barely visible.
"Where should we go next?" the man whispered.
Then he vanished.
"Zanny!" he called again from the void, "I just got promoted at the guild! We can finally buy a house!"
More echoes. His voice scattered through the air like wind chimes in a storm.
Zanaria stared at the scene, hollow.
"…Shut up," she whispered. "It's been two hundred years. I don't remember your voice. Not your face. Not your laugh. Nothing."
She stood slowly."I failed to bring you back. I let you rot in my grief. So go. Just… go to heaven, you bastard."
And then, her eyes snapped open—back in the real world. She was face-to-face with Farya again.
"Boo! Too fast!" Farya pouted, grinning wide. "Where's the drama?"
Zanaria said nothing. If she moved, if she attacked—Farya might kill him. Her student.She could sacrifice Fir and Donavan. She'd done worse.
But… not him.
Not this one.
She clenched her fists.And said nothing.
_________________
Fir pressed a handful of snow to his lips, trying to keep his breath from fogging. The forest around him was deathly silent, draped in white and full of shadows.
Today was his tenth birthday.
His father had sent him to kill a Snow Stalker alone.A rite of passage.A death sentence.
He followed faint prints in the snow—bow ready, poisoned arrow nocked. His heart pounded. His breath was tight.
Then—
Crack.
Too late.
The beast had been stalking him. It had been above him the whole time—blended into the trees.
It lunged.
Fir screamed, ran, dodging through snow and trees, leading it toward a trap. Behind him, the beast thundered, hideous with its grotesque limbs—two thick, muscular arms, and two smaller ones, sharp like blades.
The first trap worked.
Boulders crashed down, crushing its main arms—but it didn't slow. It shrieked, a sound that shattered the forest silence.
Fir fired blind.
An arrow struck its eye. It shrieked again, rearing back.
Fir loosed another—straight into its skull.
He barely had time to breathe—
Another stalker hit him.
His body folded with a sickening crunch.
He coughed blood, and when he looked up…
His brother, Feyor, stood between him and the beast.
Feyor's chest was impaled by the stalker's claw. He smiled despite the blood in his mouth.
"What's wrong, Fir? Cat got your tongue? C'mon… it's time to kill this thing, little brother."
Fir stared, paralyzed.
"Why…?" he whispered. "Why did you come? You know what Father says… If I die, I die. No one interferes."
Feyor laughed weakly. "Because I'm your brother, you idiot. I'd be damned if I let you die like this."
Fir couldn't understand.
Father said dying in battle was honor. It was glory.Interfering was weakness.
Was Feyor stealing his honor?
He didn't know.
He just knew that when it was over, and Feyor lay dead…
Their father stood over the mangled corpse of the two Snow Stalkers, cold eyes unreadable.
"You succeeded," he said flatly. "Mount the heads. You are a hunter now."
Not a single word about Feyor.
Not grief. Not pride. Not even anger.
Fir nodded.
Later, he sat beside Feyor's grave. Among the many.
He opened a storybook and began to read aloud."Long ago... in a land beyond the mountains…"
Like Feyor used to.Every night.
The next morning, Fir ate breakfast beside the grave. He spoke to it like Feyor was still there.
For four years, he did this.Ate next to Feyor.Slept beside the grave.Read stories into the dark.
But Feyor never answered.
Because he was dead.
And it was Fir's fault.