In daylight, these trees possess a different kind of beauty. The sunlight filters through the long, sweeping branches of the willows, and the typically dark leaves catch the rays, sparkling in response. This play of light creates a visual effect similar to water cascading through the branches.
I walk slowly, taking in the sights and trying to processeverything. Chepi dashes ahead of me, pausing intermittently to investigate intriguing scents before trotting off again. “Don’t go too far,” I call out to him, his quick yip in response barely reaching my ears. The Black Forest isn’t safe, which is partly why I chose it for solitude—it’s unlikely anyone would venture here casually.
As I walk, the weight of Kaine’s actions presses on my mind. I can’t believe he’s attempting to bring Samael back to power, and that flyer...spreading fear and distrust about me. How can I convince my people that I mean to do right by them when I struggle to control my own dark magic? I want to use it for good, but each time I do, I fear the increasing risk of losing myself to it. Losing control when anger strikes is a dangerous gamble. I don’t want to harm anyone, despite the council deserving their fate plotting my death right in front of me.
I sigh, my boots kicking up dust as I meander along the path. Perhaps the answer lies in confronting this directly—maybe I need to stop listening to the fears of others and start embracing my dark magic more openly. With more usage, perhaps I can achieve finer control over it. The thought of unleashing it right now is dangerously enticing. The power is intoxicating, seductive.
I can almost feel the dark energy pulsing, eager to be called upon. It’s a part of me, after all. Harnessing it fully could either be my salvation or my downfall, but shying away from it hasn’t helped. Maybe it’s time to let the darkness show me the way.
I must have been walkingfor hours now, and it’s somewhat surprising that neither Nyx nor Colton has appeared to shepherd me back home. Perhaps they saw my note and decided to grant me the space I requested—shocking, really. Chepi freezes ahead, and I halt instinctively, tuning my senses to match his alertness. Faintly, the sound of voices drifts over the murmur of running water. Gods, we have ventured all the way to the river that travels the outskirts of the Black Forest, and across it lies Alchem Hollow.
I shiver as I recall my first visit here, and the haunting words from the goddess of darkness and shadows that the seer relayed to me still echo in my mind. “Choose wisely, and you’ll harness the darkness in unprecedented ways. Yet a wrong choice will lead the darkness to consume you—and doom all.” The memory still bothers me. Thanks, Ryella. How am I supposed to know what the right choices are?
Visiting the seer isn’t on my agenda today, but the thought of a drink to ease the tension sounds appealing. “Let’s pay a visit to The Crystal Chalice, Chepi,” I say, and he darts back toward me and leaps into my arms with his typical enthusiasm.
I channel us to outside the town across the river, emerging near the familiar cobblestone streets that lead to the tavern. Chepi trots contentedly beside me as we weave through the vibrant village. The streets are bustling with life, and the path is illuminated by colorful lanterns floating overhead, leading us like beacons through the familiar marketplace. The air is fragrant with the aroma of burning incense and herbs, a scent that evokes a nostalgic comfort. Despite the shit that has shadowed my recent days, the Sorcerer Realm holds an irreplaceable spot in my heart.
I imagine it always will, no matter where I end up.
As we stroll, I can’t help but pause to peer into the windows of the shops we pass. Each display of books, potions, and mystical artifacts calls to a part of me that yearns for the days when I could indulge in such simple pleasures for the sheer joy of it. Fun—something that seems like a distant memory amid the chaos of my current life. Although I’m notsure I’ve ever had very much fun ever. My mother would never have let me come to this village as a child.
Before long, the familiar façade of The Crystal Chalice looms ahead. Its large sign is a welcome sight, and I read the words written beneath it aloud to Chepi, who looks up with perked ears. “Known for our magical performances and drinks that play tricks on the senses.” I chuckle softly, glancing down at him. “That sounds exactly like what we need, doesn’t it, boy?”
The promise of a momentary escape into the world of magical illusions and sensory delights feels right. As we approach the entrance, the sound of laughter and music spills out into the street, pulling us into the warm embrace of the tavern.
As I glance around, a live band plays energetically, setting the rhythm for people dancing amidst a cascade of different-colored lights. The smoke hangs thick and heavy like fog on the ground, adding a delightful, otherworldly touch to the tavern’s ambiance. I make my way through the crowd to the bar and choose a seat toward the quieter end, away from the direct bustle of the stage. Chepi hops onto a stool next to me and sits.
As Chepi and I settle into our seats, a bartender with striking blue spiky hair approaches us immediately. “What can I get you?” he asks, his tone friendly yet brisk.
I stutter, momentarily unsure of the menu options. “Anything strong will do for me, and could you get water for my pet? Also, do you have any snacks he might like?” I inquire, hoping to treat Chepi as well.
“Honestly, the only thing we have to eat here that won’t alter your senses are the meat pies,” he replies.
“Perfect. One meat pie as well, please,” I say, relieved to have something simple for Chepi.
The bartender nods and walks to the end ofthe bar, where he speaks through a small window that I assume leads into the kitchen. I watch him skillfully combine several bottles into a mixer and vigorously shake the contents before pouring it into a tall glass and adding a few ice cubes that glow pink.
Returning to us, he sets down a meat pie and a bowl of water for Chepi, who perks up immediately at the sight of his treat. He then places the tall pink drink in front of me with a grin. “This is called Blind Punch,” he announces.
“Why is it called that?” I ask, wary of the name.
“Because it’s so strong you won’t be seeing much for long after you drink it,” he laughs then moves off to assist another customer.
As I take a cautious sip of the Blind Punch, the potent flavors hit me instantly. It’s delicious and fruity, but I can tell it’s dangerous because I can’t really taste the alcohol.
Chepi starts munching on his pie, and I sip on my drink, allowing the rhythm of the music to sway me gently. Before I realize it, I’m on my third drink, and a sense of ease begins to wash over me. I feel freer than I have in a long time—warm, relaxed, and somewhat detached from the usual burdens that weigh me down. This drink is like magic, exactly what I need.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that it’s been a while since I last ate. I order another meat pie, savoring the crust and potatoes, and share the meaty chunks with Chepi, who seems equally grateful for more food. As I eat, I become aware of the time slipping past. It’s already past three in the afternoon, and I haven’t yet figured out where I’m going to spend the night. The tavern, with its dim lighting and cozy ambiance, makes it easy to forget the passage of time.
Returning to Drew’s hive is not an option I’m willing to consider right now, and the castle in Tempest Moon is off limits for obvious reasons. Lost in thought, I’m startled when a hand clamps onto my shoulder, turning me around in my chair.
“Hey, I recognize you,” a man says, his face uncomfortably close to mine.
The sudden contact snaps me back to reality, and I tense up, my mind racing with possible scenarios. Who is this man? Does he know me from the flyers Kaine has distributed, or is there another reason for his recognition? I need to tread carefully, especially here in a place where I thought I could blend in unnoticed.
“I don’t think so,” I reply swiftly, my eyes darting over the man’s features to gauge any hint of his intentions. He’s definitely a sorcerer—tall and lanky with a neatly trimmed beard and unusually bushy eyebrows. My gaze fixates on those eyebrows a moment too long, which seems to tighten his grip on my shoulder.
“Lyra Lewis, destined to be queen. Well, not if I have anything to say about it,” he declares, his tone harsh as he yanks me off the stool. My feet hit the floor, and I wobble unsteadily, a clear sign I’ve indulged too much in the tavern’s potent offerings.
