The autumn breeze whispered through the golden wheat fields, carrying with it the earthy scent of fallen leaves and ripe apples. Mira Hawthorne breathed deeply, savoring the familiar smells of harvest time as she made her way along the winding path that led into the dense forest bordering Willowbrook Village. Her woven basket swung gently at her side, already half-full with bundles of herbs and wild mushrooms.
As the herbalist for their small community, Mira knew every plant and fungus that grew in these woods. She could identify them by sight, smell, and sometimes even by the way the air felt different around certain species. It was a gift, her grandmother always said, passed down through generations of Hawthorne women.
The trees grew thicker as Mira ventured deeper into the forest, dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. She hummed softly to herself, eyes scanning the forest floor for the telltale signs of goldenseal - a rare herb she needed for old Mr. Hobson’s arthritis tonic.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and Mira paused. A few yards ahead, a young deer had frozen mid-step, its large eyes fixed on her. For a moment, they regarded each other in silence. Then the deer bounded away, disappearing into the underbrush with a flash of white tail.
Mira smiled to herself and continued on. It was in moments like these that she felt most at peace, surrounded by the quiet life of the forest. Here, far from the bustle of the village, she could almost forget the whispers and sidelong glances that still followed her sometimes. Being different wasn’t always easy in a place as small as Willowbrook.
As she rounded a large oak tree, something glinted in the leaf litter. Mira knelt, brushing aside the moldering leaves to reveal a smooth, flat stone about the size of her palm. Intricate spirals and angular shapes had been etched into its surface, the grooves filled with a substance that shimmered faintly in the dappled light.
“Well, what do we have here?” Mira murmured, carefully lifting the stone. It was heavier than she expected, and a strange warmth seemed to radiate from it. She turned it over in her hands, tracing the unfamiliar symbols with her fingertips. A shiver ran down her spine.
The snapping of a twig nearby made Mira start. She quickly slipped the stone into her pocket and stood, heart racing. But it was only Finn Oakley, the village blacksmith, emerging from between two birch trees with an armload of firewood.
“Mira!” he called, grinning broadly. “Didn’t expect to find you this far out. Gathering for your potions again?”
Mira relaxed, returning his smile. She and Finn had been friends since childhood, and his steady presence always put her at ease. “You know me,” she replied. “Never can resist the call of the forest. What brings you out here?”
Finn hefted the bundle of wood. “Ma needed more for the hearth. Thought I’d take a walk while I was at it - it’s a beautiful day.”
They fell into step together, Finn regaling Mira with the latest village gossip as they made their way back toward Willowbrook. She half-listened, her mind still on the strange stone hidden in her pocket. Something about it felt significant, though she couldn’t say why.
As they neared the edge of the forest, the trees thinned and gave way to rolling fields dotted with grazing sheep. The village itself lay nestled in the valley below, a collection of thatched-roof cottages and winding cobblestone streets. Smoke curled from chimneys, and Mira could just make out tiny figures moving about their daily business.
“Oh, did you hear?” Finn said suddenly. “There’s a stranger in town. Arrived yesterday on horseback, all the way from the city if you can believe it.”
Mira raised an eyebrow. Visitors were rare in their remote village, especially this late in the season. “Do you know why they’ve come?”
Finn shrugged. “Not sure. But I hear he’s been asking around about local legends and such. Bit of an odd fellow, by all accounts.”
As they entered the village proper, Mira could sense a buzz of excitement in the air. Small groups of people stood gossiping in doorways and at market stalls, their voices pitched low but animated. She caught snatches of conversation as she passed:
“…handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on…” “…said he’s some kind of scholar…” “…asking about the old stories, you know the ones…”
Mira and Finn exchanged a look. It seemed the newcomer had already made quite an impression.
“I’d better get this wood home to Ma,” Finn said. “Will you be at the tavern later? I have a feeling everyone will want to get a look at our mysterious visitor.”
Mira nodded, though she felt a twinge of reluctance. Large gatherings still made her uncomfortable sometimes. But curiosity won out - she wanted to see this stranger for herself.
As Finn headed off with a wave, Mira made her way to her small cottage on the outskirts of the village. The familiar scent of dried herbs and wood smoke greeted her as she pushed open the door. She set her basket on the worn wooden table and began sorting through her day’s harvest.
The stone seemed to burn in her pocket, demanding attention. Mira pulled it out, turning it over in her hands once more. The symbols seemed to shift and dance in the dim light of her cottage. What could they mean? And why did she feel so drawn to this strange object?
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. Hastily, Mira tucked the stone into a drawer and called out, “Come in!”
The door creaked open to reveal her grandmother, Esther. The older woman’s face was creased with a worried frown. “Mira, dear. I’m glad I caught you. There’s something we need to discuss.”
Mira’s heart sank. She recognized that tone - it usually preceded one of her grandmother’s lectures about being more careful, fitting in better with the village. She loved Esther dearly, but sometimes the constant caution wore on her.
“What is it, Gran?” she asked, gesturing for Esther to take a seat at the table.
Esther settled into a chair with a sigh. “I suppose you’ve heard about our visitor?”
Mira nodded. “Finn mentioned him. A scholar of some kind, looking into local legends?”
“That’s what he claims,” Esther said, her voice tight with barely concealed worry. “But Mira, I need you to be careful. There’s something… not right about this man. I can feel it in my bones.”
Mira frowned. Her grandmother had always been intuitive, but this level of suspicion was unusual. “What do you mean? Has he done something?”
Esther shook her head. “No, nothing like that. He’s charming, by all accounts. But there are things about this village - about our family - that outsiders shouldn’t know. Promise me you’ll keep your distance, Mira. Don’t tell him anything about… well, about the old ways.”
The “old ways” - Esther’s term for the herbal knowledge and intuitive gifts that ran in their family line. Mira had grown up learning to hide this part of herself from most of the villagers. Even now, many regarded her abilities with a mixture of awe and unease.
“I’m always careful, Gran,” Mira assured her. “You know that.”
Esther reached across the table to clasp Mira’s hand. “I know, dear. You’re a good girl. Just… be on your guard. Something’s coming, I can feel it. And I’m afraid this stranger might be at the heart of it.”
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the village square, Mira made her way to the Prancing Pony tavern. The warm glow of lanterns spilled from its windows, and the sound of laughter and conversation drifted out into the crisp evening air.
She hesitated at the door, smoothing down her simple dress and taking a deep breath. Her grandmother’s warning echoed in her mind, but curiosity won out. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.
The tavern was more crowded than Mira had ever seen it. It seemed half the village had turned out, all clustered around one table near the back. As she made her way through the press of bodies, conversations hushed and heads turned. Mira felt the familiar prickle of discomfort at being the center of attention, if only for a moment.
Then she caught sight of the stranger, and everything else faded away.
He sat at the center of the group, a tankard of ale in one hand as he gestured animatedly with the other. Wavy dark hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes - a startling shade of green - crinkled at the corners as he laughed at something someone had said.
As if sensing her gaze, the man looked up. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Mira felt a jolt like lightning run through her. For a moment, the noise of the tavern seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.
The stranger’s eyes widened slightly, a look of recognition - or was it surprise? - flashing across his face. Then he smiled, a slow, charming grin that made Mira’s breath catch in her throat.
“Ah, and who might this be?” he called out, his voice carrying easily over the din of the tavern. “Another of Willowbrook’s lovely residents, come to satisfy her curiosity about the mysterious outsider?”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Mira felt her cheeks grow warm as all eyes turned to her once more.
“This is Mira Hawthorne,” old Mrs. Tinker piped up from nearby. “Our resident herbalist. If you’re feeling under the weather, she’s the one to see!”
The stranger’s eyebrows rose with interest. “An herbalist? How fascinating. I’d love to hear more about your work, Miss Hawthorne. Perhaps you could tell me about some of the local plants and their uses?”
Mira hesitated, her grandmother’s warning ringing in her ears. But the man’s smile was so warm, his interest seemingly genuine. Surely there was no harm in discussing common herbs?
“I’d be happy to,” she found herself saying. “Though I’m afraid my knowledge is rather limited compared to some.”
The stranger waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense! I’m sure you’re being modest. Please, join us. I’m Caleb Thorne, by the way. A humble scholar of folklore and local traditions.”
As if by magic, the crowd parted to make room for Mira at the table. She slid onto the bench across from Caleb, acutely aware of his intense gaze upon her.
“So, Miss Hawthorne,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me - what brought you to the study of herbs? It’s not a common calling for a young woman in these parts, I’d imagine.”
Mira chose her words carefully. “It runs in my family, actually. My grandmother taught me everything I know.”
Caleb’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ah, passed down through generations! That’s exactly the sort of tradition I’m here to study. I don’t suppose your grandmother would be willing to share some of her knowledge with me?”
A prickle of unease ran down Mira’s spine. “I’m afraid Gran doesn’t much care for strangers,” she said lightly. “She’s rather set in her ways.”
Caleb nodded, looking disappointed but not surprised. “A shame. But perhaps you could tell me a bit about the local folklore? I’ve heard whispers of some rather intriguing legends in these parts.”
Mira felt the weight of the villagers’ eyes upon her. She knew the stories they told - tales of faerie rings and will-o’-the-wisps, of crops that grew overnight and animals that spoke with human voices. But these were more than just stories to her family. They were warnings, passed down through generations, of the thin veil between this world and the next.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about that sort of thing,” she said with an apologetic smile. “You’d do better to ask some of the older folks. They love a good tale.”
Caleb’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment Mira thought she saw a flash of frustration in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I wouldn’t want to put you on the spot. But I do hope we’ll have a chance to speak more during my stay. I find myself quite intrigued by you, Miss Hawthorne.”
Mira felt her cheeks grow warm once more. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again,” she managed to say. “Willowbrook isn’t a very big place, after all.”
As the night wore on, Mira found herself drawn into conversation with Caleb and the other villagers. Despite her initial reservations, she had to admit he was charming company. He had a way of making everyone feel at ease, of drawing out stories and memories they might not otherwise have shared.
But even as she laughed at his jokes and marveled at his tales of far-off places, Mira couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Caleb Thorne than met the eye. Every so often, she would catch him watching her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. And sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, a shadow seemed to pass over his handsome features - a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface.
As the tavern began to empty out, Mira made her excuses and slipped away into the cool night air. Her head was spinning, and not just from the single tankard of ale she’d nursed all evening. She needed time to think, to sort out the jumble of emotions and impressions swirling through her mind.
The stone in her pocket seemed to pulse with warmth as she walked home, a constant reminder of the strange events of the day. As Mira climbed into bed that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something momentous was about to happen - something that would change Willowbrook, and her life, forever.
In the days that followed, an unseasonable chill settled over Willowbrook. Mist clung to the fields each morning, refusing to burn off even as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The villagers muttered amongst themselves, casting worried glances at their crops. This close to harvest time, an early frost could spell disaster.
Mira found herself busier than ever, brewing tonics to ward off autumn colds and gathering the last of certain herbs before the frost could claim them. But even as she went about her usual routines, she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her since the night at the tavern.
Caleb Thorne seemed to be everywhere she turned. She would catch glimpses of him deep in conversation with the village elders, or see him striding purposefully toward the edge of the forest. More than once, she could have sworn she felt his eyes on her as she worked in her garden or made her way through the village square.
It was on one such morning, as Mira knelt in her herb garden carefully harvesting chamomile flowers, that she heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. She looked up to find Caleb approaching, a genial smile on his face.
“Good morning, Miss Hawthorne,” he called out. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”
Mira straightened, brushing dirt from her hands. “Not at all,” she replied, though her heart had begun to race. “What brings you out this way?”
Caleb’s eyes roamed over her garden, taking in the neat rows of plants. “I was hoping to speak with you, actually. Your knowledge of local flora is quite remarkable, from what I’ve gathered. I wondered if you might be willing to show me some of the more… interesting specimens in the area?”
Mira hesitated. Every instinct told her to be cautious, to keep her distance as her grandmother had warned. But another part of her - a part that had always longed for someone who truly understood her gifts - whispered that this might be her chance to finally be herself around someone.
“I suppose I could show you a few things,” she said slowly. “Though I’m not sure how interesting you’ll find them.”
Caleb’s smile widened. “I assure you, I find everything about this place fascinating. Especially the things that others might overlook.”
They set off toward the forest, Mira leading the way along familiar paths. As they walked, Caleb peppered her with questions about the various plants they passed. His knowledge was impressive, and Mira found herself relaxing as they discussed the medicinal properties of different herbs.
But as they ventured deeper into the woods, Caleb’s questions began to take on a different tone. He asked about local legends, about places in the forest that were said to be haunted or magical. Mira answered as vaguely as she could, but she could sense his growing frustration.
Finally, as they paused in a small clearing, Caleb turned to her with an intensity that made her take a step back. “Mira,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I know there’s more to this place - to you - than meets the eye. I’ve seen the way the villagers look at you, the whispers that follow you. You’re different, aren’t you? Special.”
Mira’s heart pounded in her chest. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come.
Caleb took a step closer, his green eyes boring into hers. “You can trust me,” he said softly. “I understand what it’s like to be different. To have abilities that others fear or don’t understand. I want to help you, Mira. To show you that you’re not alone.”
For a moment, Mira wavered. The longing to be understood, to be accepted for who she truly was, nearly overwhelmed her. But then she thought of her grandmother’s warning, of the strange stone hidden away in her cottage. She thought of the mist that clung to the fields, of the unnatural chill in the air.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking another step back. “But I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just an ordinary herbalist, nothing more.”
A flash of anger crossed Caleb’s face, so quick Mira almost missed it. Then his features smoothed into a mask of concern. “Of course,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should head back to the village.”
As they made their way back, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Mira’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the strange shimmer in the air ahead of them.
She blinked, thinking it must be a trick of the light. But no - there it was again. A faint, silvery distortion, like heat rising from sun-baked stones. And beyond it…
Mira gasped. For just a moment, she could have sworn she saw another forest overlaid on their own. A forest of impossibly tall trees with silver bark and leaves that glowed with an inner light. Strange, ethereal creatures flitted between the branches, their forms too alien to comprehend.
Then she blinked, and it was gone. The familiar trees of Willowbrook’s forest surrounded them once more.
“Did you see that?” she breathed, forgetting for a moment her wariness of Caleb.
But when she turned to look at him, his face was impassive. “See what?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Mira hesitated. Had she imagined it? But no - she could still feel the lingering tingle of magic in the air, could still see the afterimage of that strange, shimmering world when she closed her eyes.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just… a trick of the light, I suppose.”
Caleb regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure that’s all it was.”
But as they continued on toward the village, Mira could feel his eyes on her back. And she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to her core, that things in Willowbrook were about to change forever.
The next few days passed in a blur of activity and growing tension. The unseasonable chill persisted, and whispers of crop failure began to circulate through the village. Mira found herself working long hours, brewing strengthening tonics for the plants and soothing teas for frayed nerves.
But even as she went about her work, Mira couldn’t shake the memory of what she’d seen in the forest. She found herself looking for that silvery shimmer everywhere she went, half-hoping and half-dreading that she might catch another glimpse of that otherworldly realm.
Caleb, too, seemed to be everywhere. He had ingratiated himself with many of the villagers, offering to help with harvest preparations and regaling them with stories in the evenings. But Mira noticed the way his gaze would sharpen whenever talk turned to local legends or unexplained phenomena. And more than once, she caught him watching her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
It was on one such evening, as Mira hurried home from delivering a batch of medicines to the village healer, that she quite literally ran into Finn. The blacksmith steadied her with strong hands, concern etched across his familiar features.
“Mira? Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Mira managed a weak smile. “I’m fine, Finn. Just tired, I suppose. It’s been a long few days.”
Finn’s frown deepened. “It’s more than that, isn’t it? You’ve been jumpy ever since that Thorne fellow arrived. Has he been bothering you?”
For a moment, Mira was tempted to confide in her old friend. To tell him about the strange stone, about what she’d seen in the forest. But the words stuck in her throat. How could she explain something she barely understood herself?
“It’s nothing,” she said instead. “I’m just worried about the harvest, like everyone else.”
Finn didn’t look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Well, if you need anything - anything at all - you know where to find me.”
Mira squeezed his hand gratefully. “I know. Thank you, Finn.”
As she continued on her way home, Mira’s thoughts turned once more to the mysterious stone hidden away in her cottage. She hadn’t dared to examine it too closely since that first day, but its presence weighed on her mind constantly. Something told her it was connected to the strange occurrences in the village - and to Caleb’s sudden appearance.
Lost in thought, Mira almost missed the flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. She turned, heart racing, half-expecting to see that silvery shimmer again. But it was only a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness between two cottages.
Caleb stepped into the dim light of the street, his green eyes gleaming. “Good evening, Mira,” he said softly. “Out for a late-night stroll?”
Mira took an involuntary step back. “I was just heading home,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s been a long day.”
Caleb moved closer, his gaze never leaving her face. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you again,” he said. “About what happened in the forest the other day. I think perhaps I was too… forward. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
Mira’s back hit the rough stone wall of the nearest building. She realized with a jolt that Caleb had maneuvered her into a secluded corner, out of sight of any windows or passersby.
“I’m not frightened,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “But I think it’s time you told me why you’re really here, Mr. Thorne. What do you want from our village? From me?”
A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face, and for a moment Mira could have sworn his teeth looked sharper than they should. “Oh, Mira,” he said, his voice low and silky. “I want so many things. But most of all, I want you to show me the way.”
“The way?” Mira’s voice trembled despite her best efforts. “The way to what?”
Caleb leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “To the other side, of course. To the world you glimpsed in the forest. I know you saw it, Mira. I could feel the magic rippling through you.”
Mira’s heart pounded so hard she was sure Caleb must be able to hear it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.
Caleb pulled back slightly, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “I’ve searched for years for a place like this - a place where the veil between worlds is thin. And you, my dear Mira, are the key to crossing over. Whether you know it or not.”
A chill ran down Mira’s spine. She thought of the strange stone, of the silvery shimmer in the forest. Of her grandmother’s warnings and the unnatural mist that clung to the fields. It all began to make a terrible kind of sense.
“What are you?” she breathed.
Caleb’s smile widened, and this time Mira was sure of what she saw. His teeth were definitely too sharp, his eyes glowing with an inner light that was decidedly not human.
“I am many things,” he said. “A scholar, as I told you. A seeker of hidden truths. And something… other. Something that longs to return to the world it came from. The world your ancestors locked away long ago.”
Mira’s mind raced. She thought of the old stories her grandmother had told her, of battles fought long ago between the people of Willowbrook and creatures from another realm. Stories she had always assumed were just that - stories.
“You’re one of them,” she said. “One of the Fair Folk. But how-”
Caleb’s hand shot out, gripping her arm with inhuman strength. “Clever girl,” he hissed. “But not clever enough. You have something that belongs to me, Mira Hawthorne. Something your ancestors stole long ago. And you’re going to help me get it back.”
Mira’s free hand closed around the small pouch of dried herbs she always carried with her. In one swift motion, she pulled it free and flung its contents into Caleb’s face.
He reeled back with a cry of pain, releasing her arm. Mira didn’t wait to see the effect of her hastily improvised spell. She ran, her feet pounding against the cobblestones as she raced toward home.
Behind her, she heard Caleb’s enraged roar. The very air seemed to vibrate with otherworldly power. Mira ran faster, her lungs burning, knowing that her life - and perhaps the fate of the entire village - depended on what she did next.
As Mira burst through the door of her cottage, slamming it shut behind her, she could hear the distant sound of Caleb’s pursuit. Her mind raced, trying to process everything that had just happened. The charming scholar she’d been cautiously getting to know was actually a creature out of legend - one with sinister intentions for her village.
She leaned against the door, heart pounding, as she tried to catch her breath. What had Caleb meant about her having something that belonged to him? And how was she supposed to open a way between worlds?
The stone.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. The strange, carved stone she’d found in the forest - it must be what Caleb was after. And somehow, he believed she could use it to breach the barrier between their world and wherever he had come from.
Mira hurried to the drawer where she’d hidden the stone, her hands shaking as she retrieved it. In the dim light of her cottage, the carvings seemed to writhe and shift, as if alive. She could feel power thrumming through it, growing stronger by the second.
A pounding at her door made her jump. “Mira!” Caleb’s voice rang out, twisted with fury and something else - a desperate, hungry need. “Open this door! You can’t hide from me forever!”
She backed away, clutching the stone to her chest. What was she supposed to do? She had no idea how to use this object, let alone how to keep it from Caleb’s grasp.
A scraping sound from the window made her whirl around. To her horror, she saw misshapen shadows pressing against the glass, as if some unseen force was trying to break through. The air in the cottage grew thick and heavy, charged with an otherworldly energy that made her skin prickle.
“Think, Mira,” she muttered to herself. “What would Gran do?”
Her grandmother. Of course! If anyone would know what to do in this situation, it would be Esther. Mira had to get to her, had to warn her about what was happening.
But how could she escape with Caleb right outside her door?
Her eyes fell on the back wall of the cottage, where a faded tapestry hung. Mira had always assumed it was purely decorative, but now… She rushed over and pulled the heavy fabric aside, revealing a small, hidden door set into the wall.
A secret passage. Of course. How many times had her grandmother told her that their family always had a way out?
Mira yanked the door open, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel beyond. She hesitated for just a moment, then ducked inside, pulling the tapestry back into place behind her.
Not a moment too soon. As she began to make her way down the cramped passage, she heard the sound of splintering wood. Caleb had broken through her front door.
Heart racing, Mira felt her way along the damp stone walls of the tunnel. She had no idea where it led, but anywhere was better than trapped in her cottage with that creature. The stone in her hand seemed to pulse with each step she took, as if urging her onward.
After what felt like an eternity of stumbling through the darkness, Mira’s outstretched hand met empty air. She had reached the end of the tunnel. Cautiously, she pushed open the concealed door and emerged into the cool night air.
To her surprise, she found herself at the edge of the village, near the old stone circle that stood atop the hill overlooking Willowbrook. In the moonlight, she could see the ancient standing stones looming before her, their weathered surfaces etched with symbols similar to those on the stone she carried.
A sound behind her made Mira spin around. Her grandmother, Esther, stood there, a lantern in one hand and a gnarled wooden staff in the other.
“Gran!” Mira cried, relief flooding through her. “How did you-”
“There’s no time,” Esther cut her off, her voice urgent. “He’s coming. We have to prepare.”
As if on cue, an unearthly howl split the night air. Mira looked back toward the village and saw a figure racing up the hill toward them. Caleb’s form seemed to flicker and shift as he ran, sometimes appearing human, sometimes something far more terrifying.
“Gran, what’s happening?” Mira asked, her voice shaking. “Who is he? What does he want?”
Esther’s face was grim as she began to draw a circle in the dirt with her staff, muttering words in a language Mira didn’t recognize. “He is one of the Fae, child. A powerful one, exiled from his realm long ago by our ancestors. He seeks to return - and to bring his kind with him.”
Mira’s mind reeled. The Fae - creatures of legend, of bedtime stories meant to frighten children into behaving. But the proof of their existence was racing toward them, radiating malevolent power.
“What can we do?” she asked.
Esther finished her circle and turned to Mira, her eyes shining with a fierce determination. “We fight, my dear. As our family has always done. The stone you carry - it’s the key to sealing the barrier between worlds. But it requires a great sacrifice to activate its power.”
A chill ran down Mira’s spine. “What kind of sacrifice?”
But before Esther could answer, Caleb reached the top of the hill. He stood at the edge of Esther’s hastily drawn circle, his form seeming to waver and distort in the moonlight. His eyes, now glowing an eerie silver, fixed on the stone in Mira’s hand.
“Give it to me,” he snarled, his voice layered with inhuman harmonics. “Give me the key, and I’ll spare your miserable village.”
Esther stepped in front of Mira, her staff raised. “You’ll not have it, creature,” she spat. “Go back to the shadows where you belong.”
Caleb’s laugh was like breaking glass. “Oh, you foolish old woman. Do you think your parlor tricks can stop me? I’ve waited centuries for this moment. I will not be denied!”
He lunged forward, only to be repelled by an invisible barrier at the edge of Esther’s circle. He snarled in frustration, clawing at the air.
“Mira,” Esther said urgently, never taking her eyes off Caleb. “Listen carefully. The stone must be activated at the center of the circle. But it requires a willing sacrifice - a life freely given to power the seal.”
Mira’s blood ran cold as understanding dawned. “No,” she whispered. “Gran, no. There has to be another way.”
Esther turned to her then, a sad smile on her weathered face. “This is the way it must be, child. I’ve lived a long life. It’s time for me to join our ancestors - and to give you a chance at a future.”
Tears streamed down Mira’s face as she shook her head frantically. “I can’t lose