The frostfang lunged. Elias threw up his hand on instinct, blue magic beginning to gather too slowly in his palm. Then something red flashed across his vision.
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The frostfang’s body split cleanly through the middle and both halves slid past Elias into the moss, black blood spraying across stone and roots in a hot line. The creature did not even get to yelp properly before it was dead.
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Elias stared. Standing between him and the dead beast was a woman. She was tall and broad-shouldered with fiery red hair framed a face that held a smug little smile even now. Her eyes were pale, white in the fading light, and a small heart-shaped scar sat near the left.
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She wore a black leather top so tight across her heaving chest, it looked painted there, leaving her midriff bare to the cold, and red leather pants that fit close enough to show every line of movement in her hips and legs. Her stomach and arms were hard with muscle and a long scar cut down one side of her abdomen.
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A longer blade than the usual short sidearm most wear, sat strapped across her back, its red steel catching the last scraps of evening. The handle was black with a simple guard.
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Elias noticed all of that in a rush. Also that she was, by any reasonable standard, absurdly attractive. But his body reacted to exactly none of it. That was strange. Old Elias would have absolutely taken notice of a woman with an exposed stomach, scars, muscles, and impossible chest standing in the woods. This Elias only managed a blank kind of shock before his thoughts snapped to something more urgent.
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Frostfangs did not hunt alone. He opened his mouth to say it, but the woman had already shifted her stance and turned her head toward the trees. She knew. Of course she knew, look at her!
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The forest answered with movement. Branches cracked. Brush rustled. Low shapes slipped between trunks, one after another, yellow eyes catching what little light remained. Eight more frostfangs emerged in a widening half-circle around them, their bodies low, shoulders rolling under mangy white-grey fur, bone ridges catching shadow across their backs.
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Elias’s grip went to the front of his cloak instead of raising his hands this time. He covered the potion vial protectively against his chest and stepped back, but the woman stepped forward as heat poured off her suddenly.
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Elias felt it before he fully understood what he was seeing. The cold around her thinned as the frost on a nearby stone hissed and melted. Then, the air itself began to shimmer around her shoulders and bare stomach as orange flame kindled up her skin in a thin rotating aura. It spun around her in curling bands, low at first, then brighter, rising over her shoulders and trailing behind her hair.
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So that was why she dressed like that. Not for attention… well not only for attention. She was radiating enough heat to make the cold irrelevant!
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The flames coiled upward, winding around her head before stopping there, shaping into two burning horns that jutted outward from her forehead and swept back like the curved horns of some mountain ram. They were not solid, but they held their shape all the same, bright, elegant, and hungry.
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Elias stared at them. The frostfangs did too, though with less appreciation.
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The woman rolled one shoulder, drew the red blade from her back in a smooth single motion, and the fire around her followed, running down the sword's blade.
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“Well,” she said lightly, glancing once over her shoulder at Elias, “Try not to die while I’m busy.”
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Then she vanished forward. Not disappeared, just incredibly fast. Fast enough that Elias’ eyes barely tracked her. One instant she was in front of him, orange flames twisting off her shoulders, and the next she was cutting through the center of the pack. Her blade swung once in a clean horizontal arc as fire followed.
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A whole wave of orange flame tore outward from the red steel, wide and violent, swallowing the frostfangs all at once. The beasts did not even get the chance to scatter. The fire hit them, rolled through them, and turned their snarling shapes into shrieking silhouettes for one brutal instant before the woods went bright and then dark again.
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When the flames passed, there was nothing left standing. A line of scorched earth cut through the clearing. Burning fur stank up the air. Blackened carcasses twitched once or twice in place before settling into stillness.
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The woman lowered her blade and the aura wound down around her. Her horns of flame thinned, flickered, and then broke into harmless sparks that vanished into the evening chill. Heat still clung to her for a few breaths after, then faded too.
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To her, it had clearly been nothing. To Elias, it had been a spectacle. He had seen powerful people before. Some high mages on caravan routes or veteran adventurers with insane reputations at guild halls. But seeing a woman cut through nine frostfangs in one calm exchange from ten paces away was a different thing from hearing stories from others over stew.
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He looked at her with open disbelief.
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She slid the red blade back across her shoulder and into the harness on her back like none of that had been worth a second thought, then turned to him and planted one hand on her hip.
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“What,” she asked, possibly annoyed, “were you doing out here?”
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Elias almost laughed, unable to read her, “Almost dying, apparently.”
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“Yes, I noticed,” she said as she walked over, boots barely sounding on the moss despite her size, and gave him a long up-and-down look that felt less like concern and more like inspection.
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“That,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “was stupid.”
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Elias drew himself up despite the fact he was small, filthy, and currently speaking to a woman who could burn half the forest down by accident, “I had a reason.”
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“I know.”
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That made him blink, “You know? What do you mean?”
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“I was at the guild.”
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Of course. As if Elias had somehow failed to notice a woman like this in a room full of tired adventurers and stale beer.
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She snorted softly at the look on his face, “I saw you. Saw the man too. Tomas.”
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“You know him?”
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“Mm,” she nodded once, “You could say that. Well enough. I was heading there myself after hearing enough pieces to know something was wrong, but I did not know how bad. If I’d known his daughter was that sick, I would’ve brought a potion myself.”
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Elias frowned, glancing down at the vial hidden under his cloak, “You carry healing potions around?”
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“Sometimes.”
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“Expensive habit.”
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“I never need them.”
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That sounded arrogant until Elias looked at the charred remains of nine frostfangs in the clearing and realized it was more than likely the truth.
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She tipped her head at him, fiery hair shifting over one shoulder, “Though I’ll admit, making one myself did not occur to me.”
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“Most of the magic is in the herb,” Elias said before he could stop himself, “The hard part is actually finding it.”
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Her brows rose slightly, but Elias kept going because he had already started, “The rest of it is easy if you know the process. Water, heat, the right ratio. I learned it from an old sage once on a caravan ride years ago. He would not stop talking. I think I remembered some things out of spite.”
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That got a grin out of her, sharp and amused, “Years ago you say? What are you, five?”
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Elias realized how that sounded coming from a child and immediately hated it, “It's a long story.”
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“I’m getting that,” she said, as she crouched suddenly, not because she needed to, but so she could look him in the face without having to tilt her head downward like everyone else had all day.
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Up close, the pale eyes were even stranger than Elias first thought, silver rather than white, and the scar near one eye stood out just enough to make her smile look slightly more dangerous.
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“Well, I think that’s enough chatting in the woods,” she said as she straightened and held out a hand, “Seradene Varkassa. Sera, if you don’t feel like saying all of that.”
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Elias looked at her hand, then took it because not doing so would be childish in the wrong way.
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“Elias.”
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“Alright then, Elias. You’re coming with me. We’ll go right to Tomas and his daughter.”
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That was agreeable to Elias. Reasonable, even. Then Sera ruined it.
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Before Elias understood what was happening, Sera bent, hooked one arm around his middle, and picked him up like he weighed nothing at all. He made an undignified sound of protest as the world lurched sideways. She tucked him against her side like a sack of grain, or a loaf of bread she had no intention of returning.
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“Hold onto the vial,” she ordered with a grin.
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“Um, what is happening?” Elias said in protest.
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“It’ll be faster.”
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“This is not a dignified mode of travel.”
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“You’re eight, what do you care?”
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“I am not and I just do.”
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“Sure kid,” Sera said as she shifted him more securely under one arm, “Try not to wiggle. I’d hate to drop the miracle cure.”
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Elias clutched the potion inside his cloak with both hands and glared at nothing because his face was now mostly level with her ribs. Sera leapt into a sprint and ‘fast’ did not begin to cover it.
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She shot through the trees like the forest like a projectile, boots barely touching root or stone before she was gone from it. Trunks flashed by in streaks. Cold air slapped Elias across the face. He tucked his chin and tried not to bite his tongue as she leapt a fallen log in a single bound that felt closer to flying than jumping.
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This was absurd. This was impossible. This was, Elias realized with gritted teeth, also unbelievably efficient.
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Draemharrow’s outer wall appeared ahead far sooner than it should have. Sera did not slow. She hit the stone at an angle, planted one foot, then another, and ran up the side of the wall itself with a burst of heat under her heels that hissed against the black stone. At the top she kicked off, cleared the parapet in one easy motion, and landed inside the city without bothering with the gate, the guards, or what any sane person would call ‘procedure’.
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Elias stared at the blur of rooftops, alleys, chimneys, and dim lanternlight rushing past beneath them. He had known people like this existed. The world had always contained so-called ‘real talent’, the kind that rose above ordinary adventurers and became songs and legends.
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By the time Sera slowed, Elias’ hair was a mess, his cloak was halfway off one shoulder, and his sense of personal dignity had been dragged behind them across half the city.
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They stopped in front of a narrow house at the edge of a lower residential lane, where the stone was old and uneven and the windows had been patched carefully enough to speak of poverty without admitting defeat. One corner of the roof had been reinforced with newer boards. The small yard was little more than packed dirt and frostbitten weeds.
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Sera set Elias down at last and he adjusted his cloak glaring at her, “I hated every second of that.”
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“But did you die?”
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“That is not relevant.”
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She laughed softly and knocked on the door. Inside, there was a muffled clatter, then a muttered curse, then the uneven sound of someone limping toward them. Locks scraped as the door pulled open.
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Tomas Vaelor stood there looking worse than he had at the guild. His eyes were rimmed red now, his hair more disordered, and the stress had settled deeper into the lines of his face. He opened the door ready to be angry again, but froze when he saw who stood there.
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In fact, his whole expression shifted, “Is that… Seradene Varkassa?”
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Sera grinned and lifted one hand, “In the flesh.”
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Tomas blinked twice, then glanced down at her clothes and immediately looked toward the ceiling instead, “Yeah. Alright. That does seem to be you.”
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Elias nearly snorted when Tomas noticed him standing there beside her and frowned, “What’s it been, eight years now? And you’ve got a kid?”
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Sera laughed outright at that, loud and bright enough to crack some of the misery hanging over the doorway.
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“Yeah, right,” she said, “No. We were both at the guild before. I was coming to see you anyway, but I didn’t know your situation.”
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Tomas’ mouth twisted. Some of the anger returned, though with less fire in it now and more exhaustion, “Come in. Both of you.”
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He stepped aside, limping as he went. The house was small and close with the kind of lived-in clutter poor people accumulated by necessity rather than taste. A chair missing one leg had been braced against the wall. A cooking pot sat cold by the hearth. Blankets had been thrown over the back of a narrow bench to keep out drafts. Everything looked worn, patched, and cared for with the frantic precision of someone trying to hold a life together one object at a time.
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Tomas led them past the main room and opened a bedroom door just enough to show the bed inside. There, a girl laid under two blankets, skin pale and sweat-slick with dark hair plastered to her forehead. Her thin shoulders shook with weak coughing even in sleep. The sound of her breathing was wrong. It was wet and too shallow. Not the cough of a passing chill, but something settled deep and ugly in the lungs.
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Tomas shut the door softly again and leaned one hand on the frame, “The guild can choke on its ledgers,” he said under his breath, “Potions in stock. Healer on the way. Sorry, Tomas. Sorry won’t clear her chest. Sorry won’t bring her fever down.”
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His jaw worked. He limped back toward the main room with them following. Only then did Elias notice the solid oak table against the far wall was split in half.
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Tomas caught him looking and rubbed one hand over his face, “I kicked it.”
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Sera stared, “Why?”
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“Because I was furious.”
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“It’s solid oak.”
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“Not so solid now!” Tomas quipped, as he dropped heavily into the least broken chair in the room and glared at his own foot, “Broke my damn toe and half the table. Didn’t even improve my mood.”
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Even Elias, tired as he was, had to admit there was something almost impressive about being that angry.
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Tomas looked up at them again, frustration still simmering in his eyes, “So. What did you come for, really?”
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Elias’s fingers tightened around the vial under his cloak. He wished, suddenly and sharply, that he had made more. One for the daughter had seemed like the important thing. Obvious thing. But now here they were in a cold little house with a man who looked like he had not slept in days, had broken his foot against furniture from sheer helpless rage, and still kept moving because his daughter needed him to.
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How many others were there like this? How many more people needed help that the rest of the world bothered to notice? The thoughts struck Elias hard enough that the magic inside him answered.
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Heat and light flared between his hands before he even understood what he was doing. Tomas jerked back. Sera’s eyes narrowed with interest rather than alarm. Elias looked down. He had opened his hands at some point without meaning to, and now where there had been one vial, there were two. Both sat in his palms glowing faintly red.
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Tomas stared, bewildered, “What in the blazes…”
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Sera’s mouth curled into a small grin, “Duplication magic? That’s some pretty advanced stuff for a nine-year-old.”
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Elias looked from one vial to the other in honest confusion, “I did not do that on purpose.”
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“No one ever seems to the first time,” Sera said with more amusement.
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Tomas leaned forward in his chair so fast it was a wonder he did not fall out of it, “Those are healing potions.”
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“Yes,” Elias said.
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“Which one’s the original?”
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Elias blinked down at them. One looked exactly as he remembered, clean bright red in the same plain little glass he had washed at the well. The other was just slightly off. A touch shinier. A touch thinner in color, and the glass itself held a faint artificial gleam like it had been polished by magic instead of made by hand.
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Sera pointed, “That one. The prettier looking one is the copy.”
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Tomas frowned, “How do you know?”
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“When items duplicate, the copy loses something.” She tapped her temple, “Quality. Potency. Durability. Depends on the thing.”
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“The effect is halved,” Elias said as he remembered some stuff on duplicating he had heard in passing, “The original stays whole. The copy doesn’t.”
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Tomas did not care about the details at all. He was already standing.
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Elias looked at him and spoke before he could think better of it, “When I heard about your daughter, I thought about… wanting to help you too.”
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Tomas paused while Elias found himself continuing, awkwardly but honestly, “You looked like you hadn’t slept in days. You were limping. You broke your own table. And you still came back to the guild again because she needed you,” he said as he glanced at the copied potion, “If that one can do anything at all, then the copy should help you some first.”
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Tomas’s face tightened in a way Elias was beginning to recognize as what happened right before a man either laughed, cried, or tried very hard not to do either, “If this really is our saving grace,” Tomas said quietly, holding out his hand, “Then give me the copy. I will take it immediately.”
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Sera watched curiously as Elias handed it over to him. Tomas drank the potion in one swallow. Magic radiated off him briefly, a faint red glow running through his body before sinking under the skin. Slowly, the dark bags under his eyes eased and the strain in his shoulders loosened.
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Tomas straightened slowly, testing weight on the injured foot. He took another step. There was no wince, nor a limp.
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Tomas let out a startled little laugh and looked down at himself, “Well,” he said, then laughed again, tapping his foot against the floor, “Well, I’ll be damned!”
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Tomas looked at the original vial in Elias’s hand and the humor in his face broke into something much more fragile, “Come now. Let’s give her the real one.”
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He led them back to the bedroom and opened the door wider this time. Up close, the girl looked even younger than Elias expected. Twelve, yes, but thin in the way illness could make anyone seem smaller than they were.
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Tomas told Elias in a whisper that her name was Mira. Up close it was easier to see all the effects as hair spread across the pillow in damp strands, her lips were dry and cracked, and her skin was pale and slimey. She coughed every few breaths, still unconscious.
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Tomas sat on the edge of the bed and touched her shoulder carefully,.“Mira,” he whispered as to not frighten her, “Mira, wake up for me.”
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The girl’s eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him squinting, too weak to focus on much else, “Papa…?”
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“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Tomas’ voice broke and he swallowed it back down, “Need you to drink this, alright?”
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He lifted her gently enough that Elias had to look away for a second. Mira managed one tiny nod and drank when the vial touched her lips, swallowing with visible effort.
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Red light burst through her in a glow far stronger than what had healed Tomas. It spread from her throat down through her chest and limbs, warming her skin with visible color. Her next breath hitched as the wet rattling in her lungs shuddered, loosened, and broke apart. Mira sucked in one clean full gasp of air so sudden and deep it made Tomas jerk forward with her.
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The coughing stopped as she breathed out a solid silent stream of air. Mira looked around, wide-eyed now, touching her own chest as if she could not understand why breathing had suddenly stopped hurting.
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Tomas made a sound. It was part laugh, part sob, and part relief. He bent forward, hugged his daughter gently, and kissed her cheek over and over until she made a sleepy little noise of protest.
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“You’re alright,” he kept saying, “You’re alright. You’re alright.”
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Mira looked at him, confused but no longer fever-bright, “Papa…?”
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“It’s late,” Tomas said, brushing damp hair back from her forehead with shaking fingers, “You go back to sleep. Just wanted to see you. That’s all.”
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She nodded this time without coughing or wheezing. Then she curled back under the blankets and, within moments, drifted off again the easy way only children who know they are safe can. Tomas sat there a little longer staring at her.
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Then he stood and stepped out into the main room with Elias and Sera. For a moment he looked at both of them like he did not know what to say in thanks. Then stress, now that it no longer had a child to crush beneath it, began to leak out of him all at once.
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He laughed weakly, scrubbed both hands over his face, and leaned back against the wall, “Gods,” he breathed, “Gods above.”
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Sera gave him a few seconds, then tapped the hilt over her shoulder, “I did have another reason for coming.”
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Tomas exhaled and pointed at her with tired disbelief, “Of course you did. It couldn’t simply be a miracle cure and a late night dramatic entrance.”
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“Would that make me less interesting?”
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“Don't think anything could.”
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“Good.”
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She unslung the red-bladed weapon from her back and laid it flat across what was left of the broken table. Under the lamp light, a crack showed clear across part of the blade around the midpoint. Not broken through, but enough to make any sane user think twice.
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Tomas leaned in and his eyes widened, “What in all the frozen hells did you do to it?”
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Sera grinned, “Used it.”
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“This blade is ogre horn.”
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“I know.”
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“There are few materials stronger.”
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“I know that too.”
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Tomas looked from the crack to her face and back again, baffled, “With your style, this shouldn’t happen at all.”
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Sera spread her hands a little, “It was ogre on ogre and one of them got lucky. Blocked my blade at a bad angle with it’s own horn. A rare one in a million chance I'm sure. I didn’t notice until after the fight, when I was cleaning the blade. But, I would not be here at this time for these events otherwise.”
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She reached into the small pouch at her waist and pulled free what looked like nothing at first, then too much at once. An ogre horn longer than Elias’ arm slid out of the enchanted space with a dull heavy thunk against the floorboards.
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Sera was using a magic pouch. They can be pricey, but of course this flame witch of mystery had one. Tomas stared at the horn, then at the blade again, then let out a laugh of his own. A worn-out one, but real.
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“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “If you’re going to repair an ogre horn blade, using the horn that damaged it would be a decent start.”
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“That was my thinking.”
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“Insane,” Tomas muttered.
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“Practical.”
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“Those are cousins, not twins.”
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Sera’s grin widened, “Kissing cousins then?”
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Elias stood a little apart from them in the warm little room, listening to the two of them fall into something easier now that panic had passed. Tomas looked years younger than he had in the guild. Still tired, still poor, still standing in a broken house with half a table and too many patched things, but alive in a way he had not been before.
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Mira was breathing quietly in the next room, and Elias, who had gone north to die, found himself standing in a black stone city as a ten-year-old with dragon magic, soot in his hair, exhaustion in his body, and the foreign or at least long forgotten, feeling of what it was like to do a good deed. Being where he needed to be when he needed to be.
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and then Add to home screen.