Chapter 1: Flamefade

Inside the hut

"Ophira... is that you, child...?" Ana's voice comes out weak and ragged, the words seeming to cause her pain as she speaks them. She tries to push herself up into a sitting position, but her arms fail her and she remains lying on the ground. Her long white hair is messily draped over her features, but she looks older and more frail than Ophira's ever seen her before. Yet she is alive, if barely.

"He's back..." she mumbles, more to herself than any of the group around her. "I thought we – but he's returned again." Her voice trails off, her eyes still cloudy and unfocused. Her breath comes in slow and steady, but she seems to drift in and out of consciousness now.

The wind picks up outside, howling through the woods and setting the branches swaying. But aside from that, everything is silent around the small hut.

In the woods

Dispatching the remaining undead proves to be simple, if grim, work. Bereft of any sense of self-preservation, the creatures fall swiftly to the youths' blades and slings. Soon enough, the three of them are the only ones standing, and they head back to see what has transpired at the hut.

Ophira cradles Ana's head and places a pillow beneath it. Then she searches the hut for bandages, salves, poultices, tinctures, and any other manner of healing, reinvigorating, and soothing substances to give to Ana.

Seeing that the building is safe, Weir takes a knee beside Ophira and Anathema, wincing as he does so. The man's shirt is wet with blood.

"Can she be moved?" he asks quietly. "I do not know that we're safe here. Best to get her care back in the village, no? We can piece together a litter, I'm sure..."

"Let's stay here for the night. That circle makes this place about as safe as anything will get around here." Lirann grumbles as she sits herself in a corner with some pillow she scavenged from the mess in the hut. "Best to get some rest now." She declares as she pulls the hood of her robe over her face and starts to doze off.

Ophira nods in agreement with Lirann and says, "I don't feel safe moving her, and we'd be more vulnerable in the woods walking back than in here overnight, I think." She grips the ritual athame and continues to try to comfort Ana.

Gaelan nods at the others, quick to cede to their greater wisdom, as always. He lets Beric and Nok into the hut when they arrive at the door, then asks, "Where is Thalen?"

"Here I am." Thalen stumbles in the door. "A little banged up, but we rid the woods of those shamblers." He looks around at the hut, Ana, his friends, and realizes that things can never be the same. "Are we ready to head back to the village? I would love to talk to Pa and see what I can piece together from the folklore."

The night creeps forward slowly. Well acquainted with every nook and cranny of the small home, Ophira knows exactly where to look. She finds bandages, various salves and poultices used to soothe against burn marks, stinging nettles and the like, and a pain-numbing tincture she herself has helped Ana prepare. It was intended for easing the pain of childbirth, but it seems to work well enough for Ana, who dozes off into an uneasy sleep. Those who try manage to find a few hours of restless sleep.

A little later. Dawn is not far off. Ana sits unsteadily in front of the fireplace, a cup of steaming tea in her shaking hands. In the warm light of the crackling fire, with her pointed hat resting upon her head, the witch looks a little more her normal self. She keeps touching at the burn marks around her throat, even as she winces in pain each time.


She asks a few questions, softly, almost timidly. Not at all like her usual confident tone. She inquires about the group's injuries, about the state of the village. When she hears of those who died, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Her voice is shaky when she resumes. "Thank you for indulging me. But you must have questions of your own? I—I will do my best to answer them."

Ophira is glad to see that Ana will survive. She sighs in visible relief and asks, "Who? Who has returned? You...banished someone? We must hear the tale; we nearly died this night because of it." She looks at Ana intently, making it clear that she is appreciative of Ana's help and wisdom, but that she will demand the complete and unvarnished truth.

Lirann yawns in the corner. "It's barely first light and you guys are already going on with this?" She mumbles.

After a few moments she gets up and yawns some more.

"Well. I won't linger where I am not welcome." She says, glancing at Ana and heads for whatever is left of the door.

Ophira looks at Lirann, watching her leave. Then she looks to Ana and asks, "Why is she always so contrary? She seems to hate you and dislike me plenty too. I don't know what I ever did to her..."

Lirann shrugs. "I don't dislike you at all. Otherwise I would have not come out here. As for your teacher, that is a different matter."

"Lirann." As if by old habit, Ana shoots her s scolding look, but then the energy drains from her face, and her voice comes out much softer. "Please. Stay. Your friends will have need of you before this is over. I... I will too."

Anathema swallows hard, hesitates. She looks as if she wishes to drag out the moment as long as she can. Finally she raises her voice. "There is a scar upon this land, inflicted by the old royals, long ago. A tear in the veil that separates our world from theirs. From the realm of the dead."

"That is what first drew me here, when I was younger. Stronger, more confident." She smiles mirthlessly. "More arrogant."

"It is where I first encountered him. Ofric." The word almost seems to cause her pain to speak.

That name rings familiar to both Lirann and Thalen. Though not a subject she spoke much or fondly, Theune had let slip some details of her former life to Lirann, during her tutelage. The name of her late husband was one of them. Thalen, meanwhile, quickly recognizes it from his own collection of history and folklore: Ofric and Theune, the last king and queen of Vracia.