The two teenagers were almost running, their footsteps echoing sharply against the uneven cobblestones of Vinsart.

  — "What do you think that thing was... the one you pulled out of him?"

  — "No idea. But it definitely wasn’t the flu."

  They veered into a sloped alleyway, brushing past crates of vegetables overturned by the wind.

  An old woman watched them from her porch, squinting like she was trying to dissolve them with her eyes.

  — "She’s looking at us like we stole a goat. Or smashed a lantern," Garlan muttered.

  — "Or both," Marenna replied, barely slowing down.

  Up ahead, the plain stretched open—and with it, the distant scent of an overly generous wineskin.

  They needed answers. And there was only one centaur in this damn village who might have them—even if he was rarely sober.

  They found him, as expected, lying on his back in the tall grass, an empty flask dangling from his fingers, eyes squinting at the sky while he discussed philosophy with a cloud.

  — "THARION!" Garlan yelled.

  No response.

  — "He’s drunk as a barrel again," Marenna sighed.

  Without warning, Garlan raised both hands. A watery bubble formed—then a second, then a third. He merged them with a wicked grin, then launched a torrent of water straight into the centaur’s side.

  — "YAAAH! ARE YOU INSANE?!"

  Tharion shot upright, soaked, fur bristling, nostrils flaring.

  — "You could’ve let Marenna handle that! She’d have sobered me up with a detox spell!"

  Garlan crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

  — "Yeah, right. You drink half on purpose so she’ll touch you, you crusty hoofed perv."

  Tharion blinked.

  Opened his mouth.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Closed it.

  Opened it again.

  — "Wh—what?! That’s ridiculous! She’s got two legs! And I—I'm far too old for that nonsense!"

  Marenna raised an eyebrow.

  — "Not the most convincing denial," she muttered.

  Tharion cleared his throat and shook out his mane, getting back on all fours.

  — "Alright, alright… What do you want?"

  Garlan stepped forward, arms still crossed.

  — "We want to know… to use magic—normally—do you need to chant? Like, spells, sacred phrases, all that?"

  Tharion choked on his own saliva. He coughed violently, eyes bulging like someone had just force-fed him a badly-cut horseshoe.

  — "WHAT?! Why would you ask that?!"

  Marenna quickly explained the stranger’s arrival, his lung condition, the healing, and his shocked reaction.

  Garlan added the part where he’d suddenly teleported—without understanding how.

  Tharion paled. His gaze drifted toward the hills.

  — "You… you shouldn’t have healed him."

  He turned slowly toward Garlan, eyes wide.

  — "And you… you teleported? Just like that? No runes? No incantation?"

  The teens exchanged confused glances.

  — "Uh… yeah," Garlan said.

  — "Why are you acting so weird?" Marenna asked, her voice tighter now.

  Tharion scratched his neck, visibly uncomfortable. His hind hooves shifted uneasily.

  — "Look, I’m not saying it’s dangerous or anything… but let’s just say… maybe you shouldn’t have done that. And, uh… wow, look at the time! Anyone else hungry?"

  — "Tharion," Marenna said firmly, arms crossed. "You know something. And we’re not leaving until you talk."

  — "Want us to summon a second water cannon?" Garlan added, half serious, half amused.

  Tharion stared at them, more intensely than usual.

  Then, with a sigh that trembled slightly, he sat down, crossed his arms, and muttered:

  — "I’ve seen it. Once."

  Garlan and Marenna exchanged another glance.

  — "A girl. Long time ago. Fifteen, maybe. Calm. Black eyes like soot. Barely spoke above a whisper. She raised one hand—no words, no scream—and an entire forest went up in flames. Instantly. Silently.

  Like the world forgot it was supposed to wait for the spell."

  Silence.

  — "And then?" Marenna asked.

  — "Then?" he echoed.

  — "It rained heads for two weeks. The local army razed everything. And the girl… no one ever saw her again."

  Another silence, heavier this time.

  — "You think we’re like her?" Garlan whispered.

  Tharion slowly shrugged.

  — "I think you’re young. Powerful. And unprepared for the attention that brings."

  He stood, muscles tense, gaze dark.

  — "Show me this stranger. Right now."

  The three of them rushed back to the village.

  But when they reached Marenna’s house, the cloaked man was gone.

  They questioned nearby villagers—

  no one had seen him leave.

  — "Maybe he’s still inside," Marenna suggested.

  They headed toward the house. Garlan knocked.

  No answer.

  — "That’s not right," he said.

  Marenna gently touched the handle and slowly pushed the door open.

  The air inside felt… heavy.

  Too still.

  A chair lay tipped over. A glass vial lay shattered on the floor, catching the light almost beautifully.

  Garlan frowned.

  — "Was that chair there earlier?"

  — "No."

  Marenna stepped inside, brushing past a twisted tablecloth, eyes alert.

  Then Garlan saw it—

  a dark stain between two floorboards.

  He stepped closer.

  Slowly.

  The body was there.

  Motionless.

  A dagger buried deep in his chest.

  Marenna stifled a scream.

  Tharion froze.

  Garlan turned pale.

  — "He’s dead," Garlan whispered.