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  For the ones who are looking for a way to escape reality.

  You are not alone.

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  1.

  Faelwen

  “Faelwen, wake up!”

  A rough tug yanked the blankets from me, sending a chill through my bones. Groggily, I opened my eyes to find my mother looming over me, her face pale with terror.

  “We have to go! Now!” She spoke in hurried whispers, her hands already working to stuff a few clothes into a backpack. The urgency in her voice shook off the last vestiges of sleep. I scrambled to get dressed, my fingers trembling from the cold as I became more aware of my surroundings.

  Something must be terribly wrong for my mom to wake me like this. I quickly grabbed my favourite wooden figurine of a wolf from my nightstand as I moved towards the window. But before I could glance outside, my mother’s iron grip seized my arm, pulling me sharply away.

  Stumbling and confused, I followed her down the creaking wooden stairs, my heart hammering in my chest. At the base of the stairs, my father stood waiting, a firm hand on the shoulders of my shivering younger sister, Mira. He had a sword strapped to his back and a pack slung over his shoulder. His face was a mask of grim resolve. Okay, something was definitely wrong.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, my voice barely audible. No one answered, my father’s eyes flicked to my mother.

  “Get the girls on the horse,” he commanded, his voice low and steady. “Ride as fast as you can. I’ll meet you later.”

  “But… What about you?” My mother’s voice cracked.

  “Go!” he barked, already moving towards a chest in the corner, his sword gleaming under the dim light. Were we really going to leave dad behind?

  Without another word, my mother dragged us into the cold night air. An acrid scent of smoke filled my lungs. In the distance, I heard screams, and saw flames licking at the rooftops. And with a shuddering breath I realized the once peaceful village was now a battlefield.

  Mira took hold of my hand. I felt a lump beginning to form in my throat as I held her small hand in mine. Mira resisted as I pulled my trembling hand free to mount the horse. And just as my mother was about to put Mira in front of me, I saw them.

  Figures draped in dark robes like the death of night moved through the village, their hands raised, chanting in an ancient, twisted tongue. Red runes glowed ominously on their sleeves, and wherever they passed, fire followed. They carried long, curved swords, cutting down anyone in their path. The smell of decay and blood filled my nose. Necromancers.

  “Hurry!” my mother urged pushing Mira in my arms, but the horse reared, frightened by the chaos around us. I took hold of Mira and dragged her close to me. I had to protect her. She yelped in fear and held on to the horse's neck.

  Suddenly, my father burst from the house, his sword pulled from its scabbard in one hand and a dagger in the other. The dagger he thrust toward me. It was a leather-bound hilt that felt foreign in my small hands. On the blade, a single word was etched: Brave.

  I knew the dagger was going to be a gift for my birthday. My father had it especially made for me. I wish we could’ve celebrated it. As I fastened it to my belt, the necromancers closed in.

  My father stood firm, his sword raised, ready to defend us. One of the necromancers stepped forward, his eyes glowing beneath the shadow of his hood. He extended a skeletal hand toward my father, and I watched frozen in horror as my father’s body stiffened, his sword clattering to the ground. His feet lifted from the earth, suspended by an unseen force. Mira cried for our dad.

  The necromancer’s hand twisted into a fist, and my father gasped. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. His body crumpled like a doll, tossed aside as if it was nothing. My heart stopped. No! Not dad. Mira screamed and hid her face in her arms. I pulled her even closer to me.

  “Go!” my mother yelled, the words ripped from her throat in anguish after seeing the death of her husband. Without hesitation, she urged the horse forward with a sharp slap. The beast bolted, carrying me and Mira away from the horror. I grabbed the reins tightly, tears forming in the corner of my eyes, as the wind howled in my ears.

  Mom.

  Dad.

  I couldn’t do this without them. Over my shoulder I caught a final glimpse of my mother, her back to me, holding a glowing stone in her hands. A magical amulet she always carried around her neck. The necromancer advanced, his blade flashing as it cut through her defence. The light of her stone extinguished, and she fell.

  The necromancer’s cold voice echoed in my mind, speaking dark incantations that haunted my dreams: Dinok wah jul, vos yun feln do lug on…

  And then, a blinding flash of white light filled my vision. I felt Mira go limp in my arms. A shock vibrated through my bones. “Mira?” I gasped in her ear. Silence.

  ? ? ?

  I jolted awake, my breathing coming in ragged gasps. Light fell through the curtains, warming my skin, and Artemis, my wolf companion, nuzzled against my cheek.

  “Just a nightmare,” I whispered shakily, trying to convince myself. “It’s just a nightmare.” But the ache in my chest didn’t fade. Every time my mind wandered to that dreadful night, I felt that familiar pain, reminding me of what I’d lost.

  You seemed far away in your dreams again, Wen, came Artemis’ voice in my mind, a calm and familiar presence. The past will haunt you if you let it.

  “I can’t help it,” I murmured, “It just… happens.”

  Mm… Alright. Artemis stood up and stretched. Now that you’re awake, we should eat. I’m starving.

  The door to my room swung open before I could answer. Barnabas shuffled in, eyebrows lifting when he saw me still in my bed. “Well now,” he grunted, pausing halfway through the doorway, his brown eyes looking from me to the bed. “I assumed you’d already be up and about, young lady.”

  “I…” my voice was still thin. “I had a very vivid dream I couldn’t shake.”

  “‘Vivid’, was it?” he murmured, while rummaging through the chaos of my desk. “Sounds like soul-wandering.”

  “Soul-wandering? Explain. And what are you…Hey!” Notebooks tumbled to the floor in an avalanche of paper. Why couldn’t he be careful with my stuff?

  “Looking for ink,” he said, without shame.

  “Lower left drawer,” I sighed, grabbing my brush to comb my long brown hair. “And stop stealing my stuff.”

  He fished out the half-empty inkwell, lifting a brow. “‘Your stuff?” A dry chuckle escaped him. “Funny how possessions work when bought with my coin.”

  Not really yours then, Wen. Artemis’ mental tone was smug.

  “I get it.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed clothes from my closet. “Have it your way.”

  “Breakfast is on the table,” Barnabas said, already walking out with one of my empty notebooks tucked under his arm. Absolutely stolen again. “We’re nearly out of supplies. We’ll need some herbs and meat for the rest of the week. And less complaining.” He shot me a stern look… then the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile, like he couldn’t resist teasing me just a little.

  I rolled my eyes again. Left alone, I sat on my bed for a moment, letting the warmth of the room settle around me. One bed. A closet. A desk drowned in books. It wasn’t much… but it was enough for a woman like me.

  Barnabas had taught me how to read, how to shape letters into meaning, and how to survive a world that wanted me dead. When I found Artemis or rather, he found me, Barnabas even taught me how to communicate telepathically with him.

  He told me I had it in me to become a great mage if I wanted to. He was a mage and claimed to have gone into hiding after the war started.

  He tried to teach me how to use magic, but we noticed it was partially blocked. Even though I could talk to Artemis, stronger spells failed me. Barnabas always said it was like grasping a stream with hands wrapped in cloth. The water slid past but never fully touched—my fingers feeling numb when I tried to cast spells.

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  Fortunately, he never pushed me harder than I could bear. Thirteen years with him, since the day he’d found me cradling Mira’s lifeless body on the roadside. An eleven-year-old girl trying to shield her sister from the Necromancers long after she’d gone cold.

  When he’d found me, he’d tried to gently lift Mira from my stiff arms. I had protested at first. Feeling as if I had failed to protect my little sister. But his calm and gentle approach convinced me to hand her over. Together we buried her in the garden of his little cottage, a few days’ travel from my home. From then on he took care of me like a father. I swallowed hard. No matter how many years had passed… that ache never dulled.

  Looking back on it I wish I could’ve told my younger self that it was okay to grieve and that none of it was my fault. Nobody could expect an eleven-year-old to protect her family from the Necromancers.

  After I got dressed I moved to the living room, finding Barnabas in his favourite seat by the fireplace. A book in his lap and a small table with writing supplies next to him.

  The crackling fire washed the room in amber light. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, old and new. A thin layer of dust trailed through the air as the sun shined through the windows. The air smelled of warm bread, old parchment, and pine sap melting from the fresh logs.

  I drifted toward the dining table by the windowsill. Frost-flowers had bloomed across the glass. Snow blanketed the pines outside in thick, delicate layers. Tiny wooden carvings lined the still, little animals Barnabas had made over the years. And between them sat my childhood wolf figurine, its paint chipped, its grin forever crooked.

  I smiled at the memory of the one and only thing I ever tried to carve from wood; the saddest flower known to existence.

  Any good food left? Artemis nudged the back of my leg.

  “Three slices of bread… and eggs,” I muttered. “Barnabas didn’t eat again.” I slid a plate to the floor. Artemis devoured it with dramatic hunger. I shook my head. Never had I met a wolf who adored warm meals and comfortable beds. Sometimes he seemed almost… human.

  Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Tell him that.

  I snorted, grabbed another plate, and handed it to Barnabas. “Artemis says you’re setting a bad example. You should eat your breakfast.”

  “He shouldn’t tell an old man how to live,” he grumbled, hiding his smile. I leaned over his shoulder. “So… What are you writing?”

  He closed the notebook at once, suspiciously fast. “History of the Ancestral Region.”

  “Anything fascinating? Besides the part where late High King Talron banned magic, tried to erase us, and started the hunts?”

  He gave me a sideways look. “At least you paid attention to history class.”

  “And Talron exiled his eldest son for being a magi.”

  His sigh carried a weight I couldn’t place. “And even his brother Edmund couldn’t stop him from gathering allies who would study the dark arts to become Necromancers.”

  A chill traced my spine hearing that name. I knew the horrors they could inflict. Images of the Necromancers killing my family flashed before my eyes. I shook my head to rid myself of the image. “But, back to my question, you’ve smartly evaded. What is your research actually about?” I leaned in, grinning.

  “You and your cursed curiosity, little one,” he muttered a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “I’m not little anymore, haven’t been for a while,” I shot back.

  “To me, you’ll always be the little girl I found on that dreadful day.” His voice softened. “But you’re right. You’ve grown into a woman. I just… don’t want you tangled in this.”

  “It might keep me out of trouble,” I joked.

  He snorted. “Hardly. Now go. Hunt. Bring us back some herbs and meat. Then we’ll talk and I might share a thing or two.” He winked.

  Reluctantly, I rose and ruffled Artemis’ fur. Cloak tightened, bow slung over my back, we stepped into the brittle morning air. The cold bit straight through fabric and skin. I preferred to hide them underneath my hood or my hairs, because they seemed odd to me. Everyone had rounded ears, except for me and my mother. My mother had always said it was due to my heritage. Whatever that heritage was.

  The forest greeted us in silence, a cathedral of snow-draped pines whispering secrets to the wind. Artemis moved ahead in a ghostlike rot. I closed my eyes, letting my mind brush his.

  For a heartbeat, I saw through his eyes. His eyes told me how the road changed and whether it was safe to follow. With his ears, I heard the morning birds awaken. The night creatures, crawling back into their lairs.

  When I broke the connection, the world felt too small, my senses too dull.

  “Keep sharp, buddy,” I murmured. Noticing the odd stillness in the forest. I scanned the ground for tracks of rabbits or deer, but only found small footsteps of mice and birds. We passed by a group of snowdrops. I kneeled down and cut one flower for Mira’s grave like I always did. Hours passed before we finally found tracks of a bigger creature. Leading us deeper into the forest.

  Suddenly something caught my eye. A movement at the edge of my vision. Artemis froze. I slipped an arrow onto the string. Slowly I turned in the direction I saw the movement.

  A pheasant burst from the brush. I drew back the string of the bow, the muscles in my back complaining against the strain.

  Breathe. Draw. Release.

  The arrow flew through the air and found its mark with a soft thud. “One down,” I smiled, binding the bird to my pack.

  Good. Now can we go home? I’m not made for this cold. Artemis mumbled and brushed against my leg. I chuckled. Of course he wasn’t.

  “Not yet, buddy. We still need some herbs and one more animal if we can find one.”

  Artemis grumbled in protest but followed me through the forest. It took us another hour of gathering herbs, but unfortunately no other animals showed. Unease gnawed at my chest.

  Normally, these forests were full of animals, big and small, even in the winter season. But today it was quiet. Too quiet in my opinion.

  An acrid, strong scent of burning wood drifted through the falling snow. My heart quickened.

  “Artemis,” I whispered. “Maybe we should head back. I don’t like this smell.”

  Me neither. Maybe it’s Barnabas stoking the fire.

  But even in my mind his tone tightened. It wasn’t Barnabas. We were hours from home, and the smoke from the fireplace couldn’t possibly find us here. If we hurried back now, we would reach home by early evening.

  Snow began to fall in thick flakes, dusting the ground with a pale, silent beauty. I kept my hood low. Every fortnight, we hunted in the forest for food or went down to the village by the lake to trade herbs and replenish our supplies. But today felt different. Ominous.

  I hope Barnabas has made us some tea to warm up. Artemis said on our way back to the cabin.

  “You’re such a weird wolf.” I chuckled feeling some of the tension lift from my chest.

  After a few hours of trudging through the biting wind, we finally arrived back at the small area of our home. But something was wrong. The smoke from the hearth was too thick.

  Something is amiss, Artemis growled, increasing my worries.

  We hurried, my feet slipping on the frozen ground as we neared the clearing of the field of our home. My heart sank. The house was gone, nothing more than a heap of charred wood and ash. Some flames still licked the corners, the wood smouldering in the snow.

  The stables were empty and the livestock gone. The quiet that hung over the scene was suffocating. Here and there scatter-brained chickens ran around, but otherwise, all was quiet. Where was Barnabas? How could this have happened?

  My hands felt numb, my mind hollow. Time seemed to slow. Every memory of warmth, laughter and safety clawed at me, yet I couldn’t let myself cry. Not yet. I had to figure out where Barnabas was.

  I walked past Mira’s grave. It was unharmed. As I put the snowdrop on it I whispered: “What happened here?”. My gaze wandered over our burned down home. At first glance I didn’t notice a body in between the ruins.

  Kneeling at the edge of what had once been our hearth, I ran my fingers through the blackened ash that had cooled down by the falling snow. A familiar pain twisted in my chest, a longing for the warmth that had once filled this place. I pushed it away. I had learned long ago that grief was like weed—if you gave it too much space, it took everything else with it. Suffocating you.

  My hand brushed against something hard, hidden beneath the ash. I picked it up. It was a small box, its surface scorched but intact. The music box from my mother. My chest tightened. My thoughts going back to a time where I felt peaceful and happy.

  The strange forms on top used to be dancing white figures on a dark blue background. Now they looked like demons rising from the ashes. I uncovered a small key from a cord around my neck and clicked it in place.

  The music box opened. A soft, melancholic music filled the cold air, and two wooden figures spun in endless circles beneath the lid. Tears welled in my eyes. This was all that remained of my family, my home, my past. I had lost everyone again. Just like before.

  On the inside of the music box was a painting of a sunset with the words: ír nidh-tana-dhir í f? ón í medui calad uin í aur. I never understood the meaning behind them.

  Faelwen, I’ve found something, Artemis’s voice pierced through my grief. I wiped my eyes and hurried to his side, hoping he might have found a sign of Barnabas. He held a piece of fabric between his teeth, charred at the edges, but unmistakable in its origin. The insignia of the king.

  My stomach lurched. Everything I had built, everything I thought was safe, felt suddenly fragile. Fear gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I forced myself to focus, to breathe, to think. Panic could wait. Now I needed to survive.

  “The Hunters,” I whispered. “They’ve found us.”

  The Hunters were assassins recruited by our late High King Talron to hunt down and kill all magi. They were non-magical human beings trained to kill every magical creature in the land. No matter how well you were prepared to defend yourself against them, if they found you there was no escape.

  Artemis growled, and a shiver ran down my spine. They will return. And we’ll be ready.

  “No,” I shook my head. “We can’t fight them. We need to find Barnabas.”

  I knelt beside the remnants of our home, my mind racing. How had they found us? Had someone told them about Barnabas? I looked at the remnants of our home and couldn’t find any trace of Barnabas. Maybe he’d survived and escaped. If that were the case we could still find him.

  I looked around for any tracks, but the ground was trampled with so many footprints I couldn’t tell who had walked where.

  As I turned to walk away from the cabin, my foot caught on something sticking out of the ground, sending me stumbling. I cursed as I landed hard on my knee, then glared at the object that tripped me.

  Artemis sniffed it curiously and, without warning, began to dig like a mad creature.

  “What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Get up! We need to keep moving before they return.” His response was almost immediate, it smells like… Barnabas.

  My heart skipped a beat. I dropped to my knees beside him, scooping dirt and snow with my hands. Soon, the shape of a small iron chest emerged from the earth, its surface caked with grime. I let out a deep breath.

  “It is just a chest,” I said as I pulled it from the ground. It wasn’t large, certainly not what you’d imagine for a treasure chest.

  The lock, molten by fire, crumbled easily, revealing its contents. Instead of riches, the chest was filled with journals. Barnabas’ Journals. I knew he carried them everywhere, but why had he hidden them here? Why go to such lengths? I grabbed the first one and opened it to the first page.

  So, you’ve found my secret hiding spot, haven’t you? Clever girl. Maybe the time is right then. Inside these pages, you’ll find more about me and my research. Just like you wanted. Now, if you want answers, come find me at my alchemy lab. I bet your tracking skills will make it easy enough.

  I looked up at the empty barn, its broken door creaking in the wind. His alchemy lab.

  “Looks like Barnabas didn’t see this coming either,” I muttered. Artemis ignored me, focusing intently on something only he could hear. What did Barnabas mean about telling me more about his research?

  “Artemis?” I prodded, but he cut me off.

  Quiet. I’m listening.

  I sighed, flipping to the next page. My eyes caught on a word I didn’t fully understand… Patrons. Beings of immense power, granting their chosen followers abilities beyond ordinary magic. But this wasn’t the moment to linger. We had to move before the Hunters might come back.

  I quickly stuffed the notebooks into my bag. As I did, a small, folded map fell out from between the pages.

  “Look! There’s a map here… with notes on it. I think this could…” But before I could finish, Artemis leaped up, Go! We need to go now!

  Without wasting a second, we grabbed what little we had and ran, sprinting into the forest. Behind us, distant shouts rang out, but we didn’t stop to look back.