The Savior Apprentice

Dara stood before the entrance of the portal, apprehensive. She didn’t know what would await her on the other side, but she knew she had to face whatever lay ahead. Dara took a deep breath and turned her head to the side. She brought her left hand close to her face, letting the delicate faery dragon scamper up her arm.

“Ready, Shaphe?” She asked the purple dragon. Shaphe answered with a hrrr and nuzzled Dara’s face affectionately.

Dara steeled herself as she stepped through the portal, closing her eyes instinctively. A dawning horror sent an icy chill through her veins as she crossed to the other side. Stone corpses surrounded her, their faces contorted into grotesque expressions. Ash covered the earth, scenting the air with the acrid scent of smoke.

“What happened here?” Dara wondered as she walked through the destruction. Shaphe curled herself up on Dara’s shoulder, hiding under her lengthy, black hair. Even though the sun was at its zenith, the land appeared shadowed in darkness. Dara conjured an orb of light, letting it float above, lighting the pathway to the ominous structure in the distance.

Dara stared at the towering structure. The obsidian stone walls seemed to emanate maleficence, sending a shudder through both Dara and Shaphe. Sharp spires topped the decrepit tower. That was her destination. The answer to everything happening to her people was supposed to be held within. The silence surrounding her was eerie. No creatures stirred, the place abandoned.

As Dara approached the crumbling tower, she became filled with utter dread. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to turn and run, but she pushed forward. She walked up the stone steps, careful to avoid the loose pieces.

As she approached the wooden door, Dara could distinctly smell the scent of mushrooms, though none could be seen. She reached out with a trembling hand. The rotted door fell over as soon as she touched it. It splintered apart as it crashed on the stone floor underneath, scattering a plume of dust and ash.

The orb of light followed Dara inside as she crossed the threshold. Shaphe peeked her small snout out, sniffing the air for danger. The light of Dara’s orb caused her violet scales to shimmer and her aqua eyes to glisten. She let out a low growl and retreated back behind Dara’s hair. Dara lifted a calming finger to caress her scaly friend. Shaphe was instantly soothed and laid her head against Dara’s neck.

Dara looked around, searching for any sign of the door that hid what she was looking for. Suddenly, a shriek filled the air. Dara whipped around just in time to see a Stymphalian bird swooping toward her. She jumped out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding the creature’s sharp, bronze beak.

Dara could hear the metallic scraping of its feathers as it turned to dive at her again. It let out another deafening screech, causing Dara to wince. She quickly cast a shielding spell before the bird could reach her. It flew out of reach and hurled its razor-sharp feathers at her. Most glanced off her magical shield, but two penetrated, slicing her forearm and impaling her leg. She cried out in pain, stumbling back against the tower wall.

Gritting her teeth through the pain, Dara conjured daggers of light and sent them hurtling toward the maniacal bird, but it was too swift. Unsure she would be able to defeat the evil creature, she sent a blast of fire, using the last of her magical talents. It had no effect and the bird was able to grasp her hair in its talons, ripping out many follicles as it soared back into the air. Dara shrieked in pain, her hazel eyes welling with tears.

Dara’s eyes widened as the bird dove again. Her heart raced as she panicked. She was out of ideas. Dara threw up her arms in fear, hoping to somehow defend herself. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of the Stymphalian bird’s beak ripping into her flesh, but it never came. Behind her eyelids, Dara noticed a flair of bright, white light. She slowly opened her eyes and lowered her arms.

The bird was nowhere to be seen, but now in the middle of the room stood a girl with fiery red hair. Her blue eyes pierced Dara like ice. In her hand was a staff topped with a beautiful amethyst that seemed to shine from within.

“Thank you for saving me,” Dara said.

The girl flashed her a smile before walking toward Dara, her hand extended. “My pleasure,” she replied, “My name is Sylvia. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

Dara lifted an eyebrow at Sylvia’s statement. “How did she know I was coming when I didn’t even know myself?” Dara wondered. She took Sylvia’s hand, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m Dara,” she replied. “This is Shaphe,” she added, gesturing to the petite dragon on her shoulder. Shaphe blew a smoke ring in greeting.

“You must have many questions,” Sylvia said.

Dara nodded.

“All will be answered soon enough,” Sylvia replied. “But for now, let us leave this Godforsaken place.”

A new portal opened with stark white brilliance as the amethyst on Sylvia’s staff glowed with power. Before her stretched a rolling meadow of vivid green, the grass swaying in waves like a sea under the sun. White and yellow daisies speckled the field. Dara had never seen magic used without language before, and she struggled to tear her eyes away to say what she was thinking.

“But I came here for answers. The tower was supposed to hold the answer to why my people are turning to stone.” She turned back to the barren room she’d expected to hold some tome or relic.

Dara’s eyes watered slightly as she thought about her own parents who had been frozen by the curse that seemed to leech through the ground, attacking unsuspecting villagers at random. She feared that soon enough, her own village would mirror the devastation of the one just beyond the door she’d walked through.

“It did. This tower contained me. I hold the answers you seek. Come, all will be explained.” Sylvia held out a hand.

Dara hesitated a moment more before reluctantly placing her hand in Sylvia’s and stepping through the portal. Sunlight warmed her skin in a way that made her shiver with relief, the gentle caress stark against the cold, jagged stones she had touched moments before. Clouds dotted the radiant blue sky, and a slight breeze brought with it the sweet scent of wildflowers, mingled with the earthy perfume of freshly turned soil. Every inhalation felt like it washed the ash and rot from her lungs. In the distance, a grove of silver-barked trees shimmered, their leaves whispering in the gentle wind. Shaphe peeped out from her hair and stretched her wings to catch the wind. She let out a small peaceful hrrrr before circling above Dara. Birdsong trilled from the trees, a lilting melody that seemed to chase away the echoes of destruction she had left behind.

“Welcome to Mythdra,” Sylvia said, “My home. We will be safe here. It is beyond the reach of the curse.” Her eyes brimmed with tears for a split second before she blinked them away. “It’s been decades since I last walked these fields,” she continued, her voice quieter, and almost hollow.

“What happened?”

“I was sent to free those people—to break the curse. But I failed. And in failing… I was transfigured and imprisoned.”

Realization dawned on Dara’s face. “You were the—” Dara’s voice caught.

But before she could say more, Sylvia cut her off.

“Yes,” Sylvia said quietly. “The Stymphalian bird.” She exhaled. “Sorry about that. When you’ve been trapped that long… you stop expecting anything good to walk through the door.”

Dara’s eyebrows drew together. “What did you think I was going to do?” Dara asked, more sharply than she intended.

Sylvia’s eyes darkened. “Something I’m glad you didn’t.” She offered nothing more. Sylvia turned toward the sinking sun. “We should move. The city’s a long walk, and this land changes after dark.”

Dara had a hundred questions—but shelter came first. A shrill whistle sounded from her lips to catch Shaphe’s attention. She motioned the direction they were heading and followed close behind Sylvia. Shaphe called back with an affirmative and changed course.

As they walked, the sun dipped lower, painting the world in gold and shadow. Ahead, the distant silhouette of the city began to rise. Dara had no idea what awaited her there—only that everything was about to change.

* * *

Morning light spilled across the training grounds as Dara and Sylvia crested the hill together. No daisies grew here—only bare earth.

“First thing you need to understand—magic isn’t just something you control,” Sylvia started. “It flows through each of us, just like the blood that runs through our veins.” She paused, watching Dara. “Some are born with more of it. Fewer still learn to shape it.”

As Sylvia spoke, a soft shimmer appeared beneath her skin—white, pulsing like a heartbeat. Dara looked at her own hands and saw a different pulse beneath her own skin. Hers glowed a light lavender. She turned her wrists slowly, studying it. She’d never seen magic within people before. Only when it had been made manifest.

“You’re already beginning to see,” Sylvia said, a note of awe in her voice. The prophecy of the Savior had spoken of raw talent…but seeing it in person was something else entirely. “Now… show me what you already know.” Sylvia inclined her head.

Dara took a shaky breath and lifted her hands. The lavender pulse gathered in her palms, then flared into flame. A smile flickered across her face—the magic came easier than it ever had before… almost too easy. She twirled her finger, and the flame folded in on itself, shaping into a delicate tulip.

“You understand conjuring,” Sylvia said. “But can you manipulate what’s already here?” She waved her staff. The grass surged upward, twisting into a thick, rope-like vine.

Dara’s eyes widened. She turned her palms toward the field, trying to mimic the action. The grass wiggled, then twisted, weaving itself together. A smirk tugged at her lips.

Then the grass at her feet snapped upward. It twisted tight around her ankles. Her breath caught. She tried to step back—but her feet were trapped. She hit the ground hard.

As she struck the dirt, the surrounding grass withered, blackening as the magic collapsed. Sylvia didn’t laugh or scold. She simply extended a hand to help Dara up.

“That was a good first attempt,” she said. “But magic isn’t about control or power.” She tapped her staff lightly against the ground. “It’s a language—the oldest one there is. You don’t force it. You speak it, reshape it.”

“It’s like when you first saw the pulse of magic,” Sylvia said, gesturing to the field. “You can see it in me. In yourself. Now—see it out there,” Silvia said, gesturing to their surroundings. “See it. Feel it. Hear it. Only then can you reshape it.”

Dara nodded and turned back to the field. She took a slow breath, then closed her eyes, clearing her mind. A breeze brushed her cheek. The air carried the sharp, crisp, faintly sweet scent of grass. Beneath her feet, the earth shifted—subtle, alive, as if the world itself were breathing. Even without sight, she sensed Shaphe circling above, playing in the clouds.

When she opened her eyes, the world was not the same. Threads of luminous color pulsed beneath the surface of everything.

Her fingers moved in slow swirls, tracing the threads she now saw—each strand of grass growing, linking, weaving together. The vine took shape, rising from the ground. The grass obeyed—slowly, but surely. A foot-tall column of woven grass rose in front of her.

She let out a small yelp of excitement. It worked—without unraveling.

“Perfect,” Sylvia said, smiling. “You’re beginning to understand. Now…let’s try something bigger.”

They spent the rest of the day practicing. Each time, Dara improved faster than the last—just as the prophecy had promised.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Shaphe landed on Dara’s shoulder. She grinned and stroked the small dragon.

“I’m doing it, Shaphe,” Dara whispered, tears of joy welling in her eyes. “I’m really doing it.”

Shaphe nudged her hand with her head and cooed softly.

“We should rest,” Sylvia said. “There’s more to do tomorrow.”

* * *

The next day, Sylvia led Dara back to the cursed land.

“The curse isn’t active here,” Sylvia said. “We should be safe to study what it left behind—get a better sense of what we’re facing.”

Dara looked around, taking in the devastation with new eyes.

The land was still blanketed in shadow, even with the sun shining bright above. Dara couldn’t detect a single luminous thread of magic—not like yesterday. Everything felt utterly… devoid.

Even the humanoid figures scattered across the ground were empty—barely there, like husks of what they had once been. She stooped and placed a hand against one of them, searching for even the faintest trace of magic. Nothing. Not even a hint of dark magic remained.

Dara exhaled slowly and bowed her head. She didn’t realize Sylvia had moved until a hand rested on her shoulder.

“It’s okay to mourn,” Sylvia said softly. “But the sooner we understand what caused this, the more people we can save from it.”

Dara nodded and rose to stand beside her.

“When I first came here, I thought the curse only drained magic,” Sylvia said. “But it does more than that.” She looked out over the blackened land. “It rewrites things—strips them down to something less… before taking the magic entirely.” Her gaze hardened slightly. “The way we shape magic within things…the curse does the same. Only it unravels instead of reshaping.”

“How?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out.”

The two moved from husk to husk, studying each one, searching for even the faintest spark. They found no magic—but Dara began to notice a pattern. Each one felt different—faintly, but distinctly—as if some trace of individuality still lingered.

Dara bit the inside of her cheek in thought. She didn’t follow Sylvia to the next husk. Instead, she placed both hands on one of them and searched for the magic within herself, letting it flow from her heart to her fingertips before releasing it into the shell. If she could bring back the spark…maybe she could bring them back.

“Dara—what are you doing?” Sylvia’s voice sharpened as she turned, rushing back toward her.

The darkness shifted. Then it exploded outward. Both of them were thrown back. The form stirred—slow at first—then lunged with blinding speed toward them. Sylvia snapped her staff upward just in time, a shield of energy flaring into place. The impact shattered the form, disintegrating it into ash that scattered on the wind.

“This is not the time for experiments,” Sylvia said sharply, turning to Dara.

“I just thought…” Dara’s voice faltered. “Each one felt… different… like something was still there. I thought if I connected my thread to it, I could bring it back.”

“That was reckless. You could have gotten us both killed before we even had a chance to find a cure.”

“I’m sorry. I just…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish.

Sylvia’s features softened. “I know you want to help. I know this matters to you. But you have to trust me—we need to work together.” She paused, something catching her attention. “What did you mean—about them feeling different?”

Dara shrugged. “I don’t know… it was like a whisper of individuality.” She frowned. “But I’m not so sure anymore.”

Sylvia’s brows knit together, her gaze going distant. She began murmuring to herself, making small, precise gestures in the air as if tracing unseen patterns. It was as though she were piecing together something she hadn’t seen before.

“It can’t erase identity…” Sylvia whispered, almost to herself. Her gaze sharpened. “It takes everything else—but not that. Not what makes someone who they are.” She looked at Dara, something like hope flickering in her eyes. “That’s the key.”

“What?” Dara asked, tilting her head, trying to follow the leap from point A to Z.

Sylvia turned fully to her this time. “You weren’t wrong. You just did it wrong.”

Dara shook her head. “What do you mean?”

Sylvia didn’t answer. She moved quickly to the nearest husk and placed a hand on it.

“We’re going to try again,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But this time…you’re not forcing anything.” Sylvia kept her hand resting lightly against the husk, her expression focused. “Don’t reach for power,” she said quietly. “Reach for them.”

Dara hesitated, then stepped closer. The memory of the last attempt still lingered in her muscles—the violent surge, the way the darkness had lashed out.

“What if it happens again?” she asked.

“It might,” Sylvia replied. “That’s why you won’t do it alone.”

She extended her free hand toward Dara, drawing her hand to the husk, overlaying it with her own, steady and trusting.

“Close your eyes,” Sylvia instructed.

Dara obeyed, drawing in a slow breath. The world softened around her as she sank into the now-familiar awareness. Threads of luminous color flickered into existence behind her eyelids—faint here, absent there.

“Don’t push,” Sylvia murmured. “Listen.”

Dara focused—not on the emptiness, but on the faintest difference she had felt before. That whisper. That lingering trace.

At first, there was nothing. Then—

A flicker. So faint she almost missed it.

Her breath caught. “I feel… something,” she whispered.

“Good,” Sylvia said softly. “Stay with it.”

Dara let her magic stir, but this time she didn’t force it outward. Instead, she let it drift—gentle, searching—like a question instead of a command.

The flicker responded. Barely. A thin thread surfaced beneath the void, trembling, fragile as spun glass.

Dara’s fingers tightened instinctively—

“Don’t,” Sylvia warned softly, rubbing her thumb soothingly across the back of Dara’s hand.

Dara forced herself to relax. Slowly, carefully, she let her magic brush against that thread—not to take hold of it, but to meet it.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the husk shuddered against her fingertips. Dara’s eyes snapped open. A faint glow pulsed beneath the surface of the stone-like form—weak, uneven, but undeniably there.

“It’s working…” she breathed.

The glow flickered, then faltered. The thread slipped from her awareness like water through her fingers, and the light vanished just as quickly as it had come. The husk fell still and black once more.

Dara staggered back slightly, her heart racing. “I lost it,” she said, frustration creeping into her voice.

Sylvia didn’t look disappointed. Instead, a small, proud smile touched her lips. “No,” she said. “You found it.” She helped Dara gently to her feet. “Do you know what this means?” Sylvia asked—but didn’t wait for an answer. “The curse isn’t just stoppable. It might be reversible.”

Hope flared in her eyes. The world around them seemed to ease—shadows less suffocating, the ground not quite as lifeless as before.

“I was meant to teach you,” Sylvia said, a note of wonder in her voice. “But now… it seems you’ll be the one teaching me.” She stepped back, studying the husks. “Help me see what you’re sensing—the individuality still inside them.” Her gaze returned to Dara, steady and determined. “If we can do that… together, we might be able to overcome this. To restore everything.”

Sylvia stepped back, giving Dara space. “Show me,” she said.

Dara hesitated. Her fingers twitched at her sides, uncertainty creeping in where confidence had just begun to grow. “I… I’ve never taught anyone before.”

Sylvia’s expression softened. “Then don’t teach. Just show me what you feel. Talk me through it.”

Dara swallowed and nodded. They knelt side-by-side at the husk Dara had just tried to restore, placing their hands on it gently, almost reverently.

“I saw it when I stopped looking for what wasn’t there… and started looking for what was. At first, it’s just an empty shell—void of everything, not what it should be. But if you look deeper… you start to uncover what’s been buried.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like the curse knew it couldn’t destroy it… so it hid it instead.”

Sylvia nodded and let her consciousness flow toward the blackened shell that used to be a person. Her magic swept outward like searchlights in the dark, searching for the thread. But it seemed just as it had before–empty.

Sylvia’s eyes opened and her brow furrowed. “I don’t—”

“It’s not obvious,” Dara said. “You have to… not look for magic, exactly. It’s a little different. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

Sylvia tilted her head slightly. “Not magic?”

Dara shook her head. “It’s… deeper than that. Like roots… before the plant.”

Sylvia closed her eyes again, drawing in a slow breath. Dara joined her search, trying to guide Sylvia’s consciousness the best she could. Silence stretched between them. The dead air pressed in. The faintest flicker brushed their awareness.

“That’s it,” Sylvia murmured. “It’s like… a memory. Not gone. Just buried.”

Their magic flowed—not forced, not commanded—gently threading toward that fragile spark. The husk started to tremble, and a faint glow pulsed beneath its surface, stronger this time.

Dara’s heart leapt. “We’re doing it!”

“Slowly. Steady.” Sylvia’s gentle voice grounded her.

Together, they guided the thread toward the light, where it began to glow on its own—a soft amber. The glow spread, weaving through the cracks like light through fractured glass. Color returned. Form softened. And then—

The figure gasped. Air rushed into lungs that had forgotten how to breathe. The stone-like shell fell away in brittle fragments as the person collapsed forward.

Dara stumbled back, eyes wide. “We—we did it—”

But the air shifted. Cold. Wrong. The sunlight seemed to dim.

“No,” Sylvia said sharply.

Darkness twisted up from the ground where the husk had been—threads writhing, searching.

“It’s trying to take them back,” Dara breathed.

The restored figure cried out weakly as shadows clawed toward them.

“Get back!” Sylvia snapped.

She thrust her staff forward, a barrier flaring to life between them and the encroaching dark. The force of it rippled through the ground.

Dara’s pulse raced. She reached—not for power—but for the thread she had just restored.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, though she didn’t know if the person could hear.

The darkness surged. Dara pushed back—not with force, but with connection—holding that fragile identity in place, refusing to let it unravel.

The air screamed. For a heartbeat, it felt like everything would tear apart—

Then the darkness recoiled. Not destroyed, but driven back. For now. It twisted, seething, before retreating into the broken land once more. Silence fell.

Dara’s knees buckled, and she dropped beside the restored figure. Sylvia lowered her staff slowly, breathing hard. Dara looked down at the person, who now clung weakly to consciousness, color returned—alive.

“We can bring them back,” she said, awe threading her voice.

Sylvia nodded—but her gaze scanned the horizon. “We can’t stay here. Not after that.” She gestured toward the fading shadows. “We’ve stirred it.”

Dara nodded quickly, still shaken. Together, they helped the restored figure to their feet.

“We’ll take them to Mythdra,” Sylvia said. “We regroup. We rest.” She glanced at Dara, something like pride in her eyes. “And then,” she added, “we figure out how to finish this.”

* * *

Sylvia paced slowly at the edge of the clearing in Mythdra, her staff tapping lightly against the ground in uneven rhythm. Murmured words mixed with the irregular beat of her staff.

“It reacts,” she said finally. “Not randomly—intentionally.”

Dara sat nearby, watching the restored figure sleep fitfully. “Like it knows what we’re doing.”

Sylvia nodded. “Because something is directing it.”

Dara frowned. “You think there’s a source?”

“Whether it’s being controlled—or the curse itself is sentient…” Sylvia trailed off, then refocused. “Either way, we need to find where it originates.”

“How do we do that?”

Sylvia shrugged. “I don’t know, but we need to do it soon. I’ve sensed the reaches of the curse bordering Mythdra. I cannot—will not—let it take my home.” At the last word, she brought her staff down against the ground for a final time, harder than she’d meant to, creating a small ripple in the air as the power of her magic emanated from it.

“Maybe we can follow it—the same way we followed the threads of identity. Perhaps there’s a clue back there…” Dara turned back to where the portal had been–where they’d brought the restored figure through to safety.

“It was idle there, but now it’s awakened again. I don’t know how safe it will be for us to return.”

“We have to try. If we don’t, another land will fall prey to it.”

“Other lands have fallen. Smaller ones. It would be safer to venture there.”

Dara looked down. “Like my home,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sylvia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ll restore your parents. We’ll restore them all. But first, we have to understand the enemy more.”

Dara wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed until it slid down her cheek. She nodded. “I know where to go.” She opened a portal and stepped through onto the empty street that used to be the center of her town.

Sylvia followed straight behind her, and looked around. The devastation was similar, but on a much smaller scale. As if the curse had only been testing the waters here. The ground was still wreathed in shadow, but the sun shone brightly, cutting through some of the terror.

They moved cautiously through the streets, watching for movement—anything that might reveal the curse’s origin. Dara sat at the edge of the fountain, which no longer spurted water. She closed her eyes and reached out with her consciousness towards the emptiness. This time, she wasn’t searching for threads of identity—but for the absence itself. The pull behind it.

The husks. The shadows. All of it pulled toward a single point. She walked toward the house cautiously. Sylvia noticed her movement and followed with curiosity. The shadows deepened the closer she got, weaving through the narrow streets to a single cottage drenched in blackness.

Dara pushed the door open and stepped inside—and the dread hit instantly, overwhelming all her senses. Her knees buckled and she found herself crashing to the hard stone floor. She faintly heard her name being called, but Dara couldn’t respond. Her mouth had gone dry and her hands trembled beneath her.

“Dara!” The words were clearer now and a hand grasped her shoulder.

Dara looked up to see Sylvia standing next to her, worry etched across her face. The dread cleared from her head, and she shook it quickly to rid herself of the last of it. She stood back up and looked around. The patch of stone she’d fallen to was so black it seemed void of substance, but as she stooped and touched it, the cold rock met her.

She closed her eyes and extended her consciousness again. Dara could feel a tendril of emptiness just below the surface. Trying her best not to disturb it and alert the curse of their presence, she followed it.

The world melted away as she followed the blackness deeper—until she found herself at a writhing mass of black tendrils. And somehow, she knew where she was being drawn: beneath the cleric temple in Aysel.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the ground and Sylvia’s worried face hovered over hers. Both Sylvia’s hands were actively shaking her shoulders. A sigh of relief came from her lips as she noticed Dara’s eyes flutter open.

“What happened?” Dara asked, weaker than she’d expected.

Sylvia helped her sit up before replying. “You collapsed and started shaking. Shadows pooled at your fingertips where they met the stone and started climbing your arms.”

Dara held her hands up in front of her face, inspecting them. They seemed fine now.

“What were you doing?” Sylvia asked, the curiosity laced heavily with concern.

“I followed the nothingness, just like the magical threads.”

“And?”

“And it’s worse than we imagined.”

Dara had to stop as her head began spinning. She gripped either side of her head and dropped it between her knees, breathing slowly. Sylvia waited patiently for her to continue.

As the dizziness wore off, Dara finished. “It’s there,” she said. “Beneath the cleric temple in Aysel.”

“What?” Sylvia exclaimed, taking a step back, “That’s not possible. The Order is one of light—if it started there…” Her words died off as she thought of what it meant. “Are you sure?”

Dara looked straight into Sylvia’s eyes and nodded gravely. “Absolutely.”

Sylvia stared at Dara, the weight of her words settling heavily between them.

“That’s not possible,” she said, though there was less certainty in her voice now. “The Order is sworn to the Light. The temple in Aysel is one of the most sacred places in the realm.”

Dara didn’t look away. “It’s there.”

Silence stretched.

Then Sylvia exhaled slowly, resolve hardening her expression. “Then that’s where we go.”

The portal opened with a flash of pale light, but this time, neither of them stepped through with ease. Aysel rose before them—vast, once-glorious. Now, it seemed empty–gutted of its glory. The grand spires of the cleric temple cut into the sky, white stone gleaming under the sun… untouched.

Untouched—but wrong. Dara felt it immediately. Beneath the stone, a malevolence stirred as if waiting for the perfect time to strike.

They climbed the steps together and under the first arch, the doors stood wide open. No guards. No priests. Not a single being tread the unholy ground. Silence stretched before them like the darkness within.

Dara hesitated at the threshold. This felt different than before. Heavier. Deeper. Like stepping willingly into something that already knew she was coming.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Sylvia said quietly.

Dara gave a small, tight nod. “I know.”

Together, they stepped inside. The same dread from the cottage seeped into Dara’s body, leeching the warmth from within. The light filtering through the stained glass seemed dimmer somehow, muted before it even touched the floor.

Dara’s gaze drifted downward. “There,” she whispered.

Faint, but unmistakable were threads—dark, pulsing—seeping through the cracks in the stone floor. They found the stairs and descended quickly but warily.

At the base of the stairs, a dark hallway met them. The stones were the same blackness as the floor of the cottage, seemingly void of material, but Dara knew the stone still laid underneath.

The gem on Sylvia’s staff glowed, but the light seemed muted and didn’t reach the walls. It barely illuminated the two of them. They looked at each other before taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

Sylvia blasted the double doors open with a spark and the mass of dark tentacles writhed in the center of the room, tendrils snaking out in every direction. The mass pulsed with a maliciousness that caused Dara to shudder.

Suddenly, black tendrils streaked towards them and they dove away, avoiding them just in time. They worked without thinking, sending burst after burst at the tendrils and the mass, none of their hits landing.

Dara and Sylvia continued to dodge as tendrils wriggled and grasped, trying to ensnare them. Soon, they were both heaving, wearing down. Dara knew they wouldn’t be able to sustain this much longer.

With a slow exhale through her nose, she knew this wouldn’t be won with sheer force. If she’d learned anything the last few days, it was that force wasn’t the answer. She surrounded herself in a shield of magic, like a shimmering bubble around herself, and she lowered herself to the ground until she was sitting with her legs crossed.

Dara closed her eyes and extended her consciousness towards the black mass in the center of the room. It tried its best to block her, to obscure her vision, but Dara noticed something within the mass she hadn’t before. Within the mass, something pulsed—a single thread, brighter than the rest. But it wasn’t alone. Countless others twisted around it—faint, tangled, suffocating beneath the weight of the curse.

She reached for the central thread—then stopped. No. That wasn’t enough. Slowly, carefully, she extended her awareness outward—brushing against one thread…then another…Not pulling. Connecting. Each one slipped free with a quiet rush of power–distant, but alive again. One thread at a time, she loosened the tangle until the red thread stood alone at the center. It pulsed once.

Dara allowed her own magic to seep into the curse, gently nudging the thread toward the light. Distantly, she heard her name, but she ignored it, focusing all her energy on the glowing red thread. As it reached the first ray of light, the red brightened, and the room flooded with a deep crimson light that burned through the darkness.

Dara swayed slightly, her vision dimming as the last of the threads settled. She pinched her eyes closed until her world stopped spinning.

“Dara—” Sylvia started.

“I’m okay,” she said—but her voice was weaker now.

Dara opened her eyes slowly and saw the light pouring out between the tendrils, slowly disintegrating them until nothing was left except a glowing red orb. It began to spin and brighten. Dara shielded her eyes.

And the glow suddenly dissipated. Dara moved her hand away from her face and where the black mass had been stood a red-haired woman dressed in the robes of the Order of the Silver Flame.

“Mother?” Dara heard to her right and looked over to see Sylvia tearing up, her grip on her staff nearly slipping.

“Sylvia,” the woman answered, tears in her eyes, her arms moving out to either side.

At first, Sylvia didn’t move, but then, she rushed forward and embraced the woman, tears flowing freely down her face.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she murmured into her mother’s shoulder in between sobs.

“I thought I’d been lost,” her mother replied quietly. But then, she looked up, straight at Dara. “But you…you brought me back. How?”

Dara’s mouth hung open, at a loss for words. All she could do was shake her head slowly, not quite understanding it herself.

Sylvia followed her mother’s gaze and for the first time seemed to realize Dara was still standing there.

“You did it… you brought her back.”

“I just did what we’d done with the husks,” Dara said with a shrug. “I didn’t force it,” Dara said quietly. “I just… followed it. And connected what was still there. And I didn’t expect someone at the center of it all.”

“Not just someone. The head of the Order.”

“But how did all this happen?” Sylvia asked, looking up at her mom. “The Order is dedicated to the Light. A curse that dark never should have been able to originate here.”

“It didn’t begin like this,” she said softly. “But something took root. Quietly. Slowly. By the time we understood it… it was already too late.”

Sylvia stepped back, surprised. “But why didn’t anyone say anything? Why weren’t there signs? How could you keep this from me?” Her words flew from her lips almost faster than the thoughts could form.

“By the time we understood what it was becoming… there was no stopping it.”

“But I could have helped!”

“There was no helping this. It was inevitable. But one thing I didn’t expect was an end.” Her gaze moved back to Dara. “How? Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember the prophecy of the Savior?” Sylvia asked. “That’s her. I found her, Mother. I trained her. And she saved us all.”

The woman stepped closer to Dara and extended her hand. “Thank you. You have rid this realm of the evil hoping to squelch this land of hope. And now, we can restore all that was lost. Together.”

“Together,” Dara repeated softly.

Somewhere above them, faint light filtered through the temple once more, and the shadows along the walls began to recede. And for the first time since the curse began, the world felt like it might finally heal.