The Witch's Heart and The Mortal's Light(GL)

The wind changed by morning.

It wasn't just colder — it hissed, dragging threads of salt and static across the cliffs. Elara woke with her rune burning hot, the spindle now thrum-humming like a creature pacing in its cage.

Fen stood alert beside the ruined firepit. "It's coming."

"What is?" Elara asked, voice still rough from sleep.

The wolf bared his teeth. "She."

Morgwyn was already dressed in dark leathers. Not ceremonial robes — battlewear.

"The flame-witch?" Elara asked.

Morgwyn nodded. "Cressid's magic is unstable. And arrogant. She won't send assassins. She'll come herself."

"Because of me?"

"Because of the god in you," Morgwyn said. "And what you did last night."

Elara glanced at the spindle, now nested in her satchel, gently pulsing.

"She felt it," Morgwyn continued. "You rewove something she marked. She'll want revenge."

Elara swallowed. "Good."

Morgwyn raised an eyebrow.

Elara looked up, fire smoldering in her throat.

"Let her come."

They didn't have to wait long.

By high noon, the sky turned red.

Not the soft rose of sunset — bleeding scarlet. A pulse of wildfire in the clouds.

And from the far side of the cliffs, a shimmer bloomed into being.

Cressid Emberwyne.

She strode down a path made of living fire, her cloak crackling, her hair trailing embers.

Beside her: the red-eyed figure at last fully revealed.

He had no shadow.

His skin was etched with glass veins, flickering with memory-light. And his eyes — not eyes. Just mirrors.

Elara's stomach turned.

"What is that?"

Morgwyn's jaw clenched. "A Mirrorborn. Created from shattered prophecy. Fed lies until it believes it's real."

"Cressid made that?"

"No. She bargained for him."

Cressid's voice rang out, clear and cruel:

"Elara Wynn. Witch's Pet. God-touched mongrel."

Morgwyn stepped forward. "One more insult and I'll drag your jaw through your own fire."

Cressid smirked. "Now that's the Morgwyn I remember. Cold, bitter, and always alone."

"I'm not alone anymore," Morgwyn said.

She extended her arm — and Elara stepped to her side.

The mark on her palm glowed like a second sun.

Cressid's eyes narrowed.

"So the spindle did choose you."

Elara held her ground. "It didn't just choose. I answered."

Cressid lifted a hand — and flame spiraled outward, a dragon of molten glass and screaming heat.

"Then let's see if you're still brave when your gods start bleeding."

The fight began like lightning splitting stone.

Morgwyn and Cressid met first — spell against spell, fire against shadow, bone-charms cracking in the wind.

Their magic collided midair in a roar that shook the cliffs.

But the Mirrorborn didn't move.

He watched Elara.

And said, with a voice like hers:

"You're already me. I'm what happens when you choose wrong."

Elara flinched. "You're not me."

"I'm the flame that consumes, not heals. The thread that cuts."

"No," Elara said. "You're the reflection I refuse to become."

She gripped the spindle.

And began to weave.

The thread this time was gold.

Sharper.

Not protection — but judgment.

The moment: Now.

The name: Cressid Emberwyne.

The purpose: Revelation.

Elara's thread launched skyward.

And struck the Mirrorborn.

He screamed — not in pain, but confusion.

"I'm not supposed to feel—!"

"Exactly," Elara said.

"You were never supposed to be."

The illusion fractured.

The Mirrorborn cracked like glass.

Not dead — but unraveling. Thread by thread.

Cressid screamed in rage, turning toward Elara — but Morgwyn struck first.

She hurled a blade of pure shadowlight — not to kill, but to disarm.

It struck Cressid's shoulder. The fire faltered.

She stumbled.

And in that heartbeat—

Elara stepped forward.

"I don't want to fight you," she said.

"Then kneel," Cressid spat.

"I want to understand."

"Pity," Cressid hissed. "I only ever wanted to win."

She snapped her fingers—

And fire imploded around her.

When the smoke cleared, she was gone.

So was the Mirrorborn — scattered into shards of light.

Elara stood, heart pounding.

"We could've stopped her."

Morgwyn placed a hand on her shoulder.

"No. We forced her to run. That's a start."

Fen padded over. "She'll be back."

Elara looked down at the spindle, now dark again.

"Yes," she said. "And next time… she won't run."

That night, the sea was silent.

Elara sat beside Morgwyn, both bruised, both quiet.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" Morgwyn asked.

"For staying. For standing with me. For not being afraid of what I'm becoming."

Morgwyn turned toward her, brushing her knuckles down Elara's cheek.

"I'm not afraid of what you're becoming," she said softly. "I'm afraid of what this world will do to stop it."

Elara leaned into the touch.

"Then let's burn the script," she whispered. "Let's write a new myth."

And Morgwyn… smiled.

END OF CHAPTER 15