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

The spiral path spat her back out beneath a broken moon.

One moment, Elara was surrounded by ruined beauty and the flickering ghosts of Vel Ashen's past. The next, she collapsed into the Dreadwood clearing like breath expelled from a dying body.

Morgwyn was there instantly, catching her before she hit the ground.

"Elara—!"

"I'm fine," Elara gasped, though her vision spun like the trees were dancing. "Just… dizzy. The path was heavier on the way out."

Fen sniffed her coat. "You smell like ash and magic."

"That's accurate," she wheezed. Then, reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the crystal shard.

Morgwyn's eyes widened.

"…Where did you get that?"

"The Memoriae. They said it was once part of Vel Ashen's heart. And that you'd understand what it meant."

The witch took it with trembling fingers. Her expression fractured like a glass mask dropped to stone.

"I buried this," she whispered. "I thought it lost when the tree burned."

Elara stood shakily. "It wasn't."

For a moment, Morgwyn said nothing.

Then, softly: "You walked the city's pain… and it let you leave."

"I think it wanted me to come back with a message."

Morgwyn looked up. "What message?"

Elara's voice didn't waver. "That you're not the villain in its story."

They returned to the cottage.

Morgwyn placed the shard in a basin of silverlight. Runes crawled up the bowl's rim, whispering as they reacted to it. A faint hum pulsed through the walls — the cottage remembered it, too.

Fen sat by the door, ears twitching.

"There was someone else," Elara said suddenly. "At the end."

Morgwyn turned sharply.

"A figure. Cloaked. Red eyes. Spoke my name."

Fen snarled.

"What did they say?" Morgwyn asked, voice sharp.

"They said, 'We've been waiting.' Then they vanished."

Morgwyn's face hardened into stone. "Dominion."

"I thought so too. But it didn't feel like a soldier. It felt… older."

The witch rose, cloak flaring.

"Not Dominion," she said. "Emberwyne."

She stalked to the far cabinet, unlocking it with a rune Elara hadn't seen her use before. Inside was a tome, bound in dragonhide, glowing faintly with angry runes.

"Who is Emberwyne?"

Morgwyn opened the book. "A flame witch. Once a prodigy. Now a fanatic."

"Fanatic for what?"

"Me."

Elara blinked. "That's… disturbing."

"She worships power. She thinks my exile was a betrayal of destiny. That I should've become queen of the burning path. I told her I wanted peace. She called it weakness."

"Did you… know her well?"

"I trained her," Morgwyn said quietly. "And then I exiled her when she set a village on fire to prove her strength."

Elara felt a chill settle in her bones. "So this is personal."

"She thinks if she brings me back in chains or glory, she wins."

A knock echoed at the door.

Three slow raps. No echo.

Morgwyn's hand flew to her hip, pulling a dagger from the shadows.

"Elara. Stay behind me."

The door creaked open.

And a toad hopped in.

Dressed in a tiny crimson cloak and holding a damp scroll.

"…What," Elara said flatly.

The toad cleared its throat. "Tadwyn the Magnificent, if you please."

Morgwyn groaned. "No."

Tadwyn puffed his throat. "Yes."

Elara stared. "A talking toad?"

Fen sighed. "Unfortunately."

"I'm a cursed fae prince, thank you very much," Tadwyn said, affronted. "Do not lump me in with pond filth. I deliver messages. Especially dramatic ones."

He handed the scroll to Elara with a flourish.

She unrolled it. The parchment smelled like brimstone.

To the Witch of Vel Ashen, and Her Mortal Tagalong:

The stars blinked thrice when she walked your broken city. You should've known we were watching.

The next full moon, I will come.

You will kneel, Morgwyn. Or burn.

💧 —Cressid Emberwyne 🔥

"Elara," Morgwyn said darkly. "Pack your things."

They didn't run.

They relocated — deeper into the Dreadwood, past the Whispering Hollow and the ruined well of Arvek. Morgwyn had a fallback shelter: a cottage shaped like a curled fox, hidden under glamour and grown from the bones of the trees.

Elara couldn't sleep.

She sat outside, the crystal shard in her palm, the flute beside her.

Thorne's words echoed in her ears:

To save the witch, you must become the fire she fears.

She looked at the flames in the hearth.

And wondered — not for the first time — if she was being prepared for something she wasn't meant to survive.

Morgwyn joined her near dawn.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

"I keep seeing Vel Ashen. And her. Emberwyne. I don't know what she wants from me, but it feels…"

"Targeted," Morgwyn finished.

Elara nodded.

"She doesn't know you, Elara," the witch said, sitting beside her. "But she knows me. And you matter to me. That's enough."

Elara looked at her. "Do I?"

The words hung in the air.

Morgwyn's throat bobbed. "Yes."

A beat. Then:

"You remind me of the girl I used to be. Before fire replaced hope."

Elara smiled softly. "Maybe I'm here to remind you it never really left."

END OF CHAPTER 8