Amriel almost cried at the sight of her cottage where it stood in the distance, sturdy and weather-worn, its stone walls offering a promise of shelter against the tempest that seemed to chase her like some living entity.
"Almost there," she panted, the words immediately snatched away by the wind.
Thunder cracked overhead as lightning split the sky, illuminating the landscape in stark relief before darkness swallowed it again.
Amriel didn't falter. Her dark, rain-soaked braid slapped against her back with each stride, water streaming from it in rivulets that joined the torrents already soaking through her clothes. The iron ring at her throat pulsed with cold that intensified.
With a final surge of effort that sent pain lancing through her overtaxed muscles, Amriel reached the heavy oak door. Her fingers, numb with cold, fumbled with the iron latch before finally wrenching it open. She half-fell inside, using her body's momentum to slam the door shut against the howling wind.
For several moments, she simply stood there, lungs heaving as water pooled around her boots on the flagstone floor. The familiar scents of home enveloped her. Dried herbs hanging from the rafters, and dry wood stacked by a lifeless hearth.
Phew. Safe. For now.
She wasn't exactly sure why her mind decided to add that last part. For now.
Outside, the deluge hammered against the windows and roof with such force that it sounded like a thousand tiny fists demanding entry. She closed her eyes, pressing her palm flat against the door as though physically holding back the storm. The vibrations of the raindrops traveled through the wood into her skin, creating a counterpoint to her gradually slowing heartbeat.
Amriel's laugh came unbidden, shaky at first before it bloomed into something wild and incredulous. She pressed a hand to her chest, waiting for her breath to return as her back sank against the door. The absurdity of the day hit her all at once, like some cruel joke the universe had decided to play.
"Ancient prophecies. A near-death experience. Finding a Khasta Vhar. Getting caught out in a vicious spring storm," she gasped, each word punctuated by ragged breath. "What else can the world throw at me now?"
She paused for a moment as the fire in her lungs slowly eased. "No. Wait," she said as she reconsidered. "I take that back. I think I'm good for the moment."
The weight of it all settled on her, and Amriel's laughter died in her throat, leaving only the hollow echo of her breath against the cottage walls. The last line of the prophecy echoed in her mind:
When the last of the Starlight Witches falls—The Door to Eternity shall open.
What terrified her most wasn't the prophecy itself, but the way it had called to something deep within her, some part of herself she'd never known existed.
"What in all the gods is going on?" she muttered, her voice swallowed by the storm outside.
Just then, a large pair of silver discs, gleaming like moonlight, peered back at her from the shadows on the far side of her single-room cottage.
Slowly, Meeko lifted his large head from his place on her bed, his small, tufted ears swiveling toward her. He regarded her with the detached curiosity only a cat could master, utterly unimpressed by her rain-soaked, storm-disheveled state. His massive paws flexed, kneading the blanket as if to emphasize how comfortable he'd been before her dramatic entrance.
"Must be nice," Amriel muttered, wincing as she peeled the sodden cloak from her shoulders. Her fingers trembled as she worked at the clasp. "Lounging about while I'm out there getting half-drowned."
Meeko stretched, his spine arching in a languid curve. Each movement was deliberate, almost liquid, muscle rippling beneath his cloud-dappled coat of silver and midnight black. He wasn't just larger than a housecat; he moved differently, with the contained power of something wild that had chosen domesticity rather than having been born to it.
He leaped soundlessly to the floor and padded toward her, each step placed carefully. Up close, the top of his head reached her hip. He bumped his forehead against her thigh with enough force to nearly buckle her exhausted leg.
The rumble that emanated from his chest wasn't just a purr, it was a physical force that seemed to vibrate through her bones, loosening something knotted deep inside her chest. His chirps followed, half-admonishment, half-greeting.
"I know," Amriel said, her voice softening as she crouched down on her haunches, despite her protesting muscles. "You were right. I should have listened to you. You felt the storm coming, didn't you?"
She sank her fingers into his fur, still warm and dry while she dripped everywhere. His silver eyes held her gaze with an intelligence that sometimes made her wonder if he was truly what he appeared to be.
Amriel pushed herself upright with a groan. Her cottage surrounded her, small but solid. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters in neat rows. Nythia's organization system that Amriel had never been able to abandon, even after her mother left. The familiar sight brought a bittersweet comfort.
She allowed herself a moment of remembrance, seeing her mother standing in this very spot, arranging freshly gathered herbs. The memory was so vivid she could almost hear Nythia's voice.
"The forest gives its gifts when it chooses, not when you need them," Nythia would say while teaching her to preserve and store what they gathered. She never smiled when she taught these lessons—her sharp eyes always watching Amriel. Always assessing. Of course, Nythia rarely smiled regardless.
Meeko chirped insistently, circling her legs twice before settling down near the empty fireplace, interrupting her spiral of questions.
"Right," Amriel said, pushing wet strands of hair from her face. "The miller's boy first. Prophecies and abandonment issues later."
She removed the leather collection pouch from her back as she crossed to her workbench beneath the window. Lighting a single lamp, she untied the gathering bag and carefully emptied its contents.
There, nestled among the other plants, was her prize: the clumps of delicate blue-green heart-shaped leaves of the Horissa Vharia. She was lucky to have found this much when she did.
Working quickly, she washed and dried the Horissa Vharia leaves before placing them in her clean stone mortar. With practiced movements, she ground the fibrous leaves into a thick paste.
In small doses, the Gentle Sleep dulled pain. In larger amounts, it brought the deep unconsciousness needed for the most desperate surgeries.
As she worked, a memory surfaced, Nythia showing her chaliss moss after she'd scraped her knee badly on a stone outcropping. Instead of comfort, her mother had offered knowledge.
"This is chaliss moss," Nythia had said, voice crisp and clear. "It helps prevent infections in fresh wounds. Remember it. It may save your life when I cannot."
No "Are you alright?" No "I love you." No embrace. Just knowledge, offered like armor for a world Nythia always seemed to be preparing her for.
Thunder shook the cottage, rattling the jars on her shelves. The iron ring at her throat suddenly flared with a warmth so intense it felt like burning.
In that moment, the single lamp she'd lit guttered and died, plunging the cottage into darkness.
"Perfect," she muttered, blinking as her eyes adjusted. "Just perfect."
She could hear Meeko moving nearby, his presence a comfort in the sudden dark.
Careful not to stumble, she moved to the hearth where she fumbled for the flint and steel she kept in a small pouch by the hearth, her fingers closing around the familiar shapes.
The flint felt cold and hard against her palm, the steel striker smooth from years of use. Amriel positioned the kindling, then struck the flint. A spark leaped, brief, bright, then died before touching the tinder.
"Come on," she whispered, striking again.
Another spark, brighter this time, landed among the shavings of bark. A tiny curl of smoke rose, hesitant and fragile. Amriel bent close, cupping her hands around the ember, and blew, soft, steady, patient. The spark flared, feeding on the dry fibers, growing from an orange pinprick to a hungry flame.
A shiver ran down Amriel's spine as she took in the heat from the growing fire for a moment before she returned to her work.
Carefully, she measured and mixed in dried Yrbaine root to speed uptake into the bloodstream. She portioned the Gentle Sleep into several glass jars, some for Mirna and some for herself, and placed the ones for the healer in her pack.
"I'll be back soon," she told Meeko, who watched her preparations with unblinking attention. "This storm is nothing compared to what that boy faces if I don't get this to Mirna."
With her own cloak soaked and useless, she donned her father's old and slightly oversized rain-proofed cloak instead. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back out into the storm. The fields between her cottage and Mirna's healing house stretched before her, transformed into a silver-gray battlefield.
"Worse before it gets better," she muttered, tucking the precious jars of Gentle Sleep deeper into her leather satchel.
The rain struck her face like tiny, icy needles as she set off at a careful jog, following the worn muddy path. Lightning flashed overhead, briefly illuminating the landscape in stark white light.
Mirna's house appeared through the curtain of rain, a sturdy stone structure with warm light glowing from its windows. Amriel sprinted the final stretch to the healing house and pounded on the thick wooden door, the sound barely audible over the storm's howl.
The door swung open, golden light spilling out into the rain. Mirna stood framed in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair bound in a practical braid, her weathered face tight with worry.
"Thank the Daeude," Mirna breathed, pulling her inside. "Did you find it?"
"Enough for what you need." Amriel reached into her satchel and produced the jars, their contents a soothing blue-green in the warm light of the healing house. "How is he?"
Mirna's face darkened. "Worse. But hopefully I can get to it fast enough." She took the jars with careful hands. "I've prepared everything else. With this, we might save him."
"I'll help you," Amriel said, already removing her cloak.
Together the two healers worked quickly to treat the miller's boy, who, thanks to the Gentle Sleep, remained unconscious through the entire procedure. Amriel's hands moved with practiced precision as Mirna removed the festering limb, her mind completely focused on the immediacy of saving this child.
Like healers everywhere, they fought their battle against death together, communicating with direct and concise orders. When it was done, when the wound was cleaned and stitched and bandaged, Amriel washed the blood from her hands, watching it swirl away in the basin.
Blood and water. Life and death. Such simple elements that made up the greatest mysteries.
"There's something different about you," Mirna said suddenly, her keen eyes studying Amriel's face. "A shadow behind your eyes that wasn't there before."
Amriel stiffened. "Just tired. That's all," she replied, reaching for her rain-cloak. "It's been a long day."
"More than that, I think." Mirna clasped her shoulder. "Stay. Wait out the worst of it. Whatever's troubling you will still be there come morning."
Amriel glanced toward the door, listening to the storm's rage. For a moment, the thought was tempting. Warmth, safety, the comfort of another's company. But something pulled at her, an inexplicable urgency to return to her own cottage, to the half-formed questions waiting there.
"Can't," she said, already refastening her cloak. "Things to finish at home."
Mirna's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing something beneath Amriel's words, but she didn't press. Instead, she wrapped a small loaf of fresh bread in cloth and pressed it into Amriel's hands.
"For your trouble, then. Mind the creek, it's rising fast." She hesitated, then added, "And Amriel? Whatever battle you're fighting beyond the ones I can see... remember you don't have to face it alone."
The words struck deeper than Mirna could know. Amriel nodded, her throat suddenly tight, and stepped back out into the storm.
The rain continued its assault, but something had shifted inside her, a resolve kindled by Mirna's simple wisdom. She wasn't alone. Whatever the prophecy meant, whatever was coming, she had people who cared for her. Friends who would stand beside her if she only let them.
Perhaps that was the first lesson she needed to learn.
Turning her face toward home, toward Meeko and the quiet sanctuary of her cottage, Amriel began to run. The iron ring at her throat pulsed with that strange cold heat, but now it felt less like a warning and more like a promise.
Tomorrow would come with its own challenges. Tonight, she would gather her strength, make her plans, and prepare, just as Nythia had taught her.