Eska steps out of the house, her breath visible in the chill air as she walks toward a large shed across from a patch of farmland.
Her white hair falls below her shoulders, framing a pearly sweater that covers her torso, layered with a leather jacket on her arms.
She wears dark pants tucked into sturdy combat boots that reach halfway up her shins, her outfit both practical and refined. Two leather pouches hang on her left side, one secured to her waist and the other strapped to her upper leg.
A black belt shifts in color as it catches the light, tying her ensemble together. The craftsmanship of her gear is unmistakable—some made at home, but other pieces have come from skilled hands beyond that of Eska's.
Those pieces are Marina's secrets and gifts to them. Silent acknowledgments of lessons learned, of knowledge passed in ways only she could offer.
The river flows on, carrying with it the passage of time. Each sunrise brings new challenges, and each sunset marks another victory, big or small.
The sun has barely risen, its light muted by thick gray clouds. The air is cold, and a few snowflakes drift lazily downward, piling on the ground below.
The months after that day have blurred together. The weight of it never leaves, settling in Eska's chest like a stone too heavy to move. The blood has long since dried, the wound has long since closed.
Oblea never speaks of it. Never scolds her, never blames her.
Eska trains harder. She has to. She forces herself to push past the fear, past the doubt, past the memory of her mother standing before her—pale, tired.
Eska steps into the shed. She removes her jacket and hangs it by the door before tucking a rag into her belt. The space is tidy and functional, centered around a raised stone table where four large rats are laid out.
The table's surface is smooth and clean, unmarred except for the creatures.
Eska moves to the center of the shed, stopping at the stone table.
Her hands glide over one of the corpses as she examines it carefully, studying the fur, the structure of its bones, and the texture of its skin.
After a moment, she pulls her hands away, her expression focused.
She rolls up her sleeves, exposing her forearms. She raises her hand and bites down on her index finger, her teeth breaking the skin just enough to draw blood.
Extending the finger outward, she focuses as the blood begins to flow. It shifts and solidifies, forming into a sharp, curved knife.
Then she begins the delicate process, her blade sliding seamlessly through the rat carcass. Blood oozes from the creature, the scent mingling with the air of the shed. With precision, Eska's knife skillfully separates the parts of the small beast, before sorting the meat, skin and organs into different corners of the table.
Once finished with the animals, Eska retrieves a few wooden boxes from the shed, each bearing a glowing sigil on the lid. When she opens them, a cool mist escapes, revealing frozen contents organized neatly inside.
She places the meat and other parts into the boxes with care, ensuring everything is categorized properly.
Finally, she wipes her hands clean with the rag tucked into her belt. She cleans the table, erasing any trace of the work she has done. The shed returns to its pristine state, ready for the next task.
Before heading back to the house, Eska selects a few pieces of meat from one of the frozen boxes as well as other ingredients from another.
Once home, she places the ingredients in the kitchen.
"Mooooooom!" she shouts. "I'm starting breakfast!"
From upstairs, Oblea's voice calls back, "I'll be there in a minute."
The kitchen is simple. No stove, only a few counters and a square table in the center. Gray light filters through the windows, casting a dim glow over the space.
Eska grabs a metal pan, cracks the eggs into it and begins mixing them. She places her right index finger against the edge of the pan, and whispers softly. "In the blackened sky, let flames ascend, a pyre of retribution to light our path."
The pan glows red as heat builds and the eggs begin to sizzle.
Oblea steps into the room, her long dress swaying slightly under a sweater, and a red cloak draped over her shoulders.
Her black hair is tied back messily, and her expression is as serious as ever.
The right sleeve of her sweater is folded and clipped neatly to her forearm, a practical adjustment for her now-missing arm. Her tired eyes reflect the weight of a hard-lived life.
Eska glances at Oblea, her smile forming before she fully registers the sight of her. Her gaze flickers—just for a moment—to the space where her mother's arm should be. The hesitation is brief, barely more than a heartbeat, before she pushes it aside and flashes a bright smile.
"Good morning! Breakfast will be ready soon!" she chirps, her voice light, almost too eager.
Oblea sits at the table, answering with a small smile, "Oh, thank you. Did you—"
Eska interrupts with a grin. "I did. Four rats nearby, so I didn't have to go far."
Oblea chuckles with relief, shaking her head. "Why do I even try anymore?" she mutters.
Eska brings over two plates and places them on the table before leaning in to kiss Oblea on the cheek.
"Because you love me. Now eat," she says with a playful grin.
Oblea looks at her with a touch of embarrassment but can't help smiling back before they both settle into a quiet meal.
After a few minutes, Oblea rises to clean the dishes, her movements slow but efficient. Eska helps gather the rest.
"I'll head out to get something big enough to last us a bit longer," Eska says as she prepares to leave. "Once it starts snowing, those weird spiders will come out, and I don't want to deal with them too much this winter."
Oblea nods, her expression serious. "Don't stay out too long," she says firmly.
"I won't. I also want to take that piece of cake from yesterday back to Marina," Eska replies cheerfully.
"Good idea."
Eska kisses Oblea's cheek before grabbing her bow and a few arrows. With a smile, she steps outside, heading east.
After an hour of walking, she arrives at the base of a cliff, where the forest takes on a strange transformation.
The air grows warmer, and the vegetation ignores the winter-like chill that blankets the rest of the woods. Placing her hand on the cliffside, Eska walks along it until her fingers sink through a false wall, a warm breeze escaping from the illusion.
She steps through, leaving the light behind as the hallway envelops her in complete darkness. Eventually, the passage opens into a vast, illuminated room made of old white marble.
The room is covered in intricate details—walls etched with inscriptions, bookshelves filled with scrolls and tomes, and a large stone slab in the center. The slab is covered in papers, drawings, diagrams and equations.
Tools are scattered neatly across its surface. Flanking it are a few tables, each holding various instruments and books.
"Marina?" Eska calls, her voice echoing in the massive chamber, as her eyes search for movement.
The torches and braziers flicker and respond, reacting to something unseen. A rush of wind sweeps through the room, and a shadow darts behind one of the bookshelves before stepping into view.
From the shadows, emerges Marina.