The bell tower in Dophis chimed four times, its bronze voice echoing through the village with a resonance that seemed to linger longer than usual. The ancient bell—cast during the final years of the Draetrotus Empire and inscribed with protective runes that few could still read—served as more than a timekeeper. In border settlements like Dophis, such bells were often the first warning of approaching danger, their tone capable of shifting from gentle time-marking to urgent alarm at a moment's notice.
Zepp wiped the perspiration from her brow, carefully balancing a woven basket filled with carefully selected herbs and neatly rolled bandages as she navigated the uneven cobblestone paths. The basket itself was one of Selva's creations, woven from willow branches that had been steeped in preservation charms to keep medicinal ingredients fresh longer than nature would typically allow. Each step along the familiar route brought new scents—rosemary for memory enhancement, thyme for respiratory ailments, and the distinctive earthy aroma of goldenseal root, prized for its infection-fighting properties.
Today was healing day, a tradition that predated even the founding of Kholjr Kingdom. In the borderlands, where professional healers were scarce and the nearest major city lay weeks away by wagon, such community care meant the difference between life and death. The practice had evolved from necessity into something almost sacred—a web of mutual aid that bound the village together stronger than any royal decree.
Zepp found herself traversing the village from end to end, delivering essential supplies while doing her best to avoid Tibor's notorious flock of chickens. The birds had developed an uncanny ability to appear underfoot at the worst possible moments, clucking with what seemed like deliberate mischief as they pecked at anything remotely interesting. Today they seemed particularly agitated, their usual aimless wandering replaced by nervous clustering near doorways and under carts.
Despite the physical weariness settling into her bones, Zepp found deep satisfaction in her work. Helping others wasn't just a task—it was woven into the very fabric of who she was. Everyone in Dophis had a role to play in the community's survival, and even though she lacked the spell-casting prowess that made Selva legendary throughout the eastern borderlands, Zepp had discovered her own unique talents.
She could prepare poultices that drew infection from wounds with unusual efficiency. Her hands seemed to know instinctively how to set broken bones and bind sprains. More than once, villagers had commented that her touch brought unusual comfort to pain, though she'd always attributed such remarks to kindness rather than any mystical ability.
The truth was, Zepp possessed at least twenty skills that most people wouldn't associate with a witch's apprentice. She could identify edible plants in the deep forest, track animals by their spoor, predict weather changes by the behavior of birds and insects, and navigate by the stars with an accuracy that impressed even veteran travelers. Selva had taught her some of these abilities, but others seemed to come from some deeper well of knowledge she couldn't explain.
However, as she moved through her appointed rounds, delivering supplies to Old Henrik's infected leg wound and changing the dressings on young Marta's burn from the blacksmith's forge, a sense of unease flickered at the edges of her consciousness like a candle flame in a draft.
The villagers greeted her with their usual warmth—polite smiles, cheerful chatter about the weather and local gossip—but today there was something different. An underlying tension lurked beneath the surface interactions, visible in the way eyes darted toward the eastern road, in how conversations died when children approached, in the subtle but unmistakable signs of people preparing for trouble they hoped wouldn't come.
Eavesdropping wasn't in Zepp's nature, but in a small village, privacy was a luxury few could afford. Fragments of adult conversations drifted to her ears like smoke:
"...three more sightings near Wildfang Crags. Captain Morris says if the reports are true..."
"...messenger from the capital rode through without stopping. Haven't seen that since the Thornwood Rebellion..."
"...can't let panic spread, not when we're so close to harvest season. People need to focus on—"
"...my cousin in Millbridge says they've started organizing citizen militias. Volunteers only, but still..."
Each snippet added another piece to a puzzle Zepp couldn't quite assemble. The adults clearly knew more than they were sharing, and their careful maintenance of normalcy around the younger villagers only made the underlying tension more palpable.
Curiosity sparked within her like flint against steel, but years of living in a small community had taught her the boundaries of acceptable inquiry. She already knew that direct questions would be met with gentle deflections and reassuring lies. Adults had their own ways of protecting the young, even when that protection felt more like exclusion.
Later that evening, back in the familiar sanctuary of Selva's cottage, the warm glow of the hearth fire cast dancing shadows against stone walls that had weathered decades of border conflicts and seasonal storms. Zepp stirred a pot of simmering healing broth, the recipe one that Selva had taught her years ago but which seemed to improve each time she made it. The mixture of herbs and roots filled the air with an aroma that was both medicinal and comforting—chamomile for relaxation, willow bark for pain relief, and a dozen other ingredients whose properties she'd memorized through repetition and practice.
She stole glances at her master, who sat in her favorite chair near the window, fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea that held its heat far longer than natural physics would allow. Selva appeared lost in thought, her usually detached expression showing hints of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or the weight of knowledge she'd chosen not to share.
The cottage itself seemed to reflect the evening's subdued mood. The magical artifacts that usually hummed with gentle energy appeared muted, and even the household spirits that Selva insisted inhabited every corner seemed unusually quiet. The very air held a waiting quality, as if the entire structure was holding its breath.
"Is something happening at the border?" Zepp ventured, attempting to keep her tone casual despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. She'd been rehearsing the question for hours, trying to find the right balance between curiosity and respect for whatever boundaries her master might maintain.
Selva's sharp gaze remained fixed on the darkening forest beyond the window, but Zepp caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested the question hadn't been unexpected. "What makes you ask that?"
The response was so perfectly characteristic—answering a question with another question, maintaining that careful distance from direct engagement—that Zepp almost smiled despite her growing anxiety.
"I overheard some people in the village. Their tone sounded... serious. More serious than usual gossip." She paused in her stirring, trying to read her master's expression. "And there have been more guards passing through. Different kinds of guards, with better equipment."
Selva took a measured sip of her tea, the liquid swirling in patterns that seemed to echo her internal calculations. When she spoke, her voice carried that familiar note of detached observation that could be either comforting or infuriating, depending on one's perspective.
"When you live near the edge of a kingdom, you often hear whispers of serious matters. Borders are places where rumors gather like morning mist—sometimes substantial, sometimes mere vapor."
Zepp's expression shifted, her natural persistence overriding her usual deference to her master's evasions. "So it's not nothing, then?" She bit her lip, a habit from childhood that emerged whenever anxiety crept too close to the surface. "The way people are acting... it feels different this time."
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the healing broth and the distant sound of wind moving through the forest canopy. When Selva finally spoke, her words carried a weight that seemed to acknowledge something significant without quite naming it.
"It's not your burden to carry. Yet."
"Yet?" Zepp echoed, her voice rising with the particular frustration of youth confronting adult mysteries. "You always say that. I'm sixteen, you know. In most places, that's old enough for marriage, for military service, for—"
"Sixteen and impatient," Selva interrupted, though her tone held more amusement than criticism.
"I'm not impatient," Zepp shot back defensively, crossing her arms in a gesture that made her look younger rather than older. After a moment, honesty compelled her to add, "...Okay, maybe a little. But that doesn't mean I'm not ready to know things. Important things."
Selva's smile was faint, a soft curve that graced her lips but seemed to struggle against deeper concerns before fading entirely. In the firelight, her expression revealed hints of the weight she carried—knowledge accumulated over years of living on the margins of great events, understanding consequences that others couldn't yet see.
"Readiness," she said quietly, "isn't always about age or desire. Sometimes it's about timing. And sometimes..." She paused, studying Zepp with an intensity that made the young woman shift uncomfortably. "Sometimes it's about whether the world is ready for you."
The cryptic response only deepened Zepp's frustration, but something in her master's tone discouraged further pressing. Instead, she returned to her stirring, letting the familiar rhythm of the task soothe her mounting anxiety.
That night, sleep eluded Zepp entirely.
She found herself perched at her bedroom window, knees drawn to her chest, gazing out at the dense woodland that separated their tower from the village and the wider world beyond. The moon hung nearly full above the canopy, its light filtering through leaves to create a shifting pattern of silver and shadow that might have been beautiful under other circumstances.
Tonight, however, the forest seemed different. The usual symphony of nocturnal sounds—owl calls, rustling small creatures, the distant howl of wolves—felt muted, as if the very wildlife sensed something amiss. The night air carried an unusual charge, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm, but the sky remained clear except for a few wisps of cloud that moved with unnatural speed across the star field.
A restless energy thrummed in Zepp's chest, an sensation she'd never experienced before. It felt as if invisible threads connected her to something vast and distant, pulling at her consciousness with a persistence that made her skin prickle. The feeling centered somewhere behind her breastbone, a warmth that pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat but seemed to echo something external—as if her heart was trying to match a drum being beaten in some far-off place.
Pressing a trembling hand over her heart, she whispered into the stillness of her room, "Why do I feel so... off?"
The words seemed to hang in the air longer than they should have, and for a moment, Zepp could have sworn she heard something respond—not words, exactly, but a presence acknowledging her question from somewhere beyond the reach of ordinary senses. The sensation was gone so quickly she might have imagined it, leaving only the familiar silence of the cottage and the distant whisper of wind in the trees.
She didn't expect actual answers; the vast darkness beyond the village had never offered comfort to her midnight worries before. But tonight felt different, as if the boundary between the known and unknown had grown thin, allowing glimpses of larger currents that moved beneath the surface of everyday life.
Far beyond Dophis, across leagues of ancient forest and forgotten ruins, powers that had slumbered for generations began to stir. In the abandoned cities of the Draetrotus Empire, where vines had long since claimed marble halls and wild magic grew unchecked, something was awakening. Military commanders in distant capitals studied maps with growing concern, their scouts reporting movements that defied conventional explanation.
Rumors moved through the shadows like living things: armies gathering in places that should have been empty wasteland, mages vanishing from their towers without trace or explanation, ancient artifacts disappearing from supposedly secure vaults. Power that had been buried, bound, or banished was finding ways to claw back toward the light.
In the royal city of Kholjr, advisors whispered of prophecies and half-remembered warnings from ages past. Border fortresses received cryptic orders to strengthen their defenses against threats that couldn't be clearly named. Merchant guilds noted the increasing frequency of "lost" caravans and began requiring armed escorts for routes that had been safe for decades.
None of the rumors, reports, or worried consultations mentioned a sixteen-year-old apprentice living in a crooked tower on the kingdom's eastern edge. None of the gathered intelligence suggested that a girl who couldn't cast the simplest cantrip might be connected to the growing disturbances.
None of them spoke her name, or guessed at the true nature of what slumbered behind the seal that bound her deepest powers.
But the world was moving anyway, like a vast mechanism that had been set in motion by forces beyond any single person's control. And somewhere in the complex web of cause and effect, action and consequence, Zepp's restless night represented another small but significant shift in the balance of things.
By dawn, the strange tension in the air had begun to fade, but it left behind a lingering sense that something fundamental had changed—not just in the immediate vicinity of the tower, but in the deeper currents that shaped the fate of kingdoms.
The day would bring new challenges, new mysteries, and perhaps the first clear signs that Zepp's quiet life as a village healer and mage's apprentice was about to become something far more significant and dangerous than anyone—including Selva—had prepared her to face.