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Chapter 2 - Chapter 1

You know me as Nova. Some also know me as the Flame Hunter. Over the years, I have been given countless other names as well. And not all of them were particularly flattering.

I was born in Grania, the land of humans. Together with my older sister and my mother, we lived at first in the border region to our neighboring countries, Drakania and Silvandar.

But at some point, my family was offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: the chance to move to another country.

However, my stay abroad was not to last long. After a few years, my father, Eoghan, left the country with me.

In the end, we moved to his home village. The village lay far to the west of the country and was so small that it could not be found on any map. Officially, it did not even have a name. Unofficially, we called it Oakrest, not least because of the many oaks growing there.

Anyway, when I moved to Oakrest, I must have been about eleven years old. For a few short years, I finally found the peace and stability I had longed for throughout my entire childhood.

My father provided for the two of us with a small forge that was in high demand out in the countryside.

To see Lucian, a very close friend who had once also lived in Oakrest, from time to time, we traveled to the capital of the country every few years. But this time, I would be traveling there alone for the first time.

My father and I were on our way to the stagecoach that day.

He walked beside me with a grim expression. I already suspected it had to do with my journey, so I tried to distract him with conversation.

"What's the weapon for?" I asked, pointing at the sword he had brought along.

My father shot me an irritated glance from the side. Guilt hit me like a blow, but I didn't let it show.

"Afraid a couple of squirrels might ambush us?" I joked, hoping to lift his mood.

But he didn't respond to my poor attempt at humor and instead came to a halt as if turned to stone.

A woman with her child squeezed past us. My gaze followed them. A few meters ahead, I spotted an old stagecoach. It could only be the one I was here for. It stood right in the middle of the otherwise empty marketplace. But since opportunities to catch a ride to the capital were rare, several villagers had gathered there.

I turned back to my father.

My father still stood motionless in place, his brow furrowed with worry as he stared at the ground. The hand of his left arm, like his right one marked by countless scars from past battles, now clutched the sword tightly.

"Last call for the ride to Grania!" a voice called from the direction of the stagecoach.

"Papa?" I asked.

He blinked rapidly a few times, as if I had just pulled him out of a dream. Then he ran his free hand over his bald head and pressed the sword into my hands. I quickly set down my travel case so I could take it.

When I looked at the sword more closely, I realized it seemed very familiar. The simple yet elegant design. The black hilt and the equally black scabbard. It felt lighter in my hand than its appearance suggested. I couldn't help but wonder what material it was made of.

With a raised eyebrow, I asked,

"Are you sure you want me to take it? Normally you treat it like a treasure and won't even let me dust it off…"

My father gave a brief nod and grumbled,

"Your swordsmanship pains me to no end, but in an emergency it'll prove useful. Besides, a sword at your hip alone makes for good deterrence."

I ignored the jab at my poor sword skills and smiled. Then I replied,

"Thanks, I'll take good care of it."

"Did you think of everything?" he asked anxiously, changing the subject. "Can you stay with Val?"

"Yes, Papa. You don't have to worry. Everything's taken care of. I won't stay long in the capital. I should be back in about two months," I tried to reassure him.

Instead of being satisfied with my answer, all I heard from him was a gruff, "Hm."

He liked to do that when he wasn't convinced.

"Then take good care of yourself and come back safely," he said in a stern tone. His words sounded more like an order than a request. Even though it was sometimes annoying, I appreciated his concern.

I replied, "I will. And please eat properly while I'm gone, alright?"

My father was actually a very good cook. However, I knew that before I had moved in with him, he tended not to eat properly when he was alone. Supposedly because he thought it wasn't worth cooking just for himself.

His eyes scrutinized me sternly as he processed my words. The deep scar running from his right eyebrow down across his eye made his gaze appear even sharper. Tense, he ran his hand through the beard streaked with gray hair. Yet to this day, he still owes me an answer about his eating habits during my absence.

"Please write to me if your stay should be extended," he said with a worried expression as I was about to step into the stagecoach.

"I will," I assured him.

When I set out on my journey, I hadn't realized that I wouldn't see him again for far longer than I had imagined. And even less did I realize how little time we would have together in total.

Looking back now, I deeply regret not having made use of that precious time…

Some time later, I arrived in the capital. At sunset, the old stagecoach rattled over the cobblestones and came to a stop at the edge of the market district. Relieved to finally be able to move again, I jumped out of the stagecoach and stretched with satisfaction.

The smell of smoke, roasted meat, and fresh bread filled the air and wrapped around me. Loud shouting, whining children, the clatter of hooves, and the squeaking of wagon wheels rained down on me as sounds. Even at this hour, many people were still crowding the streets: women and men in linen clothing carrying their shopping in baskets, children darting between the stalls, and craftsmen offering their goods in soot-stained aprons. Among all the common folk, only a few merchants stood out in their higher-quality garments, pushing their way through the crowd with their heads held high.

I had already announced my visit to Val and Lucian by letter some time before. Lucian had agreed to come and pick me up.

I waited for about ten minutes before I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"Ah, Nova. There you are!"

I turned around, delighted by the sound of her voice. Val stood before me. I knew her through Lucian and had been friends with her for several years. Since I had actually been expecting Lucian, I was quite surprised to see her in his place.

Val greeted me with a brief hug. Her reddish-brown hair, braided into a plait, tickled my cheek. She smelled of a mix of alcohol and lavender. Two years had passed since we had last met.

"Hello," I greeted her, visibly confused but glad to see her.

"Long time no see," she replied.

My eyes wandered around, searching.

"Lucian won't make it today. Apparently, there was an emergency in the city that he has to take care of," Val explained with an apologetic smile, as if she had just read my thoughts.

Before I could ask how she knew, she added,

"A messenger from the palace came by earlier and told me. As the deputy commander of the Royal Guard, he always has his hands full, as you know. If you're unlucky, you might not see him for several weeks. Also, Lucian sends his deepest apologies. He rescheduled the dinner with his family for tomorrow."

"I see," I replied. I forced a gentle smile, but it didn't last long.

"You know, I do hope it's nothing serious that kept him there, but I'm still glad I get to be the one to pick you up instead," she said to me with a grin.

Somewhat puzzled, I studied her and tilted my head.

"This way, we can finally talk in peace," she added with a wink.

On the way to Val's inn, which was being run by a trusted employee during her absence, we exchanged stories about what had happened in our lives over the past few years. Despite the letters we had occasionally sent each other, we had far more to talk about than I had expected.

After we arrived at the inn, I was served a delicious stew. The cook who was working for her at the time seemed to be new. Apparently, he was not without talent, as Val watched me eagerly with every bite I took, completely forgetting to eat anything herself. At least for as long as she had time to sit with me at the table.

Since my last visit, Val's inn had truly flourished. Every table was full, all the rooms were occupied, and even additional staff hurried through her kitchen.

Val herself had stood up several times during the meal to lend a hand to her employees whenever they fell behind.

Since the inn was busy and I was tired from weeks of traveling, I said goodnight after dinner and went up to my room. It had been kept vacant especially for me.

The room was nothing extraordinary, but it was cozy. There was a bed with a blanket patterned with purple flowers, a dresser, a nightstand, and a bench positioned right in front of the room's only window. Like the rest of the inn, the entire room was made of wood and had its own special charm.

I used the free evening to take a long bath. Kindly, a suitable wooden tub had been brought into my room. Even though filling and emptying the tub had been a dreadful chore, I hadn't had the chance to bathe during my travels. So I was grateful to have that opportunity again and not to have to wash in a cold river.

Afterward, I took my time writing a detailed letter to my father, hoping to ease his worries rather than make them worse. I was sure he was already close to losing his mind, so I didn't want to put it off any longer. That way, I could send the letter the next day.

A few hours had passed by then. To read, I sat down on the bench in front of the window. At night, sounds from outside usually made their way in even through the closed window, if only because the house was so old. Something was always happening in this big city. At least that had been the case during my last stay at Val's inn.

But that night, it was unusually quiet. A silence that felt deeply unsettling. At that late hour, there wasn't much activity left in the inn either. I could hear a few muffled voices coming from the ground floor, but most of the guests seemed to have either gone home or retired to their rooms.

I opened a window. Cool night air flowed into the small room. It was still summer, but since the season was shifting toward autumn, the evenings and nights were rather chilly. I shivered and decided to close the window again after a short while. I also wanted to shut out the eerie silence that lingered outside.

Just as I grasped the handle to close it, I saw something move in the darkness. Light from the building across the street spilled onto the road, and when I looked more closely, I realized it was a person. Not only were they moving—they were running at full speed.

They seemed completely out of breath. At the next corner, two passersby appeared, apparently a couple, since they were holding hands.

The running person almost crashed into them. But instead of apologizing, she pleaded in panic,

"Please, help me! I'm being chased!"

Judging by the voice, the runner was a woman.

Just like the passersby, I was completely stunned. Had I imagined it? That had to be it. It must have been the fatigue. Surely. Or had I not?

But then I heard one of the passersby, the woman, ask,

"Oh… Aren't you…? What… what's going on?!"

The terrified stranger was just about to explain when three more people came running toward the group.

The cut of their clothing practically screamed uniforms, though in the darkness I couldn't be certain.

However, I could make out that the man in front was wearing a scarf around his neck. Even as he ran toward the others, he shouted,

"Stand back! That woman is a fugitive!"

My hand, still gripping the window handle, clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

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