The Draconian sanctuary was nothing like Mallory had ever seen.
At four, clutching her golden, rose-encrusted music box, she felt it the moment she entered.
The air was heavy, pulsing with energy. Light bent oddly through towering windows, scattering across the ancient stone floors. Dust drifted in the beams, tickling her eyelashes. She sneezed softly. The sound echoed.
Walls whispered spells long forgotten. Carvings shimmered faintly as she walked. Every step echoed, almost curious.
The Draconian woman stood at the entrance, calm, powerful, alert. Hands folded, yet ready. Her eyes, stormy silver, seemed to see everything.
Mallory pressed the music box to her chest, trembling. She didn't understand why her parents were gone. Fear pressed on her chest, but the tiny dancer inside the box felt like a heartbeat, tethering her to something familiar.
"You're safe now," the woman said, voice calm, boots silent on the floor. She tilted her head, giving a small nod.
"No one will harm you. Understand?" She extended a hand slowly.
Mallory only nodded, fingers gripping the music box tighter.
The woman knelt, level with her eyes. "You have nothing to fear here," she added, voice soft yet firm.
Mallory stared back, wide-eyed, unsure. Her world had just changed.
Fenric, the wolf, waddled silently beside them. His paws made no sound, yet the rhythm of his movement was comforting, almost musical. Though small at first, he already carried an air of awareness that exceeded his size.
His eyes, golden and intelligent, followed Mallory as if he understood the fragility of her heart and the raw potential of her being. He nudged her gently with his nose, prompting a small giggle from the child.
When she stumbled slightly on the uneven stone floor, Fenric nudged her shoulder gently, his fur brushing against her arm like a reassurance. Mallory smiled faintly, a small bubble of trust forming.
The first few days in the sanctuary were a whirlwind of confusion and quiet. Mallory barely ate, barely spoke, and spent most of her time sitting by the wide windows, the music box always in her lap.
Elizabeth, the Draconian woman, moved with purpose, bringing meals, arranging the child's modest bed, and showing her small, hidden corners of the sanctuary. Each action was deliberate; nothing in Elizabeth's movements was wasted. Her boots clicked softly on the stone, her hands precise in every motion.
Every gesture hinted at an understanding that Mallory, though tiny and young, carried importance beyond her years.
"Here," Elizabeth said one morning, placing a small bowl of steaming porridge in front of her. "Eat. You need strength."
Mallory sniffed it cautiously and took a small spoonful, her green eyes watching the woman. "Do I… have to eat it all?" she asked, voice small.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "Try. You may find it tastes better than you think." Her hand brushed a stray lock of hair from Mallory's forehead, and the child giggled.
Time passed differently in this place.
Hours stretched lazily, shadows lingering long across walls, while light moved in soft, deliberate arcs.
Mallory began to notice that the music box seemed warmer here, as though it recognized the magic that permeated the air. She twirled it gently in her hands, watching the tiny ballerina spin, faster and smoother than she had seen before.
Sometimes, when she held it close, the ballerina's figure would twirl a fraction faster than it should, and the tiny notes of the music would bend in odd, soothing ways. The effect comforted her in ways she could not describe, filling her chest with both calm and wonder.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered one afternoon to Fenric. He tilted his head, ears twitching. The music box hummed faintly. "It's like it's talking," she added, a grin forming.
Fenric let out a low, rumbling sound that felt like agreement. He padded his head against her hand.
Days became weeks, and weeks blurred into months.
The sanctuary's halls, lined with spellbooks and strange artifacts, became familiar.
Mallory would wander cautiously, her tiny feet padding along stone corridors, the music box clutched to her chest.
Fenric always a few steps behind, his golden eyes alert for danger, for magic, for the unknown.
He was patient and observant, an unspoken protector who never forced himself into her space, but was always present.
"Be careful with that one," Elizabeth said one day, gesturing toward a glass orb that pulsed faintly on a shelf. "Not everything here is meant to be touched."
Mallory leaned forward, her curiosity itching, but she stopped. "Yes, Elizabeth," she replied, lips pressed together in concentration.
As she grew, so did her understanding of the sanctuary and its hidden rules.
Elizabeth began teaching her small lessons, often indirect, about safety, focus, and subtle control of energy.
"Feel it, don't force it," Elizabeth instructed gently, as Mallory concentrated on lifting a feather with her tiny magic. "Let it respond to you."
Mallory listened with wide eyes, repeating instructions quietly to herself, careful not to disappoint her teacher. She was a child, but her mind absorbed more than she knew.
The music box remained her anchor, a tether to memories of parents she barely could recall.
Every night, she wound it and watched the tiny ballerina spin, letting the soft music carry her into dreams of warmth and family.
Elizabeth observed silently, occasionally brushing back Mallory's hair or adjusting the folds of her small cloak.
Fenric, meanwhile, would circle the room when she slept, ears twitching at every small sound, his instincts on high alert.
He would nuzzle her gently if nightmares threatened, but never intruded unnecessarily.
As the years passed, Mallory grew into a small but determined child, her curiosity sharpening.
She began exploring corners of the sanctuary herself, touching ancient tomes and artifacts, asking questions in soft whispers.
Elizabeth encouraged this cautiously, never answering fully, letting Mallory discover truths in small pieces.
"Look at this one," Mallory said excitedly, pointing to a tome that shimmered faintly. "Can I read it?"
Elizabeth bent down, stormy eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You may, but slowly. Pay attention to what it tells you, and what it hides."
Her magical abilities stirred faintly.
Objects would shift slightly when she focused, tiny sparks of energy shimmering in her palms.
The music box occasionally reacted, humming with a warmth that only Mallory seemed to notice.
Fenric's eyes would follow the glow, tracking subtle fluctuations in the magic around her.
By age ten, she had learned enough to sense flows of energy, the kind Elizabeth rarely explained.
Mallory felt it in the walls, the stones, the books—an invisible thread she longed to understand.
She asked questions that were met with cryptic replies, such as "Patience, child. You will see in time."
Every hint fueled her imagination, and every unanswered question left her restless.
Elizabeth introduced her to rudimentary spells, teaching control over small elemental forces, water and fire first, then light and air.
Mallory excelled, often surpassing expectations for a child of her age.
Fenric, who was growing alongside her, would assist subtly, guiding her hands, sensing disturbances, occasionally nudging her back when she became frustrated.
He was more than a companion; he was an extension of her intuition, a mirror of her emerging abilities.
By age twelve, she could levitate small objects and sense magical currents in ways others her age could not.
She experimented carefully, never recklessly, but always driven by a curiosity that Elizabeth could not suppress.
The music box continued to be a constant companion.
Its notes would occasionally distort, harmonize strangely with her powers, hinting that it carried more than memory—it seemed linked to the magic that slumbered within her.
Elizabeth never explained, only observed, a faint glint of concern or approval in her stormy eyes.
Mallory's mind and body matured under Elizabeth's guidance.
By age sixteen, she had grown tall for her age, graceful, and agile.
Her small moments of magic became stronger, more confident.
Fenric was no longer just a protector; he was a teacher of instinct and patience.
Together, they trained in the hidden courtyards of the sanctuary, her small hands practicing spells while Fenric guided her movements, silently correcting posture or focus.
The golden music box remained her anchor, her constant, her reminder of a family long lost.
Its soft glow sometimes responded to her magic, and she could swear that when she wound it, her abilities felt sharper, more precise, as if it were whispering encouragement.
Elizabeth allowed these exercises, watching carefully, always reminding her: "Power without control is danger to yourself and others."
Mallory learned quickly, internalizing the lessons, aware that her abilities were rare and her destiny unusual.
She could feel it—a pull, a subtle energy that connected her to more than the sanctuary, to forces she could not yet understand.
By the age of seventeen, her magical abilities were stirring fully.
Small sparks would dance along her fingertips, and she could manipulate objects with thought alone.
She felt Fenric's loyalty as a tangible presence, guiding her, protecting her, and teaching patience and control.
The sanctuary itself seemed alive, as though it recognized her growth, its corridors and rooms subtly aligning to encourage learning and discovery.
The golden music box glimmered with unusual intensity, its tiny ballerina spinning faster than ever, as though celebrating her awakening.
Mallory understood now that she was no longer a child, yet still bound by lessons, by guidance, and by mysteries that Elizabeth kept veiled.
She felt destiny stirring within her veins, a quiet whisper that demanded attention, and the soft hum of the music box seemed to echo it.
Questions lingered in her mind:
Why had she survived the war as a child?
Why had Elizabeth chosen her specifically?
What role did the music box truly play in her future?
And what dangers, hidden in shadows beyond the sanctuary walls, were already aware of her presence?
The chapter closed with Mallory standing in the high window of the sanctuary, the soft wind catching her hair and the music box clasped tightly.
A faint shimmer of light danced along her fingers, the first undeniable sign of the power that would shape her life.
She was no longer merely a girl who had survived war—she was awakening, and the world outside, dark and full of peril, would soon take notice.
Fenric's gaze met hers, silent reassurance passing between them.
Elizabeth watched from the shadows, calm and unreadable, the weight of knowledge heavy on her shoulders.
The music box spun, light catching in its gold and rose enamel, as if hinting at secrets yet to come, secrets that would change Mallory's destiny forever.