AVAILABLE ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE
Eva has a world inside her head--the land of Astraela, where Darkness and Corrupted beasts threaten eternal doom. Vivid dreams have given her four books as an up-and-coming author, but when undead fiends appear...
MYSTIA THANKED THE GODS that it wasn't a lengthy journey to Edenberry.
Even as she downed another stamina-boosting tonic (her third since leaving the tavern), she knew a crash awaited her once they inevitably wore off. Quick remedies never came without a price, but she needed the boost to run the entire way to town without pause.
She hadn't stopped thinking about Bobbi's condition since leaving the Nethertree, and no matter how quickly her brain's gears turned, she knew there was only one viable solution to save her: an untested potion. It was a recipe she and Faeran had crafted in the months after Emrys had left for Earth. One that could potentially suppress Corruption, so long as the living being hadn't been overrun by Darkness.
While they had yet to test it on anything but flora and fauna, the trials had gone considerably well. She only hoped a magical tonic would work as well on an Other.
After her legs grew heavier at Faeran's front gate, she pulled another tonic from her bag and gulped it down. As she discarded the empty vial into her satchel, she felt around to find only three remaining. If she was going to get back to the tavern in one piece, she had to pace herself—but the looming time crunch forced her to push away her reservations. With or without the intervention of Sylvan's radiant magic, it wouldn't be long before the Corruption completely took hold.
Mystia jogged up the steps to the cottage. Before she could knock, her eyes caught the faint light seeping through a small crack in his front door.
Faeran never left his door open. Not when Darkness covered the sky.
Mystia retrieved the dagger from her collarbone. Holding it close, she pushed the front door open hesitantly before closing and locking it behind her.
The entryway was far too quiet. At that time of the afternoon, Faeran often tinkered in the kitchen, humming to himself while he made his favorite pinwheel sandwiches: a mix of fresh veggies and thinly-sliced gnoll meat. Even his teapot would chime in with a harmonious squeal.
Seeing no sign of life through the kitchen archway, she turned to find trinkets scattered across the common room. The glittering of broken glass made her heart hammer in her chest. She pressed her back to the wall beside the common room's entrance and listened closely.
Silence.
Mystia peered around the corner. A gargantuan mess surrounded the nearest bookshelf, with objects covered in cooled wax and the shattered remains of a candle in the center. Beyond the disarray rested a body, crumpled in a heap beside the tea table she and her friends had sat around only days prior.
Faeran.
Glass crunched beneath Mystia's boots as she rushed into the room. Though she nearly dropped to his side to survey the damage, she forced herself to a skidding stop once she noticed the black substance surrounding his corpse. His hair had been brushed back from his face to reveal circular marks around his forehead, similar in placement and size to the ones Eva had borne after her vision. But Eva's marks hadn't seared through her scalp to expose ichor and bone.
Even his violet eyes, the ones that Mystia had been enamored with the moment they'd met, had dissolved into Dark matter. It oozed from empty sockets, encompassing the underside of his head in a solid black halo.
The knife nearly slipped from her trembling fingers as she staggered back. She tried to readjust her grip, but her sweaty palms resisted until she returned her weapon to its enchanted ink.
"Fae..." Mystia choked, voice thick with tears. "What have they done to you?"
Her mind whirred with possibilities. Had the Corrupted found him? Did Iris make her way to Astraela?
Every thought brought her memory back to the gray fingerprint marks that had encircled Eva's own head. The blackness of her eyes. Her odd behavior on their last trip to town. Had the same thing plagued Faeran with visions? Or was it—
She shook the thought away. It couldn't have been Eva.
But why couldn't she convince herself otherwise?
A blinding beam of light shone through the front picture window, breaking Mystia from her internal spiral. Distant shouted commands and thundering footsteps forced her brain back into fight-or-flight mode.
A Visionary was dead. Of course the Guild would intervene.
Scrambling to regain some sort of composure, Mystia scanned the room for any sign of her desired ingredient. Faeran had kept it well-hidden for so long, moving it from place to place until he nearly forgot where it was himself. However, no matter where he chose to hide it, he always kept it in plain enough sight that it wouldn't be found by those searching through darkened nooks and crannies.
Finally, as she made a sweeping glance across the beaten-up bookshelf, she noticed one thing out of place: on the very top shelf, where every trinket had been knocked askew, a wooden urn was untouched by the surrounding chaos, despite balancing precariously near the edge. By all means, the object should have fallen with its comrades.
Though it teetered near the edge, it rested high enough that her short stature would prevent her from reaching it without assistance.
Mystia raced to the window. The Guild drew closer, using radiant torches to light their way. They weren't far, but if she used her resources wisely, perhaps she could make it out before they arrived.
She grabbed the edge of Faeran's circular tea table and used every ounce of strength to heft it near the bookshelf. Once it was barely close enough for her short arms to reach, she leapt onto the table and grasped the urn tightly.
It didn't budge.
Mystia swore under her breath. While enchanting the object to remain in its spot was the smartest decision Faeran had made, his brilliance was rather inconvenient.
Reaching as far as she could on her tiptoes without falling, she unlatched the lid and threw it back with a clang. With the top removed, a soft, white glow emanated from inside the urn, seeping through the darkened pouch she that housed her ingredient:
Stardust.
The rattling of the front door echoed throughout the cottage. Mystia's heart quickened as she snagged the black pouch from the urn and shoved it inside her satchel.
"Break the door!"
Time was running out.
Leaping from her perch, she raced for the ungrated fireplace opening and knelt down, peering into the shadowed chimney. Just the thought of how much soot she'd get all over herself made her nose crinkle in disgust, but without a back door, it left her with no choice.
The only way out... was up.
__________
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
