Ember's Shadow: A love that defies darkness

Chapter Five; Part One: When Shadows Touch Light

Three decades earlier...

In a grand, sun-kissed chamber, a young-bronze skinned witch sat in front of a ornate mirror, her curly coils cascading down her back like a perfect waterfall in the day skies. She carefully brushed her hair into a neat ponytail, leaving a few stray curls framing her face like a crown.

The room's tall, white and yellow tapered walls glowed with a soft, golden light, illuminating her graceful features and the intricate, swirling patterns etched into the walls.

As she worked on her hair, a gentle voice interrupted her, "I don't mean to bother you, my solaria, but the coven requests your attention."

The young woman's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she turned to face the speaker. Her gaze met the warm, amber eyes of a woman standing in the doorway, her hand on her hip, and a hint of impatience in her voice.

"My solaria?" the young woman wondered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hm." She giggled to herself, her eyes shining with amusement. "I've only been chosen for this position a short while ago, and you're already giving me nicknames Luxia?"

The woman behind the door revealed herself, her expression a mix of patience and urgency. "Well, in order to get you to start acting like a queen, I should treat you like one, no?" Her voice was firm but gentle, encouraging the young woman to embrace her new role.

The young woman groaned, sinking deeper into the marble chair, her eyes fixed on the newly installed skylights above. "What if they've made a mistake?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What if I'm not ready for this?"

The woman behind the door, Luxia, laughed, her voice warm and reassuring. "They chose you because of your perseverance and determination to make a difference, my Sun priestess," she said, wrapping her arms around the young woman's shoulders. "Last winter, you were the only witch in the entire coven who had the energy to take care of our fallen while still holding your head high. Only Solarion knows how many we lost last season."

Nneoma's face faltered, her eyes clouding over as the memories of the last ice storm came flooding back. The sun's absence had stretched on for weeks, casting a bleak shadow over the coven. The once-vibrant witches grew pale and weak, their bodies craving the nourishing rays of the sun.

As the cold darkness persisted, the coven's collective sanity began to unravel. The younger witches, more vulnerable to the sun's absence, were the first to succumb to the madness. Their minds, once sharp and focused, grew dull and disoriented. They became withdrawn, muttering to themselves in hushed tones, their eyes vacant and lost.

The older witches, though more resilient, soon followed suit. They too began to feel the crushing weight of the sun's absence. Their usually wise and guiding eyes grew dim, their steps slow and labored. The once-unified coven fragmented, as the witches became isolated and withdrawn.

The communal living quarters, once filled with laughter and warmth, became a somber and eerie space. The air grew thick with the scent of despair, as the witches' usually radiant auras dimmed. The sound of muffled sobs and mournful whispers echoed through the halls, a haunting reminder of the sun's absence.

As the days turned into weeks, the coven's condition worsened. The younger witches, unable to withstand the prolonged darkness, began to slip away, their bodies surrendering to the cold and the shadows. The older witches, powerless to stop the decline, could only stand by and mourn the loss of their sisters.

Nneoma's eyes dropped, her gaze fixed on the floor, as she recalled the countless lifeless bodies she had tended to during that fateful winter. The memory of their pale, cold skin, their once-vibrant eyes now dull and lifeless, haunted her still. The weight of her responsibility, the burden of her newfound power, threatened to overwhelm her.