Fang, Witch & Moonlight

Two | The Edict

Lunor, where the Veylorin Coven resided, was nestled deep in the center of the Silverthorne woods, in the heart of the mesa. To an untrained, non-magical eye, it would be near impossible to find. Magical wards, amnesia spells, and other defensive precautions were scrawled in their ancient runic alphabet into the bark of a ring of trees, just outside of the small village. A wayward passerby would simply activate the trap, forget his purpose, and return the way he had come. Saelen and Roewen imbued the Veylorin with their power; their connection to the twin moons ran as deeply as the Fanged Ones, arguably more. They depended upon it for power. The waxing and waning of the lunar cycle either gave them strength, or suppressed it.

Selene climbed down from her cabin-perch, a small, one-room treehouse built on stilted beams, closing the door softly behind her. She didn't bother locking the door. The all-female coven were close as sisters, and many actually were. Now that she had reached twenty-four, the age of womanhood in the village, she thankfully had her own space. As she finished her descent from the wooden ladder, she looked around at the dozen or so thatched roof barracks built for the youngest amongst them. She was glad to now live high up in the canopy, able to absorb the moonbeams and grow her magic.

She glanced up with a frown, eyeing the expansive black sky with dissatisfaction. The twins were invisible tonight. She felt hollow, as if a good friend had left her presence on short notice. All witches felt this way during the New Moon. She cast her gaze from the heavens, peering down the dim, torchlit dirt path that winded through the center of Silverthorne. As she walked, other cloaked figures emerged, stepping on to the path in front of and behind her. She nodded at them, and the expanding group began marching dutifully in line, one-by-one. The forest on either side of them was quieter than usual, nothing more than an occasional flutter of wings by a startled bird, or buzz of critters as they scuttled along the forest floor.

Shortly, they approached the far side of Silverthorne, towards the amphitheater. It was a marvel of stone and magic, cut into the ground itself like one half of a giant bowl. She stepped down into it, heels clacking against the cold granite, finding her seat in one of the lower rows. At the base of steppes was a large, flat disc of stone, upon which jutted two massive, equidistant columns. The runes of the two displayed the names of Saelen and Roewen in the Ancient script, words she dare not utter aloud. As such, the pillars were stand-ins for the moons themselves, angled precisely so that Aelora Polari, the water maiden, sat between them in infinite rest.

She stared at the North star for a long moment, brilliantly glimmering amidst the absence of moonlight.

"Are you thinking about the sagas?" A voice asked, placing a soft hand upon Selene's cloaked shoulder. It snapped her out of her reverie, and she turned her head. A woman with a frayed, dark green cloak pulled down her hood, smiling at her with a gentle, deep-creased face.

"Hello, Lyra," Selene replied, placing her hand over the old woman's and giving it a soft squeeze. Lyra sat down next to her, grunting a bit in discomfort. The woman tucked a strand of her frizzled gray hair behind an ear. Selene's gaze wandered back towards the sky. "Of course I was. How could I not?"

Lyra nodded knowingly. "On dark nights, she continues to illuminate a path for us. It was Aelora who guided our foremothers past the infinite ocean, navigating the treacherous waters, finding. the coast of Silverthorne. For us, she harnessed lightning..." Lyra opened her palm, sparks of light blue magic popping to life, briefly throwing deeper wrinkles into her face.

"...into magic."

Selene nodded respectfully; she already knew the story, told countless times to every young girl in her crib. Still, Lyra continued. "And once her time on Astara had come to an end, she did not seek out devious, arcane spells to prolong her life. She did not barter with demons, warlocks, the accursed, clinging and clawing against fate to draw out one last breath, as some do."