The Caerwood's Shadow

Prologue

At the edge of the village, where the impenetrable forest of Caer began, stood a small solitary house, embraced by creeping vines and surrounded by a wild garden that seemed more a part of the forest than of the human world. In this place lived a young and mysterious woman, her eyes holding the light of the moon and her dark hair as shadowy as the spaces between trees. The villagers knew little about her, but they had decided they knew enough: too strange, too different, too free.

There was no evidence, no explicit accusations. But whispers spread like smoke. A bird circling her house or a thriving plant was enough to feed the rumors.
She was kind, yet children were kept away from her, and men made the sign of the Sun when they saw her at the market.

Then, he arrived.

He was a young farmer, the son of a humble family, but with a kind heart and strong hands. His name was Ewan, and he was unafraid of the tales the village whispered. One evening, as he returned from the fields, he encountered the woman, whose name was Lyra. She was gathering berries along the path to the forest. When their eyes met, Ewan saw something in her that no one else seemed to notice: beauty, yes, but also an infinite loneliness.

Their friendship quickly turned into love—a bond so strong that it seemed to challenge the very roots of prejudice. But defying the village was not without consequences. The men whispered of curses, the women begged him to stay away from her, and even his devout parents tried to dissuade him.
"She will bring you nothing but pain, Ewan," his father warned one evening. "Do not defy the will of the First Sun."
But Ewan would not listen. And Lyra, for the first time in her life, allowed someone close to her heart.

When Lyra discovered she was pregnant, she told Ewan with a smile that lit her solitary home as never before. He held her tightly, promising they would raise the child together, that their baby would have a better life than either of them had known.

But when the news reached the villagers' ears, it was like pouring oil on an already blazing fire of hatred. Lyra: too different, too free. And so Ewan, by association, must be her accomplice—a man seduced and corrupted "by magic," the boldest whispered.

One night, a group of men from the village marched to Ewan's family home. With torches and shouts, they destroyed everything: the house, the barn, even the small garden his parents lovingly tended. They accused him of witchcraft, of bringing a curse upon the village.
"You are a servant of evil!" one man shouted as another hurled a stone at the house.

Ewan and Lyra had no choice: they had to leave. With the entire village against them, they took what little they could carry and fled under the veil of night, heading toward Havenloch, a distant village where they hoped to start anew.

Havenloch was cold and unwelcoming, but no one seemed to ask too many questions. The couple found refuge in a small cabin at the edge of the village. Months passed, and Lyra's belly swelled. Despite the hardship and pain, Lyra smiled. "It will be a girl," she told Ewan one night as he held her hand.

When the day of the birth arrived, the sky over Havenloch was a deep gray, and the air seemed to hum with strange energy. Above the house, a black crow with gleaming eyes took flight, disappearing into the horizon. At Lyra's next scream and Ewan's hurried trip to fetch fresh water, a figure emerged from the forest.

It was an old woman, leaning on a carved wooden staff to steady her uncertain steps. Her eyes, gray as the sky, burned with wisdom and sorrow.
Lyra recognized her immediately. "Mother," she whispered, her face weak but smiling through the pain.

The old woman set to work, chanting something only she understood as time seemed to slow. But something went wrong. The labor was long and grueling, and when the baby was finally born, Lyra's breath left her with one final whisper: "Maeve."

Ewan fell to his knees, cradling Lyra in his arms as reality struck him like lightning. His grief was so immense it seemed to fill the air, and the grandmother watched him with somber eyes.

Ewan raised his gaze to her, but his eyes were empty. Without a word, he stood, leaving the newborn in the old woman's hands, and vanished into the forest.

The grandmother wrapped the baby in a blanket and looked up at the sky through the cabin's roof, where the crows still lingered. "Maeve. Her blood lives in you."