Song of The Wisp

Chapter Seven - The Shadow and the Flame

I blink.
Gone.

The kettle screams. I lunge to turn it off, but it's too late. The world is already shifting. My vision tilts—

And I fall back into Faethorne.

The forest was wrong.
I stood in a grove of crooked trees, black bark glistening with sap that looked too much like blood. The air buzzed—thick with rot and whispered promises. Shadows curled at the edges, shapes that didn't move quite right.

"Hello?" I called softly, my voice swallowed by the stillness.

And then—he stepped forward.
A tall figure, robed in dark velvet, his face hidden beneath a hood. But his voice... it was warm. Familiar. Almost gentle.

"You've come far, Aurora," he said. "So brave. So bright. But you're not ready to face what comes. Let me help you. You're not safe with them."

My breath caught.

No one had called me that—not in that voice. Not in that exact, terrifyingly tender way.

"Who are you?" I asked, though my voice betrayed me. "Where are Eira and Elandor?"

"They can't protect you..."
He stepped closer.
"But I... I can protect you," he murmured, voice soft as a serpent's breath. He raised a gloved hand.
"Give me the moonstone. Let me ease your burden, sweet Dawn."

And for a moment... a dangerous, aching moment... I almost stepped forward.

Until I saw it.

A puddle by my feet.

His hand—long, clawed, twisted wrong.

The trees groaned above me. The shadows laughed.

"No," I muttered, stepping back. Something doesn't feel right.

—CRACK—
A sharp sound tore through the grove. The illusion broke.
The figure's form eroded into black smoke, swirling violently.

It shrieked, a sound like rusted metal tearing through bone. The trees shook. Birds exploded from the branches in terror.

I stumbled back, heart hammering, the moonstone burning against my chest.
The shadow reformed—this time not as a man, but a creature. Bent. Writhing. Cloaked in smoke and malice.

A wicked grin slashed across its face.

"Faethorne's Dawn," it hissed. "Give me the stone."

My breath hitched.
Hands trembling, I reached for the nearest low-hanging branch.
"Stay away!" I shouted, knees quaking.

The creature laughed, a sound that curdled the air.

"You cannot escape me, Light of the Forest. The Master has sent me to collect what is his."

My heart pounded. I brandished the branch like a blade.
"Where are they?! What have you done with them?!"

"You'll never make it out of here..." it snarled. "Not in one piece."

It lunged.

I braced, shoving the branch forward—striking its arm.
It screamed, inhuman and enraged.

I ran.

Branches tore at my arms and clothes. The forest blurred. Shadows chased me like wolves in the dark.

Then—a flicker.
A pale blue light. Lune.

I didn't think. I ran toward it, toward the edge.

Almost free.

Then—cold.

Wet vines wrapped around my ankles. I fought, kicked, clawed. But they pulled, dragging me back. The laughter grew closer—sharper.

"No, not yet," I gasped, struggling. Not like this.

"I told you..." the voice hissed. "You couldn't run."

I stumbled. Fell. Dirt and moss against my face. Tears burned my eyes.

"Please... not like this..." I whispered, clinging to the moonstone.

The shadow loomed, reaching. So close now.

The moonstone glowed—hot beneath my skin, burning like fire and starlight combined.

And then—

SLASH.

The creature screamed. Its arm hit the ground. It recoiled, writhing, vanishing into shadow.

A figure stepped forward—bathed in silver light.

Calm as the moon. Fierce as the flame.

Tall. Cloaked. His hair tousled like midnight. His presence was ancient and divine.

And his eyes—
Amethyst, glowing like distant galaxies.

He said nothing.
He simply looked at me.
As if he'd waited lifetimes to find me again.

And then—

Darkness.

I woke up gasping.

The room was dark. Still.

No wind. No whispers. Only the soft hum of silence.

The kettle sat cold on the counter, untouched. Time hadn't passed—but I had.

My body trembled, sweat cooling on my skin, breath shallow like I'd run miles through fog and fire.

I reached for my chest.

The moonstone was warm. Alive. Pulsing faintly beneath my palm like a second heartbeat.

And those eyes—
Amethyst, eternal, watching me still.

Interlude – Between the Flame and the Shadow. (A Whisper from Lucen)

Far away, beyond the veil of waking, beyond the tangled hush of the Hollow Grove...

Lucen stood alone beneath a sky that remembered her.

The stars above him pulsed with quiet ache, and the trees around him shimmered faintly with residual magic—her magic. The aftershock of her presence lingered in the moss, the air, the starlight itself.

He looked down at his hand—
the one that had struck down the Hollowborn shadow.
His palm still burned where the moonstone's light had met his own.

He closed his eyes.

"She's close."

Not yet awakened. Not yet whole.

But his Aurora had remembered something. Enough to call to him. Enough to pull him through the veil.

And for the first time in an age... he allowed himself to hope.

"Soon," he murmured, voice low and fierce like a promise.

"Soon, my dawn."