Prologue
A clash of blades echoed across a desolate plain, just outside the broken gates of a once proud castle. The stone walls still smoldered from the attack, casting long shadows across the blood-slick grass. To an uninformed observer, it might have seemed like a beautifully choreographed dance. Each swing of the sword was met with a perfect parry, every step a deliberate counter to the other, as two figures moved in unison.
Those there, however, knew what this truly was.
Corpses, both human and not, lay sprawled across the battlefield, their weapons dropped and forgotten. Armies stood frozen around the duel, an uneasy circle of humanity and monstrous creatures alike, their gazes fixed on the two combatants. Overhead, the sky burned with the deep orange of sunset, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding.
On one side, the Heroine laughed, a sound so pure and defiant it lifted the spirits of the watching soldiers. She stood fearless against the Demon Lord, her light and unyielding flame in the face of darkness. On the other side, the tyrant sneered. His laugh, reverberating with malice, stirred hatred in the hearts of the soldiers.
To those present, this was no mere dance; it was the fight between good and evil. The Heroine embodied the future of humanity, while the Demon Lord represented death. Every strike, every dodge, was a battle for the soul of the world.
And yet, for those of you who have stumbled upon this scene without context, you would have been right to see it as something else entirely. This was indeed a dance, a carefully rehearsed, choreographed performance.
***
“That’s a good boy. Aren’t you a good boy?” I cooed, rubbing the Grubbear’s squishy belly as he lay sprawled on his back, humming softly in the morning breeze.
Olivander stood a few paces away, looking down the hill toward the gates of TillShade, doing a poor job of hiding his impatience. “Olive, the sun will be out soon. You can play with him after classes.”
I guessed he was right, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make the run to school fun.
I gave all six of the Grubbears paws one more squeeze, then jumped to my feet and faced my brother with my most serious expression.
“Race you!” I shouted, already halfway down the slope before he could answer.
My brother and I rushed downhill, racing to reach the church before the sun’s first rays touched us. Olivander streaked past me, his longer legs giving him the edge.
The morning air was brisk, and the dewy grass made each step slippery and treacherous.
Olivander reached the stone steps first. He pushed the heavy oak door open with a grunt, its hinges moving smoothly thanks to the diligent care of the Acolytes. He looked back at me over his shoulder.
“Olive, hurry!”
“I’m hurrying!” I called, boots thudding against the stone. I jumped across the threshold. The worn floor caught me as I landed, just as he shut the door behind me with a bang.
A sliver of sunlight barely kissed the edge before vanishing.
Inside, the air was cool and dim. A wrought-iron chandelier above us flickered with wax-heavy candles, casting soft, shadowy forms, shapes that looked like they were just waiting to tell a story if you stared long enough.
Mira and I had once spent a whole afternoon doing just that, chasing shapes across the walls, trying to figure out what tale they were telling.
The scent of candle smoke clung to the air, mixed with something old, wood polish, or ancient prayers, maybe, or just age. A thick woven rug lay beneath our feet, patterned with Lumisiel’s sunburst symbol. I avoided stepping on it, like always, just in case.
Olivander didn’t spare a glance, probably anxious to see a certain someone.
Heading toward the classroom, we darted down a narrow corridor off to the side. Our footsteps were quiet on the long runner rug, the soft thump of hurried movement echoing between the stone walls.
At the end of the hall, we pushed into the classroom.
It was cozy inside, rounder than square, like the base of a tower. Shelves crammed with our school supplies and subject journals lined the back wall. Desks sat in a neat semicircle around a tall blackboard, where smudges of chalk still lingered from the last lesson. The tall windows were shuttered and covered with heavy curtains, steeping the room in a soft, natural gloom.
Each of our desks was lit by a moontouched mushroom dim little things now, soft and silvery, their glow fading around the edges. Olivander and I had gathered them a few months ago during one of our trips to the forest, and they’d lasted longer than anyone expected. Still, we’d probably need to get new ones soon.
Talla and the weaving twins Dain and Mira were already in their seats. The twins were whispering back and forth, their voices light and quick.
I stepped into the room and tugged up the hem of my trousers just enough to show off my sock’s bushes and berries in soft, careful stitching. Mira’s handiwork. Her smile bloomed the moment she noticed.
“Morning,” I said.
The others chimed in.
Olivander trailed behind me and hesitated by Talla’s desk. He cleared his throat, straightened his satchel, and tried, “Hey.” His voice squeaked, the way it had been doing lately.
Talla smiled at him, bright as morning. “Hello, Olivander.”
His face went red. He ducked into the seat beside her and stared straight at his desk. I pretended not to have seen it happen. I at least had the decency to wait until we were home to tease him.
All the boys had started paying more attention to Talla lately. Mom said she was on her way to becoming a woman. She was very pretty, the kind of pretty that made boys forget what they were talking about. Her jet-black hair had a silver streak that always fell across her eyes, like it was trying to hide her gaze. Mom said I’d be catching their attention too in a few years. Talla could keep it, as far as I was concerned.
I walked to my desk and set down my things. I smiled at my desk. It looked like a garden had grown wild over it. I’d started carving into it a month ago. I first started with my tree, Arbolive. It took me a week and a half to carve even a fraction of her majestic beauty right in the center, stretching from top to bottom. Since then, I had added bushes filled with berries, a foxquil leaping between brambles, and Kitesqueaks gliding across the edge.
I pulled my carving knife and moontouched mushroom from my pack and placed them on my desk. The mushroom cast a soft blue glow over my desk.
Jorren came in next. He didn’t say anything, just nodded at everyone like he was sooo important and sat in the back like he always did. He thinks he’s better than this town just because he’s the oldest and gets perfect grades and wins all the duels… Whatever. He’s still a jerk.
I pulled out a small watering can from my pack and faced my window. I had modified the curtain near my desk with vines woven through the edges, and they had started to grow flowers, so I’d been making sure to water them to see what grows. As the water trailed down, it reached a groove and washed away outside. The first time I did this, well, I caused a big mess.
We hadn’t even settled fully when the door creaked open again. Francine walked in, carrying a stack of papers. A glowing orb of light followed her in and drifted above our heads, washing the room in warm, steady light.
Oh, good Francine. She was the nicest one. Always actually listened and never made us feel stupid for asking things.
“Good morning, children,” she said, her voice pleasant, setting her things down on the podium.
Before she could say more, the door burst open again.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Reed stumbled in, out of breath and dragging his cloak behind him. He half-tripped into his seat, hair wild. “The sun caught me on the way over,” he grumbled, annoyed.
Talla turned to him with a smirk. “That’s what happens when you sleep in.”
Reed waved her off. “You live closer. You don’t get to judge.”
“But Olive and Olivander live way farther than any of us,” she shot back, gesturing to me and my brother. “And they still made it.”
I leaned my elbow on my desk and grinned. “You know, you could carry an umbrella,” I said helpfully, before adding, “Like a vampire.”
Mira gasped and pulled her notebook tighter. “Don’t joke about vampires,” she whispered, her face ironically pale.
“The clouds made it seem like the sun would shine later,” Olivander said, supporting his friend.
Francine sighed, then slapped a piece of chalk onto the board. A little cloud of dust puffed into the air.
“Enough,” she said, but I could see a hint of a smile on her face. “If we could all pretend this was a classroom and not a tavern, I’d appreciate it,” she joked.
We all straightened a little. I tucked my knife behind my Moontouched mushroom, and Reed tried to look innocent.
Overhead, the orb dipped lower, its glow narrowing, focusing on Francine and the board. The rest of the room dimmed just a touch, as if the light itself had chosen who to listen to.
Francine turned back to the blackboard and started writing.
And just like that, the lesson began.
***
History
First, we started with history.
Francine turned back to the board and began sketching shapes in chalk. Her strokes were sharp, practiced. One shape emerged, lopsided and uneven.
“That,” she said, tapping it, “is Calmanthe, our kingdom. Now, recall its foundation.”
We all went to the shelves and grabbed our history journals. The subject, teacher, and even the day of the class rotated so often that we always had to wait until the last second to grab the right materials.
“Calmanthe was founded by the first Hero,” Francine said, her voice lifting the way it always did when she talked about Heroes. “Chosen by Lumisiel. Empowered to drive back the tide of darkness.”
Behind me, a chair creaked as someone slumped forward. I didn’t have to look to know it was Talla.
Francine didn’t pause.
“The Hero united the southern provinces,” she continued, “not with force alone, but with miracles. His light burned away the corruption that had seeped into the land. Those who stood with him were granted the protection of Lumisiel.”
“And since then,” Francine said, “Calmanthe has expanded. Little by little. Every time the demon horde was pushed back, we claimed another piece. Territory reclaimed. Families resettled. Farmland restored.”
Olivander’s shoulders squared. He stopped scribbling and just listened.
Francine tapped a point on the lower part of the map. “Here is where the capital, Stillwater, stands now,” she said. Then she tapped a spot about halfway up the continent. “And here… was the farthest point the demon horde ever reached.”
I scribbled down the notes, even though I knew most of this already. Still, hearing it laid out so cleanly, how close they came to swallowing everything, it made my stomach twist just a little.
“If it hadn’t been for the Heroes,” Francine added, “the continent of Solivara, and perhaps the world, would belong to the demons.”
Mira raised her hand slowly, her voice soft when Francine called on her. “Did the demons ever… retake ground? After the Heroes came?”
It was the kind of question we all knew the answer to. But sometimes, you need to hear it anyway.
Francine nodded. “Yes. The demons have been able to retake ground briefly, in isolated battles.” She turned to face us fully. “But no. They’ve never been able to push back our Heroes in any lasting or meaningful way. Every new Hero has resulted in the demons losing ground.”
“And that brings us to today,” she said. “The demons have no presence outside the Void. That’s why so many believe this war will end with the next Hero.”
***
Francine didn’t even need to say anything. As soon as she wrote “Fauna” on the board, I sat up straighter and reached for my notebook. The moment I opened it; a dried leaf fluttered from between the pages. I caught it midair and tucked it back in.
“Today’s lesson,” Francine began, “is about the Stormray.”
She tapped the board with her chalk, sketching the familiar shape in a few clean strokes. Long, sweeping wings. A tail like a drifting ribbon. A single fin rose from its back, sharp and curved.
“Stormrays soak in sunlight and stir the clouds behind them,” she said. “Wherever they drift, storms follow.”
She circled the head in chalk, then pointed to the class. “Can anyone tell me what happens if one stays in the same place too long?”
Dain raised his hand and answered too quickly. “It explodes?”
I spoke up, unable to stop myself. “No. It causes flooding. There was a town that,”
Francine raised her hand, cutting me off. But her eyes shone, indicating it wasn’t my time yet. “Yes. There was a town. Which brings us to the story.”
The class quieted.
“A Stormray remained flying over the town of Leswell,” Francine explained. “The town’s winds shifted. The rain came nonstop. Thunderstorms every night for a week. Then two. Then a month.”
She moved slowly as she spoke, writing the name LESWELL on the board in heavy letters.
“Leswell’s wells overflowed. The streets turned to mud. Houses collapsed. The river broke its banks. The villagers tried to stop it, but no one could approach without being struck by lightning or blown from the sky.
I swallowed, imagining what it must have been like. A monster above that didn’t even know it was killing you.
“How did they stop it?” Reed asked.
“They didn’t,” Francine said simply. “It left on its own. After two months. The town was gone by then.”
The orb dimmed slightly, as if reflecting the silence that followed.
A low hush fell over the class.
She paused just long enough, then with a glance at me, asked the room, “Why did it refuse to leave?”
I raised my hand and waited for her nod.
“The Department of Bestial Oversight claims the town had one of its eggs,” I said confidently. “They believe a naturalist smuggled it in, and after the flood, it hatched and finally left.”
Francine nodded. “And it is now illegal to raid their nests.” She circled the word Illegal and underlined it twice. The chalk scraped sharply across the board. “But what do the Naturalists think?”
I added it to my notes, then waited for a beat before responding.
“Naturalists believe Stormrays reproduce through spores, so none of them could have been responsible for the storm.”
I glanced toward my mushroom light and imagined a creature blotting out the sky. I hoped I’d get to see one someday, just once, even from far away. And if I did… I wanted to be the one who knew what to do.