Olt sat in the rocking chair, its creak rhythmically accompanying his thoughts. Across from him, Omar occupied the other rocker. The room was warm. The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the comforting aroma of aged books. It was a sanctuary, a world away from the chaos brewing in Synoro.

  Omar sighed, a sound heavy with the day's events.

  "I'm going to shower."

  He pushed himself out of the chair, his joints protesting with a series of pops and clicks. He paused by the bookshelves, his fingers trailing along the spines of familiar volumes. It was a momentary connection to a simpler time. Then, he slowly ascended the wooden staircase. A muffled thud sounded with each footfall.

  Olt remained. He stared into the dying embers. The books seemed to mock him. They were symbols of a life he was leaving behind; a life of study, of intellectual pursuits, now overshadowed by the looming specter of violence. His thoughts drifted to the Indigo, the potion, the Aether. He knew he'd need it, if he was serious about this fight. The prospect both intrigued and terrified him. The unknown nature of the Indigo trip, the possibility of not awakening powers, the stories of those who'd lost themselves in its depths – it was a gamble, a leap of faith into the unknown. He pictured the ceremonial room, the large tobacco plant at its center, its indigo leaves shimmering under the soft light. Where would he even begin to find someone to oversee the ritual? Approaching either a Firm or the government was no longer an option.

  Then, a scream.

  It ripped through the quiet of the farmhouse from somewhere upstairs. It bounced off the bookshelves, the high ceiling, amplified by the sudden, chilling silence that followed. It was a sound that shattered Olt's contemplation, his heart leaping into his throat.

  Rebecca. The attack. The fear. The hallway upstairs.

  "What's wrong?!" Hannah's panicked voice echoed from above, adding another layer of urgency, confirming Olt’s worst fears.

  Adrenaline surged through Olt, sharpening his senses, eclipsing his anxieties. He didn't hesitate. He bolted towards the staircase, his bare feet pounding on the worn wooden steps. He anticipated a confrontation, his body tensing, preparing for a fight. He burst through Cristina's bedroom door at the end of the hallway. There was a red-haired woman.

  Cristina was on the floor, scrabbling desperately, trying to kick off the woman who gripped her leg, dragging her across the floor. The woman's dark one-piece suit blended with the shadows of the room. The dagger in her left hand gleamed dully in the faint light filtering in from the hallway. Her face was impassive, her eyes fixed on Cristina as if Olt didn't even exist.

  The hallway was stuffed with commotion and chaos. Olt, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, charged towards Cristina, his arms outstretched, attempting to pull her away from the attacker. But the red-headed woman reacted quickly, her leg shooting out in a spin-kick that connected with Olt's ribs, sending him crashing into the wall.

  Cristina, seizing the opportunity, scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with panic. She dashed out of the room. She had to protect her parents. They were vulnerable, unsuspecting. She couldn't let them get hurt.

  As she emerged into the hallway, she collided with Hannah, her mother's face stained with tears.

  "What's happening?" Hannah whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.

  "Go back to your room, Mom!" Cristina urged, her voice a frantic rasp. "It's not safe!"

  But it was too late. The red-headed woman stepped into the hallway, her eyes narrowed, the dagger gleaming in her hand. She advanced towards Cristina, her movements predatory, relentless.

  Cristina, her ankle throbbing, her heart pounding, felt a wave of despair wash over her. She was trapped, cornered, with seemingly no escape.

  Just as the woman lunged, a figure materialized from the doorway. Olt, his eyes blazing with fury, slammed into the woman with the force of a battering ram. The impact sent her hurtling backward, her back crashing against the railing overlooking the staircase to the first floor.

  Olt didn't hesitate. He charged forward, his arm cocked like a piston. A powerful clothesline maneuver, and the woman was propelled over the railing, her body arcing through the air. But Olt's momentum carried him over as well, his legs tangling with hers.

  They crashed onto the living room floor below, the impact reverberating through the house. Olt groaned, the air knocked out of him. He lay there, dazed, his ears ringing, the woman's unconscious body sprawled beside him.

  The hanging lamp, casting a warm glow across the worn wooden floorboards, flickered momentarily as Olt’s head snapped back. The impact jarred his senses. For a heartbeat, the world swam in blurry colors, the high-vaulted ceiling with its exposed wooden beams seeming to tilt precariously. Then, with startling clarity, his vision sharpened. The red-haired woman, her face contorted in a grimace of exertion, was on her feet, Her features were unexpectedly young, almost girlish. The predatory glint in her eyes returned.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The fleeting impression of youth vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, calculated menace. She lunged, but her dagger, dislodged during the fall, lay gleaming on the floorboards near the low coffee table. Its handle was half-hidden beneath a discarded magazine.

  Olt, seizing the reprieve, reacted instinctively. A swift, sharp kick to the woman's chest sent her sprawling back, her breath escaping in a surprised gasp. Both scrambled to their feet, the comfortable, inviting atmosphere of the living room obliterated in an instant. The large sofa facing the fireplace and the armchairs were mere obstacles in their deadly dance.

  Their movements were a haze, a series of precise strikes and desperate blocks. Olt, despite his training, found himself constantly on the defensive. The woman’s agility was surprising. The warm glow of the fireplace now reflected in the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting his struggle. The large windows were just dark rectangles, reflecting the tension of their deadly encounter.

  The stalemate ended abruptly. The woman's eyes blazed with a fierce crimson light, the veins beneath her skin pulsing with an unnatural neon blue. The Aether surged through her, transforming her from a skilled fighter into a force of nature.

  Olt flinched, his mind racing. He had never faced an Aether-wielder before. This was beyond his training. The fear felt as if it were about to swallow him.

  Cristina’s terrified cry cut through his ears.

  "Olt!"

  "Go to your room! Now!" he shouted.

  The woman’s attacks intensified. Each Aether-enhanced strike was destructively unbearable. Its force was staggering. Olt felt bones crack under the impact, searing pain shooting through his limbs.

  Olt struggled to maintain his defense, the woman’s power overwhelming. The temporary nature of the Aether's effects gave him a sliver of hope, but the uncertainty of her time limit filled him with a paralyzing dread.

  She overpowered him swiftly, her grip on his throat like iron. She lifted him effortlessly, pinning him against the built-in bookshelves. Their weight crushed pressure against his back. He gasped, attempting to speak. He wanted to ask about Hadic, about her motives, but only strangled coughs escaped his lips.

  Then, fear and desperation. It was pure, unadulterated terror at the prospect of death. His left hand, clutched tightly in his defense, began to glow with a faint blue light. It was the Aether. It was happening. The books surrounding him seemed to shimmer, the warm light of the fireplace distorting as if viewed through a heat haze. A surge of power, raw and untamed, flooded his system. The pain, the fear, the pressure of her grip, everything intensified. It was amplified to an unbearable level. But amidst it all, he felt something else: a desperate hope. His left hand glowed brighter. Its veins pulsed with the blue light. The world swam in blurry crimson. Olt gasped, the air thick and suffocating in his lungs. The pressure on his throat eased, replaced by a surge of power so potent it threatened to shatter his very being.

  How...? I've never even tasted Indigo...

  With a guttural roar, he seized the woman's neck. His fingers tightened with a strength he never knew he possessed. The woman’s eyes widened. Surprise crossed her features before she released him. Her body jerked from the unexpected force. Olt tumbled to the hardwood floor, gasping for air, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the Aether's surge.

  The woman, confused, watched him. Before she could react, her leg shot out with a confused motion aimed at his head. Olt, his reflexes heightened by the Aether's influence, rolled aside. The impact sent a cascade of books tumbling from the bookshelf he crashed into. Scrambling to his feet, he staggered back, the scent of dust and old paper filling his nostrils.

  "What do you want with my family? Did Hadic send you?" He demanded, his voice a strained rasp.

  Only the crackling of the dying fire in the hearth answered him. The woman's eyes, narrowed and intense, remained fixed on his glowing hand.

  She charged with a spear tackle, swift and brutal, aimed at his chest. Olt braced himself, the impact sending a shockwave through his body. He held on, his grip surprisingly strong. Rage, hot and blinding, consumed him. He unleashed a flurry of punches. Each strike landed with bone-jarring force against her back.

  The woman stumbled back, her body visibly reeling from the onslaught. With a snarl, she seized the wooden coffee table, its weight insignificant in her Aether-enhanced grip. She hurled it at him. He ducked, the table crashing into the fireplace with a shower of sparks and a roar of flames.

  She launched herself into a high kick. Using the overturned armchair as a shield, Olt slid beneath her, and countered with a powerful punch to her gut. She groaned, the impact visibly winding her.

  Power surged through Olt, as he seized the woman’s neck. With a desperate cry, he executed a brutal DDT, slamming her head first onto the hardwood floor.

  They lay there, momentarily stunned. There was the frantic thumping of his own heart. The Aether's power began to fade, leaving him weak and exhausted.

  She rose first, clutching her head. She seemed disoriented. She looked around the room, confused.

  "What... what am I doing here?" she murmured.

  A sharp cry escaped her lips as she clutched her head again. Her hair shifted, revealing a patch of discolored, mold-like skin on her neck. Panic flashed in her eyes. With a desperate cry, she crashed through the living room window, disappearing into the night.

  Olt, still struggling to catch his breath, watched her go. The unexpected surge of Aether, the brutal fight, the unsettling mark on the woman's neck, all swirled in his mind. It left him with more questions than answers.

  How? What just…happened.

  The thought lingered, as his surroundings went black.