The transfer of a Gift is a strange process, and one we still struggle to comprehend. Each Spirit grants its Gift in a different manner, though there are universal commonalities. It is a very draining thing to do, and potentially dangerous as well. While the dangers are greater for some Spirits than others, almost all of them incur risk when they give their Gift. For some, like Unicorns, there are methods to compel a Gift from them, though such a thing is often even more harmful to the Spirit, and likely to result in them losing the ability to ever grant further Gifts–assuming they survive. -From On the Nature of Spirits, by Felidas Markon, Scholar of the Otherside.

  It was quiet in the woods, as if nature itself were holding its breath. Gwynfor felt uneasy, and could feel the tension Caistlin was holding as he drove their horse forward through the forest. Somehow, the plants had grown thicker. In front of them, Dylon was hacking away at a gnarled bramble blocking their way with an old machete, swearing and grumbling to himself. More than once Gwynfor was sure she heard the names of Gavin and Vericho. She was also surprised at the variety of curses in the vocabulary of a noble, and even more surprised at how few of them she recognized.

  “Can we go over the plan again?” Gwynfor whispered to Caistlin. She spoke only loud enough for him to barely hear, it felt a crime to speak any louder, as if the forest would disapprove.

  Caistlin stiffened at her words, then relaxed, and said, “It is extremely simple, and at least for you, the difficult part should be done. When we get a bit nearer,” Caistlin said, glancing towards Dylon’s path-clearing efforts, “you will go ahead of us on foot and find a place to wait. Unicorns are attracted to fair maidens with strong passions, like moths to a flame, especially to elves. You will wait. Assuming I chose well with you, and if Lady Luck favors us, the Unicorn will come to you. It will be cautious at first, and you must not make sudden movements. Eventually it will trust you, and come to lie beside you, allowing you to pet it. Once that occurs, Dylon and I shall capture it. We will demand it give its Gift, which it will do to protect itself. You will need to do nothing more at that point, though you may help by working to calm the Spirit. It will still be soothed by your presence. When Dylon has his Gift, we all go home, Dylon clears your crimes, and you may see Lydia and your parents without fear. We all part ways.”

  Gwynfor swallowed down a bit of spit and worry. “And if the Unicorn doesn’t give its Gift?”

  “It will, these traps work. Spirits are not like mortals or even animals. They have rules that govern their existence in ways we don’t quite yet understand. Capture a Unicorn like this, and it will give its Gift to the one who asked. It is part of what it is. So play along, help with this task, and we all leave with our goals furthered.”

  Gwynfor nodded, still feeling awful for her role in this, but seeing no easy way out. “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me.”

  “Done!” Dylon called, ahead of them. He walked over, face glistened with sweat, his clothes stained and dirtied. Had Gwynfor seen him like this first, never would she have guessed at him being a noble. He looked weary, yet his eyes shone with excitement. “Onwards we go.” Dylon climbed back into the saddle and off they went.

  They made for a quiet group. Caistlin still seemed tense, eyes darting every which way as they went. Dylon seemed like a kid before a feast day, all barely contained jubilation and nervousness, the faintest of lines of self-containment keeping him functional and not a bubbling mess. With each step, Gwynfor could feel her heart sink lower and lower, till she was sure it was at the bottom of the world and claimed by Morterran. Each footfall brought her closer to the trap they would lay, brought her closer to hurting a Spirit, stealing a Gift against its will. It was a crime against nature, she did not care what Caistlin said about it being part of the Spirit’s being. It was still a living thing, and they were trying to force its hand.

  Much as her hand had been forced. Willow, her parents, Lydia, the Wraiths. All of them collateral to force her here, to make her play her part. And she would, curse her soul to rot in stone, but she would. If it meant making sure as many of them were safe as possible, she would. Oh Willow, this would do little to help that idiot kid, but once this was all over, she would find a way to bring him back from Ghost. She would not let him rot there, not if she had anything she could do about it.

  Their horses stopped. Caistlin held up a hand and Gwynfor’s heart skipped a beat. He pointed, and her eyes followed his finger. Another tuft of fur shone like the first flakes of snow piled on the ground. “Can you feel that? There is a presence in the air. The time has come.”

  Gwynfor could feel it, now that Caistlin mentioned it. The air felt…electric, like lightning was about to strike. Her whole body was antsy, and she struggled to keep still, her fingers drummed at her side. She raised an eyebrow, was the Spirit so strong as to make such an impact on the mortal world? She had read that Spirits were so different that reality could bend slightly to their presence, but she had not realized it would feel so tangible.

  Dylon turned to look at her. “Off you go Gwynfor,” he said. It was Gwynfor now, was it? Against her will, she smiled a bit, though it lasted only a second, as she slid off her horse, feet touching the springy earth. It was cold, she could feel it through the moccasins she wore. The ground here had not seen the sun in a very long time. Her clothes rustled a bit, as she strode forward, each step damning her soul a little bit for what she was about to do. “Remember what is at stake,” Dylon said, as she left them. Gwynfor swallowed, and pushed through a bush blocking her way.

  She emerged out into what could loosely be called a clearing. Little shoots and saplings poked through the mulch, and trees towered around her. But here, there was a faint opening in the canopy, and dappled moonlight befell the area, letting her see. Caistlin and Dylon disappeared into darkness, awaiting their moment to strike. Her heart was pounding, a drum that sounded in her ears, that she felt from her toes to her fingers, her breathing unsteady. Gulping down another breath, she forced out another in a long slow and steady manner, feeling a bit of tension flow out with it. Stepping forward into the nearest thing to a center the clearing had, she sat upon the ground, moonlight falling across her disarrayed hair.

  The ground here was still cold, she could feel it like a sponge beneath her, a bed of plants beside her now flattened. She closed her eyes, and breathed in and out. It was an old practice, one she did most mornings when she could. She would also do them often before a workout, before her ritual series of stretches and movements of her ancestors. Dances they were often mockingly called by humans who witnessed them. They were more than the simple things humans did for fun, or to pretend they were superior to simple folk. There was meaning behind it, history. Each movement was said to call to a different spirit of old Artaghan, to call to a different element of the natural world. After going through her breathing, Gwynfor began one of those kata, climbing to her feet. If she was going to wait, she might as well try and feel at ease. Besides, it felt right, felt correct.

  Everything else began to fade away. The forest, the clearing, her worries, her fears, all that was left was herself, and the next movement. Her breaths her own, her body her own, her life her own. Each movement was done as best she could. She was far from perfect, she slipped as she moved from the bear taking the fish, to the heron dancing on the pond and she accidentally performed the frog catches the fly before the dragon descends, but she did not perform a kata for perfection. She did it to feel at peace, and for those minutes, those moments, she did.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw white, though such a simple descriptor did it little justice. Snow would have seemed dirty in comparison. She made no sudden movements, continuing her kata, her movements, slow and assured. From the fleeing sheep she flowed into a form outside the normal bounds of this series, to the unicorn bows to the plants, lithe and nimble, and without failure. It was the smoothest movement she perhaps had ever done. Gwynfor smiled, and kept moving, transitioning into the Sun out of reach, stepping onto the tips of her toes and slowly circling around, stopping right as she could see the Unicorn.

  Gwynfor would never forget the image, not until the day she died. It was barely within description. Light seemed to bend to the Spirit, its fur one and the same with it, its horn true and gleaming silver, sparkling like a diamond. Its eyes were purest green, trees and emeralds would both fail to match the beauty. A mane of golden strands fell astride the Spirit’s back, fluttering despite the lack of wind. She could feel its eyes watching her, its power, its attention. Gwynfor smiled, and bowed to the Unicorn, deep as she could manage, her head nearly touching the forest floor.

  Slowly, carefully, the Unicorn raised a leg, taking a slow step forward. Gwynfor in response, slowly began to lower herself, and from kata she went to rest, sitting upon the forest floor, waiting for the Spirit to come to her. She realized her breaths, despite the workout she just went through, were even, she felt calm, collected, without worry.

  The Unicorn made no further movements towards her, so still it seemed a statue of marble, a single hooved foot held in the air, tentative in its way to her. Gwynfor carefully looked up to meet the Spirit’s gaze. It was so odd to see intelligence in a thing so utterly different to herself. But it understood her, she could tell from its eyes. A twinge of regret passed through her.

  The Unicorn’s leg withdrew slightly. A jolt of fear passed through her and Gwynfor saw the Unicorn freeze even further. Her heart beat faster. This could not be it, she needed to succeed, she knew Dylon would have no sympathy for her or Lydia if she failed. The Unicorn looked ready to bolt, to flee, to save itself. Feeling tears well in her eyes, Gwynfor began to speak, softly and quietly, as if lull a child to sleep.

  “Once, these lands were ours, wild and barely tamed.

  We elves did sing and play, dancing through the trees.

  Below the mountain’s peak the dwarves did work and build

  Day and night meant little to those who lived without the Sun..

  Spirits and spirits roamed and ruled, great and terrible.

  Friends and foes they made, to elf and to dwarf.

  Yet to all one day, a single day did bring an endless change.

  From seas beyond, starving and freezing,

  The first humans fell upon the shores most wild.

  First was friendship, for they needed food and shelter.

  Then was learning, for all did prosper by knowledge shared.

  Then came expansion, as they spread like seeds.

  Then came more.

  And then came more.

  And then came ever more.”

  As Gwynfor continued to speak, reciting an old poem her parents had taught her when she was young, and that Lydia had burned into her memory, Gwynfor felt tears assailing her eyes. And yet, she saw the Unicorn draw ever closer, each phrase it moved, slowly closer. Step by step, she was bringing it harm, its Gift wrenched from it. Yet she kept reciting.

  “And soon they spread across the land like locusts.

  The dwarves withdrew deeper and deeper in the dark,

  As battles for territory grew fiercer and fiercer.

  And then the dwarves dove so deep, their voices were gone.

  Then we elves found our forests cleared,

  Our once homes industrialized into cities

  Our rivers bled with waste, and our plains turned to grains.

  The Spirits were stolen and tamed, made into servants.

  On it on, it went, more and more of our old homes were lost.

  Yet still humans named us friends, they offered us peace,

  One hand outstretched, the other hiding the dagger.”

  The Unicorn was right above her, eyes meeting hers, as she could barely make out the Spirit behind her blurred tears. Then she saw it kneel, then roll up, laying its head across her lap like a dog would. Its body was warm, a comfort like a mother’s hug and a warm meal after a hard day’s work rolled up into one. Could she really do this? Could she really harm such a perfect creature? She still could stop this, save the Unicorn.

  *

  Caistlin crept forward, silent as a corpse, brushing past a copse without a sound. He felt the turmoil in the girl’s mind, it was loud as a bear diving into a river. All it would take is one sudden movement, Gwynfor thought.

  Caistlin readied himself, about to strike her mind with a Sophomantic thought, but then, he heard a voice in his own mind.

  Bow to the Spirit. It was not his own voice, or Gwynfor’s, nor even Dylon’s. No, it was another voice, all too familiar, one that haunted him, one he had not heard in seven long years.

  “Arrietty?” He whispered, silent as to not attract the Unicorn’s notice.

  “Bow to the Spirit,” Arrietty said through her teeth, her own back arched forward as she prostrated before a large bird that seemed made of fire, its wings molten oranges and reds, fading into blues and greens and violets. Kaladhen shook his head, and feeling the warm air around him, the presence of the greater Spirit enveloping all, he did as Arrietty said, falling to a knee and bowing his head to the Phoenix.

  “Wise Zephyren,” Arrietty said, not daring to meet the gaze of the sun personified, Kaladhen himself struggled to blink tears from his eyes at the Phoenix’s brilliance. “Years ago you gave me your Gift, and I come back to you now to ask another favor.” Kaladhen heard Arrietty breathe, and despite her outward calm, he recognized the sharpness to it, the faint tremble that followed. She was scared. He grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb over the top.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  This is far from the worst thing you’ve faced.

  She did not respond with words, but he felt a warmth entirely different from the Phoenix flow through his mind. He smiled.

  Arrietty swallowed, then continued, “I seek the Throne, I want to be Dragon great Phoenix. I need it. I hate sitting on the sidelines, hate having to listen to a bunch of old idiots hold onto power for themselves and refuse to use it for good, for anything other than hoarding power and money. I need help, I need aid, I need support.” Then, Arrietty rose, and Kaladhen could hold only the tips of her fingers as she stood and met the full gaze of the Phoenix. There was a blaze of light, and Kaladhen knew it would be like staring into the sun. This was their gamble, begging a Phoenix for its aid. Phoenixes admired passion and a fiery spirit, but if they denied you, they would take your sight forever. It would spell an end to Arrietty’s bid to become Dragon, and likely would mean swift execution for them all.

  “Give me your aid, great Phoenix! I need it to help people, to help take the Throne!” Arrietty cried out.

  Stand strong. Kaladhen tightened his grip around her fingers, feeling them grow hotter as she faced the Spirit. Arrietty’s mind was racing, he could hear fear, worry, resolution, and confidence all battling in her mind, as individual thoughts blurred into a confused soup. Even for him it was hard to parse. Then, another mind joined the mixture, and Kaladhen felt himself shunted from the conversation. Arrietty’s hand stiffened and continued to grow warm, hot enough to be uncomfortable, hot enough to be dangerous to both him and especially to her. He held on anyways.

  Then, as his eyes still stared at the ground, at his feet, everything went blinding white, and the heat blazed from a campfire to a wildfire. He could see nothing, but he heard a gasp, and felt Arrietty’s hand lower, as she must have fallen to the ground.

  “Arrietty?” he asked, holding tightly to her, as he pulled her closer.

  “I’m fine,” she said, sounding breathless. Heat wafted from her, and Kaladhen could hear her mind again, bright and confident. He blinked away the remaining flash of light, tears welling in his gaze. Arrietty stood, still wearing her gown of fire, all bright reds and oranges and yellows, with only the faintest wisps of blues and whites hemming the dress. Long sleeves of white donned her hands, as she looked at the Phoenix. The Spirit stood perched atop a twisted pyre that now blazed upwards, smoke billowing out from it, consuming the Phoenix in a roaring tornado of flame. Bright eyes that made the sun seem dim burned out from the fire, staring at the two of them. Then in a single moment, the fire burned out, and a wave of smoke and ash billowed out in pulsating ripples.

  Two twin feathers flew outwards with it, drifting down perfectly into the outstretched palm of Arrietty’s other hand. She caught them with a gentle deftness, and clutched them to her heart.

  “Did it work?” Kaladhen asked, coughing as a bit of ash fell down his throat.

  “Yes,” Arrietty breathed out. “Zephyren gave him his blessing and marked me.” Arrietty looked towards the pyre, now empty. “It will be sometime before he is reborn, and until he is, all will know me as his passion, his fire.” She smiled, and it was radiant. She held out a hand. “A gift for you, as thanks for your support Kalad.”

  Kaladhen stared down at one of the feathers, still smoldering, still hot, still otherworldly beautiful. But it was a candle to Arrietty’s bonfire. He took it, careful as to not break it. “A rare gift, thank you, Dragon.”

  Her smile widened and he continued to smile. “Oh, don’t you dare,” she said, punching him in the shoulder. “Don’t be going all titles and respect on me now, it wouldn’t be right. Besides,” she said, staring off into the distance, towards the sea, towards the capital. “I am not Dragon yet, we still have many more difficult days ahead of us.”

  Difficult.

  Won’t be difficult to ruin Dylon’s plans. All I need to do is scare the Unicorn.

  Caistlin shook himself back to reality, the memory ebbing away as quickly as it came. He gritted his teeth, annoyed. Those memories were getting worse. Gwynfor’s thoughts still leaned too treacherous. He saw the elf, the Unicorn resting beside her. She had been chosen for her passion and her sincere desire to enact change to the world, and made it possible for them to claim the Spirit’s Gift. She also had a point. Without Gavin or Vericho here, perhaps no one would ever know what happened if Dylon were to disappear. Nothing could be proven, Gwynfor would never spill the secret.

  A single swift movement, and this wonderful creature would run.

  No, he was mired above his head in conspiracy now. Dylon was nothing to him aside from a stepping stone to greater chances. Besides, Gavin and Vericho would make trouble, they may hate Dylon, but there would be money in finding his killer, learning about his disappearance. Caistlin stared at Gwynfor, at the Unicorn, and made up his mind. It had to give its Gift. Only then, could he set into motion Judge’s fall.

  Fall…

  Falling…

  Falling, blood dripping out above him.

  The ocean cold claiming him.

  Kaladhen–no Caistlin struck at Gwynfor’s mind as a viper, and implanted a thought sharp into her mind. But what about Willow? This all–

  He meant for the thought to be more, then something entirely unexpected happened. The Unicorn suddenly leapt to its hooves, and Caistlin saw its eyes fall onto him instantly, as if it knew where he was. Then, it began to run.

  “NO!” Dylon bellowed, as he raised a crossbow and loosed a bolt with a loud CLANK!

  The bolt, aimed at the Unicorn’s leg, was shoddily aimed, having little time to be precise. Instead of missing, or hitting a non-vital spot, poor aim turned into deadly accuracy. Caistlin watched as the bolt flew straight and true and struck the Unicorn in the neck, and silver blood began to pour forth.

  *

  Blood splattered onto Gwynfor, it felt cold. She saw emerald eyes widen in agony, as the Unicorn stood a foot away from her, moved to stillness by shock. Caistlin too, was unmoving. The plants seemed like stone, the entire world seemed to be holding its breath. Only Dylon moved, reloading his crossbow, as he prowled towards the Unicorn. “Give me your Gift Spirit, and you may still yet survive!”

  He was trying to kill a Unicorn.

  He was trying to kill this wonderful creature. It’s blood still cold on her face, its warmth across her lap not yet faded, fanned into fury through her stomach.

  Gwynfor stared at that stupid little smug elf, acting like he was the most important thing in the entire world. Acting like he deserved something merely because he was born lucky. In his mind, he could harm and steal and kill and pillage anything considered beneath him. The sheer fucking arrogance irked Gwynfor to her core. She felt the dagger cold against her side, hidden from Dylon’s sight. How dare he. How dare he not only try and wrench away the Gift of this beautiful creature, but now work to end it.

  In all the chaos, Gwynfor realized Dylon had forgotten her, his attention was for the Unicorn alone, blood still spilled from its neck. It should not still be standing, yet it was. Its blood did not mar its pelt, instead it waterfalled out, repelled down the fur like those coats made for Ghost. Gwynfor crept towards Dylon.

  “GIVE ME YOUR GIFT SPIRIT, AND I SHALL HELP YOU!” Dylon cried.

  Gwynfor was feet away, the dagger slowly drawn from beneath the folds of her coat, the weapon far too nice to have been made by goblin hands, far too nice for her hands. An ornate thing fit to cut that arrogant creature’s throat. She lunged forward, metal flashing.

  Dylon pivoted suddenly, as her foot snapped a branch beneath her feet. She felt a moment of glee at seeing shock and terror spring to Dylon’s eyes. “DIE!” Gwynfor bellowed.

  Dylon managed to leap out of her way, but only barely, her dagger shearing across the tails of his coat. He landed on the ground, mud and dirt caking across him. Gwynfor kicked at the mulch, sending it spraying forth at him. He raised an arm up to his face so that it did not blind him, but there was little he could do to stop her, as she lunged again, stabbing the weapon down with as much force as she could muster.

  He caught her arm at the last moment, the very tip of the dagger barely prodding into his chest so that a thin bubble of red slowly oozed up. His face was screwed up in pain and he wheezed out a breath as she landed with her full weight onto him. Gwynfor put her whole body into the attack, forcing the tip further down, more red pushing out.

  Then, he spat at her. Gwynfor flinched back, surprised, and suddenly Dylon burst upwards, throwing her to the ground. Her wrist turned to flame as it was wrenched back by his hands. “YOU BITCH!” Dylon screamed, spittle and malice flying at Gwynfor as her one weapon was stolen away. “YOU SCARED AWAY THE SPIRIT! YOU’VE CONDEMNED ALL YOUR FRIENDS TO DEATH! I WILL MAKE YOUR FAMILY SUFFER!”

  Gwynfor growled and threw herself forward. Dylon seemed to not be expecting that, as they both tumbled back into the dirt, and she heard a crack of branches snapping as he landed first. She hit him, punched him, bit his arm when he flailed, trying to push her away.

  Then she felt a sharp pain in her arm, and she rolled away. Blood dripped from a cut along her forearm, the dagger he had stolen grazing her. Dylon scrambled to his feet, holding the weapon out. He charged. Caistlin appeared from nowhere, grabbing his hand, and forcing Dylon to the ground. After a second, Dylon pushed Caistlin away from him, and the man stumbled back, his bad knee crumpling from beneath him, though Caistlin held the dagger. “You as well mercenary? YOU SHALL DIE TOO!” Gwynfor grabbed the rock she had used to sharpen her failed spear, and threw it at Dylon. It struck him in the arm, and she saw it wrenched back at a wrong angle, torn from its socket.

  “SHIT!” He swore, stumbling back. Gwynfor looked around, trying to find anything to use to kill him.

  CLANK!

  Pain blossomed in Gwynfor. She looked down, and saw a fountain of blood spew from her stomach, feathers sticking out from her. She felt so very cold. She looked up, Dylon held his crossbow, death in his gaze as he glared upon her, eyes bereft of sympathy.

  “Die you worm.” Each word was malice. He was loading another bolt in. Caistlin was still on the ground, struggling to his feet, useless to her. The Unicorn had already fled. She was alone, in pain. She was dead.

  Gwynfor did not want to die.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Lydia, Willow, her parents. She would never get to say goodbye.

  Dylon was aiming, ready to loose. Gwynfor leapt to one side, her stomach screaming, as blood fell down, wetting her legs. If she were to die here, she would go down with a fight. She would try and rid the world of one more problem before she passed. She landed and stumbled, going to the ground. She heard the bolt fire, striking far from her into the trunk of a tree. She coughed, her vision blurring. She saw red, tasted metal. She went to her feet, and felt her face blanc, as bile rose in her throat. She swallowed it down, and grabbed another rock. Dylon was reloading, careful, and with practiced movements. Gwynfor hefted the rock, then her muscles spasmed, as pain wracked her. She dropped it, falling to her knees.

  She retched, and more blood followed. She was so cold. So very cold. She struggled to lift the rock, struggled to move, as if she were encased in ice. Her hands were trembling. The rock fell from her grip. Dylon continued to aim. Caistlin rose, but he seemed to hesitate. She did not close her eyes. If she were going to die, she would face it down. At least, she would die in the forest, as her ancestors did.

  “Die,” Dylon said.

  Clank!

  There was a blur of white, then a blast of light. Gwynfor blinked, she was not dead, at least she did not think so, for pain still assailed her entire being. She barely tell what was going on, everything was blurry, everything impossible to see. She coughed, she hated the taste of blood. Something soft touched her, and she felt warm, no longer cold. Perhaps she was dying, falling to the clouds. It felt like so, she felt a cloud beneath her, so very soft.

  Gwynfor saw herself surrounded by people, hundreds of them. She stood atop a fallen cart, broken and spent, as she waved a flag, her voice hoarse from shouting. She was wearing a cloak of red, billowed out like a waterfall of blood, and held aloft a long glittering sword along with the banner.

  Then, Gwynfor drew in a sharp breath, as if suddenly woken from a nightmare. Pain still ruled her, but she could see. Somehow, she rode astride the Unicorn, and Gwynfor saw a second bolt in the Spirit’s side. Dylon was behind her, far behind her. She blinked, and he was gone. They were somewhere else in the woods. She blinked again, and swallowed the taste of bile, and tears fell down her face. When her eyes opened, they were at the pond again, there squirrels and mice and foxes and deer all gathered, all kneeling. For a moment, the Unicorn paused, then bowed its head, its horn touching the ground. When it did, flowers began to bloom outward in a ripple. Then it pranced forward, then galloped, then leaped. The pond was gone. Another leap, and they stood at the edge of the forest, the Terracotta fields arrayed out in front of them. Another leap, and they stood atop a hill, the Greenwood behind them, wind in her hair.

  Another leap, and she heard a crack, and saw the ground tumbling towards her. Gwynfor fell with the Unicorn, rolling and crashing down a hill. She should have been killed by that, a spare rock having broken her back or stabbed into her. The arrow in her should have dug deeper too. Yet, each time she bounced and landed, it was in a puddle of softness, down and down, until she came to a stop at the bottom of a hill.

  Gwynfor pushed herself up, her hands aching. She looked around, until her vision found the Unicorn. It lay awkwardly on the ground, its legs twisted, its mane spread out like tendrils or roots across it. It was breathing heavily, its eyes half-closed. Blood poured from two wounds–no three wounds. Its throat, its side, and its stomach. Gwynfor paused, blinking, then looked down.

  She saw her torn shirt, stained with blood, but nothing else. No bolt, no wound. She prodded at the skin, and grimaced. It felt raw and painful, but not deadly, a scar after a month or two of healing.

  “No,” she whispered, diving forward and throwing herself onto the Unicorn. “No, you shouldn’t have done that!” She wailed, eyes full of tears. Even here, the Unicorn was soft, warm, a pillow upon which to cry, a parent’s shoulder for comfort. “Please d-don’t die. I didn’t w-want any of this. I wanted, I wanted…” She had wanted to help herself, help her family, her friends. She had been willing to steal from this creature, risking its life. This was what she wanted was it not?

  No, she had made the worst of both worlds. She had gotten the Spirit killed, and failed to appease Dylon. She had made an enemy who would not rest until she paid for her crimes. She kept crying. “Please don’t die, how can I make this right?”

  The Unicorn said nothing, but kept staring at her. Why did it have to look so peaceful, even still? It should look at her with hatred and with anger. Aside from sorrow, Gwynfor felt no magnanimity to her, only sympathy.

  “Thank you,” Gwynfor breathed, hugging the soft fur as deeply as she could. “Thank you for saving me. I-I am sorry I did this, sorry for ever h-helping them. I killed you, I have committed a grievous sin. I don’t…I don’t deserve your sorrow.”

  Still it looked at her, then slowly its head limped to the ground, its eyes closing deeper still. The Unicorn’s breathing continued to slow. Where blood seeped out, now Gwynfor saw light beginning to ooze outwards as well. But it did not drip down, instead it flowed towards her, like iron filings to a magnet. Gwynfor saw the light swirl around her, and saw it seep into her skin, warming her from within.

  “no,” she whispered, feeling an ancient power to the light which infused her.

  “Please don’t do this, I don’t want i-it.”

  The light continued to bleed into her. With its head on the ground, she saw the Unicorn’s eyes meet hers for a fraction of a second.

  Live well

  The voice struck her like lightning, boomed like thunder, her entire body rattled, her hair standing up on end.

  And then she began to glow like a fire. The Unicorn’s eyes closed, and her light faded away, blinking out like fireflies in the dawn. The Unicorn died. Its blood now seeped into its fur, and it no longer looked divine. The fur became matted and coated in dirt. Gwynfor’s tears left marks on its skin.

  Gwynfor fell forward, one arm thrown around the neck of the fallen Spirit, the other curled around its shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more. I p-promise I will do my best to live as y-you commanded. I promise to use your Gift well.”

  For that is what she had been given. The Unicorn’s Light, the Holy Light, the Inner Light. Illumimancy, the Gift of a Unicorn, the magic of light manipulation. Exhaustion claimed her, and the world darkened.