Rising from her crouched position by the hearth, Amriel stretched, her muscles stiff from tending the fire. The warmth licked at her back as she made her way across the cottage to the modest corner that served as her kitchen. The scent of drying herbs mingled with the earthy tang of rain drifting through the partially open window above the sink.

  She reached for the dented, well-loved kettle resting on the worn countertop. Its surface gleamed faintly in the firelight, marked by years of faithful service. Filling it with cool water from the cy pitcher nearby, she returned to the hearth, carefully setting the kettle over the young fmes. The fire hissed and popped, the heat beginning to draw the chill from the air.

  With the kettle warming, Amriel turned to her shelves, where neat rows of jars held her carefully crafted tea blends. The collection was as much a testament to her curiosity as it was to necessity. Each jar bore a handwritten bel, though she hardly needed them—she knew the contents by sight and scent alone.

  Tonight called for something grounding yet uplifting. After a moment’s deliberation, she selected a blend that combined the earthy richness of roasted nettles, the delicate essence of marrow root, and the sweet tang of dried goldberries. The scent was bright and hopeful.

  As she measured the blend into her teapot, her gaze drifted toward the shelves where her books stood like familiar companions, their spines worn from years of handling. Each title whispered the promise of an adventure or a comforting return to stories she’d read countless times before.

  A smile tugged at her lips as she imagined the perfect tale for tonight. Perhaps one of the ancient myths filled with gods, betrayals, and hard-won victories—or maybe a whimsical adventure set in far-off nds, where improbable heroes triumphed against impossible odds. The right story could make even the fiercest storm seem distant, its fury muted by the magic of imagination.

  Her fingers hovered over the spines, pausing on a thick, leather-bound tome with scuffed edges and a faded cover. It bore no title, but she didn’t need one to recognize it. Her father’s gift—a collection of folktales and fables that had been her steadfast companion through countless stormy nights. Holding it now, she felt the familiar weight settle in her hands, a bittersweet comfort that carried echoes of his warm ughter and patient storytelling.

  Returning to her armchair by the hearth, she tucked herself into the worn cushions, pulling a scratchy woolen bnket tightly around her shoulders. The fire crackled and danced, casting flickering golden patterns across the cottage walls. Its warmth seeped into her, chasing away the st remnants of the storm’s chill.

  Meeko, sprawled zily on the rug at her feet, let out a contented sigh. His thick, velvety coat shimmered in the firelight as he stretched, his tufted ears flicking zily. The rhythmic vibrations of his purring filled the room, a gentle melody that wrapped around Amriel like a second yer of warmth.

  She ran her fingers absently through his fur, savoring the simple peace of the moment. The tempest outside raged on, fierce and untamed, but here within these stone walls, life held its own quiet magic—one born of stories, firelight, and the steady companionship of a loyal friend.

  Amriel exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders loosen as the weight of the day faded into the background. Flipping open the worn pages of her father’s tome, she let herself sink into the familiar comfort of a tale older than time itself.

  Outside, the storm howled—but inside, all was safe, warm, and wonderfully still.

  Just as Amriel’s mind began to sink into the familiar cadence of the ancient tale and the tension in her shoulders began to unwind as she read, the familiar cadence of the words washing over her like a stream over stones, smoothing the jagged edges of her fears, carrying away the day’s sharp anxieties...

  CRACK!

  The sound wasn’t thunder.

  Amriel’s head snapped up, heart suddenly hammering against her ribs. Meeko was already on his feet, fur bristling along his spine, transforming from zy companion to predator in an instant. The deep growl building in his chest wasn’t the rumbling purr of contentment, but a warning that vibrated through the floorboards.

  She froze, straining to hear beyond the storm’s howl and the blood rushing in her ears.

  CRACK! It came again—louder, more insistent.

  A knock. Someone was at her door.

  Her mind raced. Simon and Niamh never knocked; they simply called her name and entered. No one else from the vilge would venture out in weather like this. A lost traveler, perhaps?

  Or something worse.

  Her sheltered life hadn’t made her naive. The reports from outer vilges had grown more troubling over recent months. Strange sightings in the forests. Travelers vanishing.

  Calm yourself, she thought, setting the book aside with careful deliberation.

  “Who’s there?” she called, keeping her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach.

  No answer came—only the wail of the wind and the ceaseless drumming of rain.

  Meeko’s growl deepened as he positioned himself between Amriel and the door. Thick bck fur bristled along his arched back, and a guttural growl rumbled deep in his chest—a sound that cut through the storm’s chaos like a bde. His sharp silver eyes gleamed in the firelight, fixed intently on the trembling wood door. Cws gleamed wickedly as they flexed against the floorboards.

  A bitter ugh threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down. After the strange events of the past few days, the idea of a Fallen Angel knocking politely on her door didn’t seem quite so absurd anymore.

  The door rattled violently on its hinges, and her gaze snapped to the belt hanging beside the entryway where her bde waited in its worn leather sheath.

  Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—sharp, commanding, unyielding.

  Never hesitate. Be ready for the unexpected, Amriel. The forest respects neither the weak nor the unprepared.

  She could almost feel Nythia’s hand guiding her through relentless drills, the sting of bruises earned during countless lessons in combat. Lessons she had hated at the time but clung to now with desperate gratitude.

  Throwing aside the bnket, she darted across the room, heart pounding against her ribs. Her fingers closed around the familiar hilt of her bde as she pulled it from its sheath. The cold weight settled into her grip, grounding her in its undeniable purpose.

  This wasn’t just a weapon—it was a reminder of promises made, of survival fought for. The polished steel reflected the flicker of firelight like a living oath: Never powerless again.

  The door rattled again, a sharp jolt that reverberated through the small space, shaking the beams overhead.

  Amriel widened her stance in the center of the room, muscles taut, bde gleaming in the flickering light. Her free hand curled into a fist at her side, steady despite the thundering rhythm of her heart. Beside her, Meeko prowled closer, his growl a steady, primal threat.

  Her thoughts raced through grim possibilities.

  Another sm against the door. Wood groaned under the force, the hinges rattling with ominous protest. Whoever—or whatever—stood out there clearly had no intention of leaving quietly.

  Her grip tightened on the bde as she took a measured breath, forcing the chaos within her to still.

  Jaw clenched, Amriel hesitated at the threshold, her fingers hovering over the tch.

  But hesitation was weakness. You fight on your terms, Amriel. Always. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, resolute as ever.

  Taking a steadying breath, she slid the tch free and the door flew open, unleashing a howling fury of wind and rain into her sanctuary. The fmes in the hearth danced wildly, nearly guttering out before rising higher, casting frantic shadows across the walls.

  A figure staggered through the doorway—tall, hunched, wrapped in a sodden cloak that clung to a frame too substantial to be anything but human. Lightning fshed, briefly illuminating features beneath the hood: a man’s face, bronze-skinned and sharp-angled, with eyes the color of spring leaves after rain.

  For a heartbeat, they stared at each other across the threshold between storm and shelter. His gaze held no malice, only a desperate intensity that struck her like a physical blow.

  “Please,” he rasped, the single word barely audible above the storm.

  Amriel remained motionless, knife still poised. Compassion and caution warred within her. She’d seen enough of the world to know that vulnerability could be the most effective mask of all.

  The wind shifted, lifting the edge of his cloak, and her eyes caught the dark stain spreading across his left side. Not mud or rainwater—the unmistakable slick sheen of blood.

  Her healer’s instincts cataloged the signs instantly: the pallor beneath his bronze skin, the slight tremble in his limbs, the way his breath came in shallow, ragged pulls. Significant blood loss. Shock setting in. Without intervention, he wouldn’t st until dawn.

  Still, she held her ground. “Who are you?” she demanded, voice cutting through the storm’s chaos.

  He swayed, one hand braced against the doorframe. “Fha’lear,” he said, the strange word falling between them like a stone into still water.

  Something about the word resonated deep within her, as if it had brushed against a memory she didn’t know she carried. It wasn’t any nguage she recognized—and her mother had insisted she learn eight of them—yet it felt oddly familiar.

  Before she could question him further, his legs gave way. He crumpled forward, knees striking the floor with a dull thud that sent vibrations through the wooden pnks. His body followed, colpsing in a graceless heap just inside her doorway.

  Silence descended, broken only by the persistent rush of rain and the soft crackling of the hearth. Even Meeko had gone quiet, his growl fading to watchful tension as he crept forward to investigate the fallen stranger.

  Amriel remained still, knife still ready. This could be a trap—a ploy to lower her guard. But if it wasn’t...

  The man didn’t move. Blood pooled slowly beneath him, seeping into the cracks between the floorboards.

  If I do nothing, he dies. If I help him and he means harm...

  She’d seen death before. She found her father after the life faded from his eyes. Had assisted Nythia with patients too far gone for even the most skilled healer to save. Death didn’t frighten her.

  But unnecessary death—that was different.

  Meeko circled the prone figure, silver eyes unblinking as he sniffed cautiously at the stranger’s cloak. The forest cat’s ears were still fttened against his skull, but the deadly tension had eased from his powerful frame.

  That, more than anything, tipped the scales of her decision.

  Amriel lowered her knife, though she didn’t sheathe it.

  “Well,” she muttered, moving cautiously toward the fallen figure, “I suppose if you were going to kill me, you’d have made a better attempt than bleeding all over my floor.”

  Meeko gnced up at her, his expression somehow managing to convey both agreement and judgment.

  “Don’t give me that look,” she told him, crouching to assess the damage. “If he tries anything, you can still eat him.”

  The bone bde in her hand wavered, then lowered. Her breath escaped in a ragged exhale.

  “Not quite how I imagined my night going,” she muttered, voice rough.

  Meeko chirped softly, as though to second her grim observation.