Chapter 1 — Whispers in the Wind

Mara

The village on the edge of the Frostshade Expanse clung to the land like a stubborn shadow, its small wooden homes huddled together against the biting winds rolling off the tundra. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying with it the scent of peat fires and desperation. The villagers moved cautiously, casting wary glances at the distant horizon, where rumors of war whispered like ghosts. Mara watched them from beneath her hood, her amber eyes hidden in shadow as she slipped silently between the market stalls.

Her cloak of plain, weather-worn gray fabric billowed slightly in the frigid breeze. Beneath it, she carried a satchel filled with dried herbs and tinctures, her wares as a herbalist—simple, practical, and unassuming. It was safer this way. Safer to let them see only what they expected: a quiet, solitary woman who lived away from the village in a humble cabin at the forest’s edge. A healer, perhaps, but nothing more.

“Morning, Mara,” called an elderly woman from behind a stall of bundled firewood. Her lined face broke into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s business?”

Mara inclined her head with a small, polite smile. “Well enough, thank you, Edlyn. And yours?”

“Oh, the usual. People need firewood more than ever these days, what with the stories folks have been whispering.” Edlyn leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Said they saw strange lights in the sky two nights ago. And hunters—more of ‘em spotted southward. Could be a bad omen, don’t you think?”

Mara’s chest tightened at the mention of omens, but she kept her expression neutral. “The skies do strange things out here. Likely nothing to worry about.”

Edlyn frowned, her lips pursing. “Hunter activity’s got my son on edge. He says they’re moving north, closer than they have in years. If they find what they’re looking for...” Her voice trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the Frostshade Expanse.

Mara nodded faintly, unwilling to linger on the topic. “Stay warm, Edlyn. The wind’s grown sharper.” She moved on before the old woman could press further, her heart thrumming harder than she cared to admit. Strange lights. Hunters. The villagers didn’t know how to discern a shooting star from magical phenomena, but rumors like these were dangerous. Dangerous for someone like her.

As the market thinned out and the chill of the open air seeped deeper into her skin, Mara tightened her cloak and made her way to the outskirts of the village. Beyond the last crooked fence, the forest loomed, its towering pines draped with frost. The Frostshade Expanse stretched out beyond it, a desolate patchwork of ice and tundra, but the forest itself was alive—alive in ways the villagers would never understand.

The trees whispered to her once she stepped beneath their canopy, their presence as familiar and comforting as her own heartbeat. The scent of pine and damp earth enveloped her, and the tension in her shoulders eased as the village receded behind her. Here, she could breathe. Here, she could let the mask slip, if only a little.

The stream she followed wound its way deeper into the woods, the water’s faint shimmer betraying its latent magic. Mara knelt at its edge, careful to keep her movements slow and deliberate. She pulled a small knife from her satchel and began harvesting the herbs that grew along the banks—wintermint and bloodroot, both hard to find and invaluable for her work.

As the blade sliced through a sprig of wintermint, a sudden, sharp cry broke the quiet. Mara froze, her pulse quickening as she scanned the forest. The sound came again—thin and desperate, but unmistakable. A bird, she realized. A wounded one.

Rising to her feet, Mara followed the sound until she found the source—a small sparrow lying in the underbrush, its wing bent at an unnatural angle. Her heart ached at the sight. It’s just a bird, she told herself, but the instinct to help was too strong to ignore.

Kneeling beside the creature, she opened her satchel and withdrew a small vial of healing salve. Her fingers hesitated over the bird’s trembling form. She could heal it without magic—probably—but it would take time, and the poor thing didn’t have much of that.

No one is watching, she reasoned. No one will know.

Her hand hovered over the sparrow as doubt crept in. _What if someone sees? What if they find out?_ She thought of her mother’s voice, warning her over and over again, _Never let them see what you are._ Her chest constricted, but she swallowed hard, steadying herself. The bird’s labored breathing tugged at her resolve. It would die without her intervention.

“Just this once,” she whispered, as if to convince herself. She placed her hand gently over the bird, her pale skin almost translucent in the dappled light. Closing her eyes, she reached inward, toward the reservoir of power she had spent her life suppressing. The air around her seemed to still, the faint sounds of the forest fading into the background. Warmth spread through her palm, and a soft golden glow seeped from her fingers, enveloping the sparrow.

The bird’s wing straightened with a faint crackle of bone, and its trembling ceased. Mara opened her eyes just as the sparrow flitted upright, testing its healed wing with a tentative flutter. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived. She caught sight of her reflection in the nearby stream—her amber eyes were alight, faint but undeniable, their glow betraying the magic she had wielded.

A rustle in the underbrush snapped her attention to the forest around her. The sparrow took flight, disappearing into the canopy, but Mara remained frozen. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she scanned the trees.

“Just the wind,” she murmured under her breath, though she wasn’t convinced. She rose to her feet, hastily shoving the vial back into her satchel. The moment of peace she had felt earlier was gone, replaced by the icy grip of fear.

Her mind raced as she retraced her steps to the stream and gathered the remaining herbs. She couldn’t afford mistakes like this. Not here. Not now. The villagers might be simple folk, but they were no fools. If anyone saw her, if anyone suspected—her grip tightened on the satchel strap slung over her shoulder. She had been careful all these years. She couldn’t let a single lapse undo everything.

The memory of her mother’s voice rose unbidden in her mind. _“Never let them see what you are, Mara. Never. The moment they know, they will come for you. They will burn you, just as they burned me.”_

Her chest constricted, the phantom smell of smoke and blood filling her nostrils. She shook her head fiercely, banishing the memory. This wasn’t then. She wasn’t a child anymore. She could protect herself. She had to—for her sake, and for the sake of the fragile life growing inside her.

The stream widened as she approached a familiar bend, its waters cascading into a small pool surrounded by moss-covered stones. Here, she paused, taking a steadying breath. Her reflection stared back at her from the water’s surface—pale and drawn, eyes still faintly glowing. She whispered a word under her breath, and the light dimmed, fading back into the amber hue that could almost pass for human.

She lingered at the pool for a moment longer, her thoughts churning. The rumors of battle, the strange lights in the sky, the hunters who had been spotted further south—it all pointed to the same conclusion. The world was on the brink of something terrible, and she was caught in its current whether she wanted to be or not. A faint sound rustled in the distance—low and indistinct, but enough to heighten her unease. She stiffened, scanning the trees, but saw nothing.

Mara straightened, adjusting the hood of her cloak. The forest seemed quieter now, its usual hum subdued, as if it, too, was holding its breath. She turned back toward the cabin, her steps quickening. Every moment spent out here was another moment of risk, but staying hidden forever wasn’t an option either.

The wind picked up as she emerged from the trees, carrying with it the scent of frost and something darker—something that smelled of ash. She glanced back toward the village, its rooftops barely visible through the gray light of dusk. A part of her wanted to warn them, to tell them to flee while they still could. But she had learned long ago that warnings from strangers were seldom heeded, and she could not afford to draw their suspicion.

As she approached the cabin, its familiar, weathered walls offering a semblance of safety, Mara couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest had been watching her. Or perhaps it was something else, something unseen, lurking just beyond her perception.

She pushed the thought aside as she stepped through the door, bolting it behind her. The cabin was small but warm, its walls lined with shelves of dried herbs and neatly labeled jars. A single bed lay tucked against the far wall, and a small stove crackled with the remnants of a fire.

Setting down her satchel, Mara allowed herself a moment to breathe. She ran her hands over her belly, feeling the faint, reassuring flutter of life within. “We’ll be all right,” she whispered, her voice soft but resolute. “We have to be.”

Outside, the wind howled, and the shadows deepened. Somewhere in the distance, between the fading light and the encroaching darkness, a storm was brewing.