Chapter 2: Shadows on the Border
The scent of fresh pine drifted delicately on the crisp morning breeze as Zepp crossed the weathered wooden bridge into Dophis Village, her satchel bouncing gently against her hip with each step. The forest road behind her twisted and turned like a lazy river, its packed earth surface soft beneath her feet—a path that saw more foot traffic than most border routes, thanks to the peculiar reputation of the tower's inhabitants and their magical remedies.
Dophis was a border village, perched on the very edge of Kholjr Kingdom like a watchful sentinel. It was a quiet and modest enclave often forgotten by the capital's grand politics, yet it stood resilient against the relentless passage of time, much like a flickering candle valiantly fighting against the dark. Wooden homes leaned together like a group of gossiping elders, their weathered planks bearing the patina of countless seasons. The structures bore the distinctive architecture of border settlements—built low and sturdy to weather both storms and the occasional cross-border skirmish that marked life on the frontier.
Cobblestone streets, imported at great expense from the quarries near the capital, bore the imprints of merchant carts, cavalry horses, and the bare feet of children at play. The tattered royal banners of Kholjr fluttered from posts that had seen better decades, their deep blue and silver colors faded by sun and neglect, but still proudly displaying the crowned eagle that marked this as sovereign territory.
But to Zepp, this place was everything—a tapestry of memories woven from shared laughter, small kindnesses, and the comfortable rhythm of rural life.
"Morning, Mister Bell!" she called cheerfully to the first figure she spotted, an old woodcutter whose face was crisscrossed by deep lines that told stories of decades spent working the borderland forests. The grizzled man sat on his porch, methodically sharpening an axe blade with practiced strokes.
The old man looked up from his work, raising a hand that bore the permanent calluses of his trade. "Off for your usual deliveries, Zepp?" he asked, his voice carrying the rough warmth of someone who'd known her since childhood.
"Yup! Master sent me with herbs again," she replied with an enthusiastic nod, morning sunlight catching the blue-black sheen of her hair. "Shadow fever's going around, so I've got nightshade root and blood lily petals."
"She send you with any patience this time?" he asked, chuckling at his own well-worn joke.
Zepp giggled, her laughter bright enough to make passing sparrows pause in their morning songs. "Nope! Used it all up on her this morning!"
As she moved deeper into the village square, the familiar rhythm of border life embraced her like a warm blanket. The ringing of the blacksmith's hammer against iron echoed from the forge where Master Korwin crafted both horseshoes and the occasional sword for traveling guards. The clatter of wooden crates being stacked at the trading post mixed with the animated discussions of merchants comparing prices and debating the safest routes through increasingly troubled times.
The village's heart was marked by an ornate stone fountain, a relic from the days when Dophis had been a more prosperous waystation during the height of the Draetrotus Empire. Its carved eagles, now worn smooth by weather, still managed to look proud despite missing wings and battle scars from long-ago conflicts. The fountain's water sparkled in the sunlight, fed by the same mountain springs that nourished the Whispering Vale.
Zepp paused near the message board beside the fountain, where notices flapped in the gentle morning breeze like prayer flags. The board itself was a study in border pragmatism—thick oak reinforced with iron brackets, built to survive both weather and the occasional bout of civil unrest.
Kholjr Merchant Guild – Border Branch"Now accepting caravan guards for eastern routes. Pay in silver. Sword arm and clean record required. Inquire within."
Adventurer's Guild – Eastern Outpost"Urgent: Rank-C and higher sought to investigate disappearances near the Wildfang Crags. Standard rates plus danger pay. Report to Captain Morris."
Zepp tilted her head, studying the second notice with growing concern. The Wildfang Crags weren't far from here—she could see their jagged silhouette from the village's eastern edge on clear days. The thought of people simply vanishing in those rocky highlands sent an uncomfortable chill down her spine.
Behind her, a pair of merchants huddled near a spice vendor's stall, their voices low but carrying in the still morning air.
"Another caravan went missing last week," one muttered, anxiety threading through his words like a dark ribbon. "That's three this month."
"Bandits again?" his companion asked, though his tone suggested he already suspected worse.
"Too clean for bandits. No bodies, no scattered goods, no survivors with tales to tell." The first merchant glanced around nervously. "Some think it might be foreign scouts, testing our defenses."
"Foreign scouts from where?"
"Take your pick. The Northlands have been mobilizing, and there are rumors about strange movements in the Shadowmere Territories..."
Zepp pretended to study a notice about lost livestock, but her ears picked up every word. Lately, there had been more armed guards passing through Dophis than usual—not just merchant escorts, but royal patrols and grim-faced men who spoke in military shorthand and kept their weapons well-maintained. The last official courier from the capital had arrived nearly two weeks behind schedule, and his horse had been lathered with sweat as if he'd ridden through the night to avoid something on the roads.
She made a mental note to ask Selva about it, though getting a straight answer from her perpetually detached master would be like trying to nail morning mist to a tree.
After collecting the needed nightshade root and blood lily petals from the apothecary—old Henrik charged her half-price out of respect for Selva's reputation—Zepp stopped by the bakery as was her custom. Master Harth, flour dusting his apron and kindness lighting his eyes, pressed a still-warm cinnamon bun into her hands.
"For being too cheerful for your own good," he said with a grin, waving away her offer of payment.
The familiar burst of cinnamon and sugar filled her senses, along with that subtle warmth that spoke of the baker's small talent for infusing his work with comfort and contentment. It was hedge magic at its finest—nothing flashy, just the ability to make someone's day a little brighter through the simple medium of fresh bread.
As she savored the treat, Zepp helped a lost tabby cat down from the bakery's roof, coaxing it with gentle words and patient gestures until it trustingly leaped into her arms. The cat purred against her chest, and for a moment, she could have sworn she felt a strange resonance—as if some sleeping part of her had stirred in response to the simple act of offering help to a creature in need.
Everything felt... normal, and yet she couldn't shake the sense of an undercurrent of tension running through the village like an underground stream. More merchants were hiring guards. Fewer people lingered to chat in the streets. Even the children seemed to play closer to their homes, and she noticed that mothers called them inside earlier each evening.
The border guards who usually resembled farmers with spears had been replaced by actual soldiers—men and women with the bearing of professional military, their armor bearing the fresh polish of recent deployment and their eyes holding the watchful wariness of those expecting trouble.
By noon, Zepp found herself seated on the stone rim of the old fountain, finishing her cinnamon bun and trying to sort through the day's observations. Children still dashed past her, their laughter bright as temple bells, and a scruffy village dog still barked playfully at butterflies. The familiar chimes from the old chapel—dedicated to Aethros the Protector—mingled with the wind in the trees that lined the square.
She swung her feet lazily, letting her gaze drift toward the mountains on the horizon. Those distant peaks marked not just the edge of Kholjr Kingdom, but the beginning of the vast wilderness that stretched beyond mapped borders—lands where ancient magic still ran wild and the ruins of the Draetrotus Empire lay buried beneath centuries of forest growth.
"Do you ever wonder," she murmured to the fountain's carved eagles, "what's really out there?"
The question stirred something deep in her chest, an inexplicable ache as if part of her soul lingered beyond those craggy peaks, waiting to be reclaimed. Sometimes, in her dreams, she felt pulled toward those distant places with a longing that had no rational explanation.
Shaking her head to clear such fanciful thoughts, she stood to begin her return journey to the tower. But movement at the message board caught her eye—a cloaked figure was pinning a new notice to the weathered wood, their movements precise and purposeful.
The stranger wasn't a villager, nor any of the regular travelers who passed through Dophis. Something about their bearing suggested both authority and secrecy, the way they moved speaking of training that went beyond mere martial skill. As if sensing her attention, the figure turned, their shadowed hood revealing nothing of their features except a glint that might have been eyes.
For a heartbeat that stretched like an eternity, their gaze locked onto hers. A chill raced down Zepp's spine, accompanied by a sensation she couldn't name—recognition, perhaps, or the echo of a memory that refused to surface. The stranger's presence felt strangely familiar, as if she'd encountered them in dreams or half-remembered visions.
Then, as suddenly as the moment had come, it passed. The cloaked figure turned away and melted into the crowd with the fluid grace of someone trained in the art of not being followed.
Heart hammering against her ribs, Zepp approached the message board. The new notice was written on parchment of higher quality than the usual village announcements, sealed with red wax that bore no identifying mark.
Official Warning - Royal Watch of Kholjr Kingdom"Unauthorized movement detected along Eastern Border regions. All civilians advised to complete travel before sunset. Report suspicious activity to local garrison immediately. By order of Border Command."
The notice was signed with a flowing script that spoke of education and authority, but bore no name—unusual for official communications, which typically carried the full titles and seals of their authors.
Zepp's fingers trembled slightly as she traced the formal lettering, the gravity of the message settling into her bones like winter cold. The eastern border was barely a day's hard ride from Dophis, close enough that trouble there could easily spill over into their quiet village.
She thought of Selva's casual dismissal of the shadow fever outbreak, her master's characteristic indifference to what others might consider urgent concerns. Was that detachment born of genuine disinterest, or did Selva know more about the current situation than she let on? In Zepp's experience, powerful mages rarely remained as oblivious to political currents as they pretended to be.
Looking around the square with new eyes, she began to notice other details that had escaped her earlier attention. The way certain merchants kept glancing toward the eastern road. How the blacksmith's current project seemed to involve more sword repair than horseshoe forging. The fact that several of the village's younger men were nowhere to be seen—likely recruited or volunteered for patrol duty.
A distant rumble of thunder drew her attention to the horizon, where storm clouds were gathering with unnatural speed. But as she studied them more carefully, Zepp realized they weren't quite the right color for rain clouds. There was something darker about them, touched with an oily sheen that made her skin crawl.
Maybe Selva was right about her naivety, about the dangers of being too trusting in an increasingly troubled world. Maybe her kindness would indeed prove to be her undoing someday.
But as she shouldered her satchel and began the walk back to the Whispering Vale, Zepp found herself thinking not of caution, but of the mysterious stranger whose gaze had stirred something deep within her sleeping soul. Whatever was coming to disturb the peace of the borderlands, she had the distinct feeling that her quiet life as a mage's apprentice was about to become far more complicated.
The forest path seemed longer on the return journey, shadows deeper and the birdsong more subdued. Even the ancient trees of the Whispering Vale seemed to lean closer together, as if sharing secrets too old and too dangerous for human ears.
By the time the crooked tower came into view, the strange storm clouds had covered half the eastern sky, and the air itself seemed to hum with anticipation.