Mira tucks the map into her pocket and pockets the money. She leaves the shop, the pendant resting against her skin. The morning air feels heavier now, thick with something she can't quite name. She walks quickly through the town, keeping her head down as she passes the imperial guards stationed at the square. Their presence is always a reminder of the empire's growing influence—of the dangers that lurk beyond the simple concerns of survival. She clutches the pendant tighter as she walks, its weight suddenly more substantial than before. The thought of it "noticing" her unsettles her in a way she can't quite define. She shakes it off as she leaves the town behind, stepping onto the north road. She pondered over Pater's words scowling at his caution did he forget who she was? She was an expert. She set a quick pace down the dirt road, the morning sun warming her shoulders as the path wound through the trees. The forest was alive with sound—birds calling, insects humming, the rustle of small creatures moving through the underbrush. But beneath it all was something else, a subtle vibration that made the hair on her arms stand on end. It wasn't a sound, exactly, but a feeling. The pendant at her throat seemed to thrum against her skin, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She touched it absently, half-expecting it to be hot or cold, but it was just as it had always been—cool and heavy.
The old mill came into view she glanced at the map, "Okay. Making some progress this guy is obviously a creep. Only creeps live in such remote areas." She smiled.
If Kai were here he'd make some sort of clever rebuttal. "You'd say 'So wouldn't that make us creeps?' " She murmurs to herself, missing the sharp wit of her companion. She pauses abruptly.
Am I that lonely?
"Nah."
The path beyond the mill narrows, winding through denser woods where the canopy darkens the earth. She follows it without hesitation, her boots pressing into the soft dirt. A hush settles over the forest as she walks, the normal sounds of birds and insects fading into silence. It's as if the very air is holding its breath.
The ivy-covered stone marker comes into view sooner than expected—a tall slab of gray rock half-buried in vines, its surface bearing markings worn nearly smooth by time. She brushes away the clinging foliage with quick, impatient movements, revealing the faint outline of what might have been a symbol once.
"Huh. Looks foreign." The symbol pulses faintly, as if responding to her touch, and the pendant at her throat vibrates in return. She jerks her hand away, instinctively gripping the pendant. The connection is immediate and unsettling, like a thread pulling between the stone marker and the artifact around her neck.
She forces herself to inhale deeply, steadying her breathing. "Right. Just a marker. Nothing more." But as she steps past it onto the narrow path winding up the hill, the silence deepens. It presses in on all sides, muffling even her own footfalls. The forest here is older—trees gnarled and twisted, roots breaking through the dirt like skeletal fingers.
She presses forward each step forward leaving her more and more unsettled she's also heaving as the incline increase when she finally reaches the top it came into view. A small house stands nestled among the trees, its walls constructed from the same gray stone as the marker below. Moss creeps up the sides, and ivy clings to the roof like a living mantle. A thin wisp of smoke curls from the chimney, the only sign of life.
The door is simple—heavy wood reinforced with iron bands, no handle in sight. Mira raises her fist and knocks, the sound seeming to fade into the silence before it fully fades away.
Seconds pass. Then minutes. She shifts uncomfortably, glancing around the silent clearing. The pendant feels heavier against her skin, its surface cool and smooth beneath her fingers.
Then—movement.
The door swings open, "Gods you scared me! Er-"Mira pauses as her eyes traveling up, revealing a figure so tall it must stoop to clear the threshold. His face is narrow and angular, his dark eyes sunken deep beneath sharp brows. A shock of white hair falls across his forehead, clashing with skin as pale as parchment. He is wrapped in an aged robe of deep blue, its fabric worn but meticulously patched in places. His lips press together as he looks at her, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"Harrow?" Mira asks, though she doesn't need to—the name fits him perfectly. He studies her for a long moment, his gaze resting on the pendant at her throat.
His dark eyes snap up the meet hers, "Come inside." His words carry no inflection, just a quiet command that echoes with something ancient. He steps back, allowing her to enter, and she steps past him into the house.
The interior is dark she struggles to see her surroundings, "Watch your step. I do my dealings in the other room."
The air inside is cool, thick with an aroma of old paper and herbs. The floor is stone, worn smooth by time and countless footsteps. As her eyes adjust, she sees shelves lining the walls, packed with tomes bound in leather and parchment. Scrolls coil like serpents on the wooden tables, their edges curling with age. A single candle burns on a low table, its flame steady despite the faint draft through the room.
Harrow moves past her, his robes whispering against the floor. He gestures to a chair opposite the candle. "Sit."
Mira hesitates for only a moment before sinking into the chair. The wood creaks softly beneath her weight. She can't stand the tension so she breaks it first, "Pater sent me said you were a collector of sorts?"
Harrow doesn't answer immediately. He moves with a slow, deliberate grace, circling the table until he stands before her. His dark eyes remain fixed on the pendant, though he doesn't reach for it.
"Pater has loose lips," he says finally, his voice as dry as the parchment on his shelves. "But he's right. I collect things." His fingers tap once against the table. "And you've brought me something... interesting."
Mira's hand instinctively moves to cover the pendant, though she keeps it hidden beneath her shirt. "I found it," she says, voice carefully neutral. "In the ruins outside Morestown."
She was growing tired of repeating herself she eyed the man curiously while pulling out the bag of coins and unlatching the pendant's clasp from her neck, "I don't much other than I sense. Magic."
Harrow's gaze darkens as he sees the pendant in her palm. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to snatch it. He moves with deliberate slowness, reaching out to take it from her. The moment his fingers make contact, the stone in the pendant's center flares with an inner light, casting his face in shifting hues of silver and violet.
Mira's breath catches. She leans forward, squinting to see the subtle patterns of energy that pulse through the stone. "What the hell is that?"
Harrow doesn't answer immediately. He turns the pendant slowly in his hands, his thumbs tracing the engraved symbols. The stone continues to glow, its light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Harrow's face, already pale, grows even whiter in its eerie glow. His lips part slightly as he speaks, his tone hushed. "This is not something found. It was left."
Mira's fingers curl into the wood of her chair. "Left by who?"
Harrow's dark eyes flick up to meet hers, his expression unreadable. "By something older than your people, older than mine. Older than kingdoms or empires." He turns the pendant again, watching the light shift. "It was waiting."
The words settle over her like a cold hand on her shoulder. "Waiting for what?" His eyes flick to hers, "Who knows. But it's missing it's counter part." Mira's brows furrowed, "How can you tell that?"
Harrow's fingers tighten around the pendant, and the glow intensifies, sending shifting shadows across his sharp features. "Because this half is incomplete. And it's... restless." He sets the pendant down with care, as if it might burn him. The glow fades slowly, leaving the stone once again dark. "You say you found this in ruins?"
Mira nods, leaning forward. She watches Harrow closely, noting the way his posture straightens slightly. "You know something about that place?"
Harrow's face is unreadable. He straightens slowly and moves to one of the shelves, running his fingers along the books until he finds what he seeks—a thick tome bound in dark leather, its edges yellowed with age. He brings it to the table and flips through the pages with practiced ease. The parchment is thick and heavy, covered in dense script and diagrams that seem to shift slightly as he turns the pages.
"There," he murmurs, pressing his palm against the open page. "This ruin was not merely a settlement. It was a repository." He meets her gaze, his dark eyes catching the candlelight. "A place where things were stored. Waiting." She reaches out to touch the spine of the tome he smacks her hand away, "Excuse me I'm not some dirty -"
"You're a witch." The word hangs between them like a blade. Mira's pulse quickens, her fingers curling into a fist. "I'm no witch," she says, voice tight with warning. Harrow studies her with those dark, unblinking eyes. "Aren't you? The way the pendant responds to you—" He taps the open page. "It chose you."
Her throat tightens. "I didn't choose anything." Harrow hums, a sound almost like amusement. "Semantics." He closes the book with a heavy thud. "Now tell me how does a witch from a powerful end up as a begger? Does the coven know-"
Mira stands up abruptly, "Look do you want to buy my product or not? I'm not interested in giving a stranger my life's story." Harrow's gaze remains steady as he considers her. "Fair enough. Though I suspect you might find my offer more interesting than coin." He reaches into the folds of his robe and withdraws a small pouch. The sound of coins inside is soft but unmistakable. He sets it on the table between them. "Two hundred gold pieces for the coins. Not a coin more, not a coin less."
Mira's eyes narrow as she weighs the offer. It's better than Pater's, but not by much. "And the pendant?" Harrow exhales slowly, his fingers resting lightly on the stone. "That is a separate matter."
He meets her eyes. "But I can make you an offer for it as well." She seats herself down crossing her petite legs over one another, lazily resting her cheek on her fists staring down the man in front of her. When it came to business it was essential to not show weakness because once you did you could lose out on an offer.
"I'm listening." Harrow's fingers trace the pendant's edges with delicate precision, as if committing its shape to memory. "I'll give you three hundred gold for the pendant," he says, the words falling like stones into still water. "But I'll need use of your services."
Mira sighs deeply, "What of my services?" Harrow's lips curl into something that isn't quite a smile. "You have an... affinity for certain things. You've handled this pendant without it consuming you. That's rare." He leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the table. "I need someone who can touch things like this without being burned. I need someone who can retrieve artifacts that have... been waiting."
Her fingers twitch where they rest against the wood. "And if I refuse?"
His eyes never waver. "Then I'll buy the pendant and let you leave. But you'll always be bound to it, in some way. It's chosen you, and that tether won't break." He taps the pouch of gold between you.
Mira rolled her eyes at this, "I don't believe in such things. For the right price i'm willing to take a job. Name it and your price."
Harrow's fingers tighten around the pendant. The stone flares again, casting sharp violet light across his face. "Good," he says softly. "Then our deal is this. You work for me, retrieving artifacts like this one. In exchange, I will sever the connection between you and the pendant, and I will pay you handsomely for each task." He leans back slightly. "I have no interest in binding you to me any longer than necessary. But this pendant—it must be returned to where it belongs." His tone drops lower. "And I know where that is."
Mira's breath comes shallowly as she studies him. "I work for other dealers, I won't drop them just because you-"
"I don't want you to drop them," Harrow interrupts, his dark eyes fixed on hers. "I want you to be selective. I have needs that are... particular. And I suspect you have skills that would be wasted on the usual coin-peddlers of the trade." He taps the pendant again, and the glow subsides to a faint pulse.
Mira reaches for the pouch of gold, turning it over in her hands. It's heavier than it looks. "And how do I know I can trust you?" Harrow's lips twitch at the corners. "You can't. But I assure you, Mira—if I wanted you dead, you would be already."
Mira scoffs, "Don't be so confident. I have been taken out yet." She pauses considering adding another layer to the deal, "I will be requiring extra compensation, the state of the empire and all. They're taking out the guilds and treasure hunter like myself so-" Harrows stops her again, "That won't be a problem."
Mira shifts uncomfortably usually deals didn't go this smoothly. She knew Harrow was trouble she didn't need powers to identify that. "Fine." The word leaves her lips with more force than she intended, the single syllable echoing slightly in the cramped room. Harrow's eyes narrow as he watches her, as if gauging the sincerity of her agreement. The candle flame wavers between them, casting shifting shadows across the walls lined with ancient tomes.
"So very agreeable, we'll work well together Mira." Harrow's fingers close around the pendant, the stone glowing faintly in response to his touch. He stands with a creak of the old floorboards, moving toward a heavy wooden chest set against the far wall. The metal clasps gleam dully in the candlelight as he opens it, revealing rows of vials and pouches containing substances that catch the light in strange ways.
He selects a small glass vial containing a swirling liquid of deep indigo, its contents pulsing faintly with the same violet glow as the pendant. He carries it back to the table with careful deliberation, setting it down between you. The liquid moves inside the vial, as if alive.
"This will sever the bond," he says, tapping the glass gently. "It won't be pleasant." His dark eyes flick to yours, measuring. "But it will be quick." He pauses. "Are you certain?"
Mira exhales through her nose, already regretting the deal. She nods once, sharply. "Get on with it."
Harrow's expression doesn't change, but he nods in turn. He removes the stopper with practiced ease, the liquid within giving off a faint humming sound as it spills into the air around it. The sound is discordant, almost painful to the ears. He holds the vial out to you, waiting. "Drink it quickly. The longer it remains on your tongue, the more it will burn."
Mira doesn't hesitate. She snatches the vial from his grip and downs the contents in one swift motion. The liquid is cold at first—then heat explodes through her throat, spreading outward like wildfire. She gasps, doubling over as the heat sears through her chest, her limbs, settling deep in her core. Drool drips from her mouth and mucus forms rapidly within her nose she coughs so hard she's convinced she drank poison. The pain is excruciating, worse than anything she's ever experienced—it's as if her very bones are being rewritten. She claws at the table edge, her nails scraping wood as her vision blurs and distorts. For one terrifying moment, she's certain she's dying. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the agony peaks and recedes, leaving her gasping like a fish on shore.
Harrow watches impassively as she struggles to regain her breath. "Done," he says simply, corking the vial with a small pop. "The tether is severed."
Mira wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still shuddering. "For Fuck's sake! You really are trying to kill me." Harrow doesn't react to the outburst. He merely places the empty vial back into his chest and turns to face you fully. The pendant still glows faintly in his hand, its light reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Your body rejects the magic that bound you," he explains matter-of-factly. "It would have been worse if you'd let it fester." He offers you a small cloth from his sleeve, which you snatch with shaking fingers. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"
Mira presses the cloth to her mouth, wiping away the thin trail of blood that had escaped during her convulsions. "I won't suffer any longterm affects will I?" Her eyes widen, "Please don't tell me I'll age fifty years."
Harrow shakes his head once, his pale lips pressing into a thin line. "No. You'll live. The magic was meant for you, not to destroy you." His fingers tap against the table as he watches you. "But you should know—whatever this pendant is, it wasn't meant to be in your hands for long."
Mira tosses the cloth aside, still breathing heavily. "Great. So what do I do now? You want me to go fetch whatever the hell it's missing?" Harrow inclines his head slightly. "That's the plan. Though I suspect retrieving it won't be simple." He turns the pendant in his hands again, the stone flaring as he does so.
"That wouldn't be as fun for you now would it?" He turns reaching for tomes, "Regarding the pendant that will have to wait." He turns grabbing some parchment. "In the meantime I have some smaller jobs for you." He retrieves a quill and ink, scratching something onto the parchment with swift, precise strokes. The words flicker in the dim light, glowing faintly before settling into normal script.
"This is your first task." He slides the parchment toward you. "A relic from the old empire. It was last seen in the ruins near the border of the Obsidian Woods. I need it brought to me."
Mira takes the parchment, scanning the writing quickly. "And what happens if I fail to retrieve it?"
Harrow leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Then you owe me time in service. We'll negotiate the terms then."
"So can I leave now?" Harrow tilts his head slightly, considering you. "You may. But I would advise you to rest before setting out. The aftereffects of severing the bond will linger for a while longer." He gestures vaguely toward the door. "There's a bedroll in the next room. If you'd rather not stumble through the woods half-blind, take advantage of it."
Mira hesitates, weighing the offer. The thought of making the steep descent back to the road in her current state is less than appealing. "Fine. But I expect breakfast before I go." Harrow's lips twitch slightly—almost a smile. "Deal."
******
Mira spends the next evening recovering from the potion to her surprise Harrow had a few workers that tended to her they were kind but reeked of a certain sadness she didn't want to pry but she wondered their circumstances. She found herself thinking of Kai throughout the night it hurt her deeply when Pater noted his absence. Perhaps working for Harrow would provide a welcome distraction she would have a steady income and a chance to think of well....nothing.
The summer passed by smoothly with the same routine of training, retrieval, and the occasional brush with danger that Harrow had promised. Mira had grown accustomed to the work, though the initial unease had never fully left her. The house in the woods became a familiar place, its shadows less foreboding as time went on. Harrow was a cold master, but fair in his dealings, and the work provided a steady stream of coin that had once seemed impossible.
She was able to stay under the empire's radar but oftentimes the memory of the young girl kept her up at night. She would wake up with night terrors and burst into tears, thinking of Kai she prayed for his safety every night.
She spent her free time at Pater's bar drinking till the sun came up, she found it easy all she had to do was flirt with a handsome stranger and they'd buy her drinks all night. She didn't care about anything else in those fleeting moments of inebriation she was just trying to drown out the guilt. She still preferred the noise and company of the bar it was easier than being alone with her thoughts.
"Do you plan on drinking life a fish for the rest of your life?" Pater grumbled. She was lazily gnawing on a piece of bread. She sighed, "Must you judge me so?"
Pater shook his head, cleaning a glass with a cloth that looked slightly dirty. "I'm not judging. I'm concerned. You're drowning yourself in drink every night, Mira." He set the glass down with a clink. "And you're barely eating."
Mira shrugged, tossing the last of the bread into her mouth. "Im eating can't you see this bread in my hands?"
"You're avoiding something." Pater leaned against the bar, his tired eyes meeting hers. "I don't need to be a seer to know that."
Mira scoffed, swirling the contents of her mug. "And what exactly do you think I'm avoiding?"
Pater sighed, wiping his hands on his apron. "The fact that you Kai left you here alone. The fact that he's still out there doing something most likely worthwhile, while you—" He gestured at her, at the bar, at the alcohol. "—are here, wasting time."
Mira's fingers tightened around the mug. "I'm not wasting time. I'm making money." She took a slow sip, the burn of the cheap ale doing nothing to dull the sting of his words. "Kai wouldn't want me to sit around moping about him. He'd want me to survive." Pater's lined face softened slightly at the mention of Kai. "That boy would want you to live, not just survive," he corrected, his voice gentler now. "There's a difference, Mira." He reached across the bar to take her empty mug, his work-worn fingers brushing against hers. "And this—" He nodded at the space between her, at the empty stool where Kai used to sit. "—isn't living. It's waiting."
Mira pulled her hand back, wrapping both arms around herself as if suddenly cold. She stared down at the scarred wooden surface of the bar, the grain of the wood blurring slightly through unshed tears. "I can't leave. You know that."
"What if something happens and-"
"You haven't heard from him in weeks Mira." She swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat. "That doesn't mean he's dead." Pater sighed, shaking his head. "No, it doesn't. But it also doesn't mean he's coming back."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She knew he was right, but hearing it aloud made something inside her crack open. Her fingers dug into her arms as she fought to keep her composure. She felt like a fool. Weeks of waiting, of hoping, of lying awake at night imagining every possible outcome except the one she feared most. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. Pater finally broke it, speaking gently. "You should go see the guilds, Mira."
"No, he doesn't want to see me Pater. That's the point." She sighed shoving the drink away, "If he needs me he, knows where I am." Pater shook his head, his lined face grave. "The guilds have connections outside the city. They might know something—officially or unofficially." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You can't keep sitting here waiting for a ghost to walk through the door, Mira. You need answers. And the guilds are your best chance at getting them."
Mira's fingers curled into the fabric of her tunic, her nails digging into her palms. The thought of stepping back into the guild halls made her stomach twist—too many memories, too many people who had turned their backs on her and vice versa.
She slammed coins on the bar and hurriedly walked out, the night air was cool she was grumbling turning the corner before she slammed into a body, "Can you watch where you're going Fuc-"
She sucked in her breath it was a imperial knight. Shit, not good. "Oh! I apologize I was in a-" she scrambled for words, "hurry and not paying attention."
Real clever Mira.
The knight was young, his armor bearing the insignia of the imperial forces. His face was clean-shaven, his hair cut short in the military style. He had kind eyes, but the emblem on his breastplate was unmistakable. His hand still rested on her shoulder from catching her before she fell, but now his grip had tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her coat. His lips quirked into a polite smile, though his gaze held something wary. "No harm done." His tone was measured, professional. He looked her up and down quickly—assessing rather than appraising—and his grip loosened. "Bit late to be in such a hurry don't you think?"
Mira forced a laugh, trying to play it casual, but her pulse was already racing. "Just in a rush to get home," she said, shifting her stance to put space between them. The knight tilted his head slightly, studying her. His hand moved from her shoulder to the hilt of his sword, resting there casually. "You're not from the city are you?" His tone remained neutral, but the question wasn't casual.
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I move around a lot." The knight hummed in response, unconvinced. "That so?" He looked at the coin pouch at her hip. "You're dressed like a smuggler, but you're not moving like one."
His eyes flicked to the bar behind her. "Pater's place. Interesting choice of company." She swallowed. She didn't like where this was going. "I like the drinks." The knight's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I bet you do." He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her face. "But I think you and I both know you're not just here for the ale."
She tensed. "I don't know what you mean." He chuckled softly. "Oh, I think you do." Her smile faded, he gripped her arm she didn't even put up a fight, "Come with me," the knight said, his grip firm but not painful. His tone left no room for argument.
Mira scanned the street instinctively, calculating escape routes, gauging the distance to the rooftops. But this was the empire's district—too many witnesses, too many people loyal to the crown. If she ran now, she'd be dead before she made it three blocks.
She let him lead her down the alley, toward the city watch's local outpost. The imperial insignia on his armor glinted in the lamplight as he glanced back at her. "You've been a busy little thing, haven't you?" His words were soft, almost amused. "Word gets around, Mira."
Mira tried to hide her surprise, "How do you know my name?" Mira stopped trying to pull him back but he continued to drag her.
The knight chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. "Oh, I make it my business to know the names of interesting people." His grip tightened slightly as they turned a corner, the outpost visible ahead. "And you, my dear, are very interesting."
She let herself be led, her mind working furiously. The empire's outpost was a small operation, meant for handling local disturbances rather than political prisoners. That might work in her favor—too much bureaucracy, too many hands in the pot. If she could get to the right officer, she might be able to buy her way out of this.
"You're thinking very hard," the knight observed, glancing back at her. "Should I be worried?" She flashed him a smile, "I'm thinking why the hell are you dragging me to arrest now?"
The knight's grip loosened slightly as they reached the outpost doors, his earlier amusement fading into something more calculating. "Arrest? That's a strong word." He pushed the heavy wooden door open, revealing a dimly lit interior lined with cells and a single desk where a tired-looking scribe hunched over parchment. "Let's call it a... conversation."
Mira's eyes darted to the scribe, then to the cells beyond. The space was smaller than she'd hoped—just two cells and a holding area, with the scribe clearly bored out of his mind. No captain in sight, which meant whoever was in charge was either out on patrol or drunk in some back room. Mira was not sober enough to take this all in, "Look I'm not-"
"Save it, sit." The knight guided her toward the only empty chair, his presence imposing despite his average build. The scribe barely glanced up as he continued scratching at his parchment, ink smeared on his fingers.
Mira sank into the chair, back straight, hands resting on her thighs. She forced herself to meet the knight's gaze. "So. A conversation. That sounds civilized." The knight leaned against the desk, arms crossing. "I prefer to think so." He studied her face, his gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. "You've been making a name for yourself lately. Working for Harrow isn't exactly subtle."
Mira kept her face neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about."