Chapter 2: The Ashes of Innocence

[POV: Nira]

At the tender age of nine, Nira learned what violence was.

She had always thought the world was gentle, filled with warmth, laughter, and her mother’s soft lullabies. Her days were spent picking wildflowers by the creek, chasing dragonflies, and listening to bedtime stories about legendary heroes and benevolent spirits. Her world had been small, yes, but it had been whole.

…until the night it all turned to fire.

The air was thick with smoke. Screams echoed in the distance, some sharp and short, others long and filled with agony. Outside their cottage, the village was being torn apart. Homes were ablaze, their thatched roofs caving in as flames devoured wood and people alike. Shadows moved against the firelight with men with swords and torches laughing as they cut down those who begged for mercy.

Their voices were drunken and crude as they slaughtered everyone.

“Leave no survivors alive!”

“Get that woman~!”

“They are making a run for it…”

“Loose your arrows on them!”

From the small gaps between the wooden wallboards, Nira saw it all.

She pressed her trembling fingers against the cracks, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. A man was slumped in the dirt, blood soaking into his tunic. Beside him, a woman with torn sleeves was screaming for her child before she, too, was silenced. The fire crackled like a hungry beast, casting dancing lights against the night.

“M-Mom?” Nira’s voice barely escaped her lips. “Mom~!”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, her vision blurring. Her mother turned toward her and grabbed her shoulders, gripping them tight enough to shake her small frame. Nira gasped at the sight. Her mother’s silver hair, usually radiant, was damp with sweat and streaked with blood. Her gaze, though steady, was strained with a mix of urgency and fear.

“Be quiet,” she murmured. “You carry the blood of the ancient hero. That means something. You must hold your dignity, no matter what.”

Nira nodded, though her heart was pounding like it wanted to escape her chest. She didn’t understand what “ancient hero” meant, not really, but she could see in her mother’s eyes that it was important. Nira wanted to ask if they could just run away together. Nira wanted to be hugged and told everything would be okay.

“No matter what,” Mom said, “don’t make a sound. And never come out.”

With that, Mom forced Nira under the bed, brushing aside a few fallen dolls and a half-torn blanket to make room. Nira curled in, her knees tucked to her chest, and clasped her hand over her mouth. She dared not breathe too loudly.

From her hiding spot, she watched her mother kneel on the wooden floor. With trembling fingers, her mother opened a heavy tome. It was leather-bound, its pages yellowed with age. Then, without hesitation, she took a small knife and pressed it against her thumb. Blood welled at the tip. Nira's eyes widened as her mother began to draw on the floorboards, her thumb painting lines that formed a circle, then a star, followed by shapes Nira didn’t recognize. Every motion was urgent and desperate.

Her mother’s lips moved in prayer: “I wish upon the star, send a champion to protect my daughter. Spirits from beyond, hear me.”

Nothing happened.

Her voice grew louder. “I wish upon the star, send us forth a champion who will protect my daughter! I am willing to give up my life!”

The circle shimmered faintly, with light beginning to pulse from the blood-soaked lines. A flicker of hope crossed her mother’s face.

But before anything else could happen, the door burst open with a brutal crack.

A large orcish male stepped in, dragging a bloody axe behind him. Her mother stood, turning to face him. “Ruffians…” she said breathlessly. “Do you not know who I am?”

From behind the man came more voices.

“It’s the witch!”

“We found the witch, lucky us…”

“Let’s get this over with…”

They swarmed in like wolves. There were four of them.

Nira’s breath hitched as she saw her mother struck down. A dull thud sounded as she hit the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath her. Even then, her mother lifted her head, her eyes locking with Nira’s. ‘Stay,’ her lips formed silently, pleading with her.

But Nira couldn’t stay. She couldn’t pretend any longer.

She scrambled out from under the bed, her body driven more by instinct than thought. With a cry caught between rage and terror, she lunged and bit one of the men on the leg. The taste of dust and iron filled her mouth.

“GAH! That scared the life out of me!” shouted an elegant-looking man with long ears, kicking her hard enough to send her tumbling across the floor.

She didn’t feel the pain. Instead, there was only hysteria in Nira's heart. She only knew she had to get back to her mother. Crawling on all fours, she dragged herself across the blood-slicked floorboards until she reached her.

“Mom! Mom! Don’t leave me alone!” she sobbed, wrapping her tiny arms around her mother’s body.

Her mother coughed with blood staining her lips. Even through the pain, her voice was gentle.

“You silly girl…” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have come out…”

Nira shook her head fiercely, burying her face into the bloodied cloth of her mother’s robe. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. Her mother hadn’t done anything wrong. She was kind and brave and full of stories and songs. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a monster.

“What do we do about the daughter?” one of the ruffians asked, a human woman with short brown hair. “This isn’t part of the job.”

Another answered with a sneer. “Witchspawn. She burns too.”

“That makes sense,” remarked the woman back. “Let the orcish brute do it.”

Nira screamed as rough hands tore her away. “Mom! No… Mom! Don’t take me away from her!” Her fists pounded against the man’s chest, but he barely reacted. He was too large and too numb to care about a child’s grief. She kicked and clawed until her voice cracked and her tears cut clean tracks through the soot on her face.

The orc holding her spoke with hollow cheer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, not bothering to meet her eyes. “It’ll be quick.”

“Let me go!” she howled, arms outstretched as if sheer will could close the growing distance between them.

Her mother hadn’t moved from the glowing circle on the floor. She lay curled near it, hair clinging to her bloodied face, her trembling hand pressed against the wood. At first, her mouth moved without sound. Then, barely rising above the hiss of burning timbers, a whisper took shape.

“I wish upon the star…”

One of the ruffians tilted his head, it was the human male who seemed to be the leader of the group. “Did she just say something?”

“Send us forth a champion who will protect my daughter…”

He stormed forward and struck her across the face. “Shut up, you witch!”

But she didn’t stop. Her voice carried on, steady despite the pain.

“Spirits from realms beyond… heed my call…”

The leader clenched his jaw. “Enough. You’re wasting our time!”

He drove his boot down on her stomach, stomping where the blood pooled thickest. Her body jerked with the impact, with a sound halfway between a sob and a gasp escaping her lips. Nira shrieked in response, thrashing in the man’s grip.

“Stop hurting her! Please!”

Still, her mother forced the last words out.

“I give up my soul… please… accept my plea.”

Then the circle ignited.

Light spilled from the blood-drawn lines. It was pale and cold, not warm like fire, but sharp like moonlight filtered through stone. It bathed the room in shifting shadows that didn’t match the flames. The shadows twisted across the walls, unnatural and wrong.

The human female flinched. “What in the nether—?”

Another waved smoke from his face, scoffing. “Tch. Gave me a start.”

“The spell didn’t even work,” a third muttered. “Damn witch died for nothing.”

But Nira wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on her mother, who had gone quiet. Her chest rose once… then not again. Her mouth hung open, lips parted mid-prayer. Her hand, once gripping the floor, fell slack.

“Mom…?” Her voice cracked. “Mom!!”

She wrenched free and stumbled forward, collapsing beside the still form. Her small hands gripped her mother’s robes, clinging as if touch alone could bring her back. Her sobs came loud and ragged, shaking her frame until even the ruffians looked away. There was no answer. No warmth. Just blood and silence.

That’s when she saw him.

A man now stood at the edge of the circle, one no one had noticed appear.

He wore a black suit, the kind adults wore to serious places, though his was scorched at the sleeves and shoulders. Ash clung to the seams. One collar was curled and blackened, his tie hanging askew. A deep crease ran across his shirt like he’d hit the ground hard.

Nira looked up, her face streaked with tears and soot. Something in her chest pulled tight. She didn’t know him and had never seen him before. But some part of her knew. He was here because of the circle.

“Please…” she whispered, voice trembling, “save my mom…”

But her mother no longer breathed.

The man said nothing.

And while the others moved on, convinced the spell had failed, the truth hovered in the quiet. The circle had answered.

They just didn’t realize it yet.