Chapter 2

SELENE

I was taken as a palace captive. I still couldn't forget the moment they raided our home. They came without warning, tearing through everything as if we were nothing but criminals. Maura tried to protect me, but they killed her before my eyes. I could still remember the sound of her falling, the silence that followed, and how helpless I felt. I didn't know what would happen to me now, but at least I was still alive. Somehow, that was the only thing I could hold on to.

I felt so weak that I couldn't move my hands or even my body. I could hear everything around me—the footsteps, the rattling of chains, the voices of the guards—but I couldn't see anything. Darkness surrounded me. My body felt heavy, as if all my strength had been drained away. I tried to move, even just my fingers, but nothing happened. All I could do was listen and wonder where they were taking me.

“She's blind. She's useless. Just execute her.”

The words made my blood run cold.

Another man laughed quietly. “She's young. At least let us have our fun before they decide what to do with her.”

Their laughter echoed around me.

I couldn't move. I couldn't see them. I could barely breathe.

My hands trembled against the cold floor as I listened to their footsteps drawing closer.

“Don't touch her.”

The laughter immediately stopped.

“She makes potions,” another man said coldly. “She's one of the witches from that apothecary.”

A silence followed.

Then someone scoffed.

“A witch?”

“Yes. She was making forbidden potions.”

My heart sank.

“Then it doesn't matter if she's blind,” the man said. “Take her somewhere and execute her. Don't leave the body”

My fingers curled weakly against the floor.

I wanted to speak.

To tell them they were wrong.

But my body was too weak to move, and the darkness around me swallowed every word before I could make a sound.

All I could do was listen as they decided my fate. 

I didn't have any memories anyway.

No past to return to. No family I could remember. Nothing that seemed important enough to hold on to.

Perhaps there was nothing to bother about.

Not even my future.

And strangely, that thought didn't frighten me as much as it should have.

They separated me from the other captives and took me somewhere far from the city. I could hear the others calling out, but their voices slowly faded behind me.

Then they forced me to my knees.

“Look at her,” one of them mocked. “She can't even see what's coming.”

They laughed.

I lowered my head and felt the cold ground beneath my knees.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn.

The laughter stopped.

Footsteps approached.

The blade was raised above me.

I closed my eyes, though it made no difference.

I couldn't see the sword.

I couldn't see the men.

But I could hear everything.

And for the first time, I wondered if this was really where my story would end.

Before the sword could reach me, everything suddenly stopped. The air went strangely still, and I waited for the pain, but it never came. Instead, I heard something behind me—a groan, then another, followed by the sound of bodies hitting the ground. I remained on my knees, frozen, unable to see what was happening. All I could hear were the men grunting, struggling, and crying out in pain as their voices slowly grew weaker. Then, everything became silent. Completely silent. I slowly turned my head, and for the first time, I wished I could see.

Suddenly, someone reached for my blindfold. I felt his fingers touch the cloth and immediately shouted, “Don't!” 

He stopped, clearly confused. “Why?” he asked.

 I hesitated, then realized there was no point hiding it anymore. “Because I'm blind,” I whispered.

 He went silent for a moment, as if he hadn't expected that answer. 

Then I heard him exhale softly. “You're actually blind?”

 I nodded. “I told you not to take it off.”

He went quiet for a moment. Then I heard him sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His voice was deep and rough, the kind of voice that belonged to an older man. There was something unexpectedly gentle in it.

I lowered my head.

“It's fine,” I whispered.

He didn't say anything for a while.

Then he carefully stepped closer.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let's get you out of here.”

He held my hand and guided me somewhere I didn't even know where we were going.

His grip was firm but careful, as if he was afraid I might stumble. I followed quietly, listening to the sound of our footsteps against the ground.

I couldn't see anything.

All I could do was trust the stranger leading me through the darkness.

“Where are you taking me?” I finally asked.

He was silent for a moment.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered.

I tightened my fingers around his hand.

For some reason, I believed him.

We suddenly stopped.

I heard a loud thud, followed by what sounded like someone kicking something.

The old man sighed.

“Milo, enough.”

“Milo?” I whispered.

A familiar voice answered angrily. “He flicked my ear!”

I froze. That voice. I knew it.

“Milo…?” I whispered, almost unable to believe it.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then I heard someone mutter, “You deserved it.”

“See?” Milo snapped. “He keeps doing that!”

The old man sighed again.

I didn't know what had happened, but I knew that voice.

I had heard it before.

Days ago, a man had come to the apothecary asking for medicine for his uncle. He had been desperate, almost pleading with me to help him.

I remembered the sound of his voice.

“Milo…” I whispered.

That was his name.

The man who had come looking for a potion for his dying uncle.

The man I had promised to help.

But what was he doing here?

I felt a hand gently rest on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

I froze.

“Milo?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he answered softly. “It’s me.”

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. I had only met him once, yet somehow, hearing his voice again made the fear inside me settle.

“You…”

His hand remained on my shoulder, steady and warm.

“But why are you here?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“They raided the apothecary,” I said quietly.

Milo's hand remained on my shoulder.

“They took us captive. I don't even know what happened after that. Everything happened so quickly.”

I lowered my head.

“I thought making potions was forbidden. That's why Maura and I stayed far away from the city. We never caused trouble. We kept to ourselves.”

My voice trembled slightly.

“I didn't know they were going to capture me.”

Milo was silent.

“They killed Maura,” I whispered. “And then they took me.”

His hand tightened slightly on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I swallowed hard.

“I still don't understand why they came for us.”

“Because making potions without an imperial writ is illegal,” the other man explained.

I turned slightly toward his voice.

“Illegal?”

“Yes. The Empire regulates anyone who practices potion-making or healing. Without a permit, people can accuse you of practicing forbidden magic.”

He paused.

“And the horrible part is that some people will simply call you a witch.”

Milo suddenly snapped.

“She isn't a witch.”

The man's voice remained calm. “I didn't say she was.”

“You were talking like she was.”

“Milo,” the old man warned.

Milo went quiet, but I could hear the anger in his breathing.

I lowered my head.

For years, I had stayed away from the city because I thought it was safer.

I never imagined that keeping to myself would be the very reason they would come looking for me.

“What if I was a witch?” I asked quietly.

There was a brief silence.

Then the other man chuckled.

“Then I suppose we were wrong to bring you here.”

I tilted my head. “Why?”

“Because you're far too beautiful to be a witch.”

I frowned.

Milo immediately snapped, “That's a terrible reason.”

The old man laughed under his breath.

Milo suddenly spoke.

“She’s the one who’s making the medicine for my uncle.”

The other man went silent for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.

The man chuckled. “Then I might have to take my time getting you back to him.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want his uncle to suffer a little longer before you finally heal him.”

“Heyyy” Milo snapped. “Stop joking around.”

“ Gideon once made me kiss another trader.”

They all silent.

The man pointed accusingly at him. “Your uncle was a terrible friend.”

The old man finally let out a tired sigh.

“Enough,” he said. “We don't have time for this.”

He added “We're standing in the middle of nowhere with a prisoner who was nearly executed, and you're arguing with a twenty-year-old like you've got nothing better to do.” 

The other man laughed.

The old man shook his head.

“Unbelievable. Give a grown man a little age and wisdom, and apparently all he gets is two idiots to babysit.”

After what felt like a long walk, we finally stopped.

“We're here,” Milo said.

I heard a wooden door creak open.

The moment I stepped inside, the air felt warmer. It smelled faintly of herbs, old wood, and something I couldn't quite recognize.

Feels like wasn't a huge house. In fact, it was rather modest.

But it was comfortable—certainly better than the cold, cramped places I had grown used to.

The old man suddenly turned toward the other man.

“Roland.”

The teasing in Roland's voice disappeared. “What?”

“We have something important to take care of.”

Roland sighed. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

I heard them exchange a few quiet words, too low for me to understand.

Then the old man spoke to Milo. “Stay with her.”

Milo answered, “I know.”

“Keep her here. Don't let anyone see her.”

There was a pause.

“Understood.”

Their footsteps moved toward the door.

Before I could ask anything else, the door opened.

Then it closed.

Silence filled the room.

I stood there awkwardly, realizing that they had left me alone with Milo.

“Well,” Milo muttered, “I guess it's just us now.”

“Where is your uncle?” I asked.

Milo didn't answer immediately.

I heard him shift his weight, as if he were trying to decide whether to say something.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “Come with me.”

He gently took my hand and led me down a narrow hallway.

A door creaked open.

The air changed almost immediately. It was colder inside, and the room carried the faint, bitter smell of medicine.

I stepped forward.

Even without seeing him, I could hear the weak, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

A man lay on the bed, terribly sick.

I slowly reached toward him.

I sat beside the bed, listening to the man's weak breathing.

Milo stood quietly behind me. “There isn't anything we can do anymore,” he said.

I turned my head toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“You lost the apothecary.  And you don't have your supplies anymore.” His voice was quiet. “You can't make the medicine you promised.”

I lowered my head.

He was right.

My hands were empty.

The herbs, bottles, equipment—everything I had spent years learning to use was gone.

But I reached toward Gideon's hand anyway.

“I don't need an apothecary to know what is wrong with him,” I whispered.

Milo went silent.

I carefully felt his pulse.

“Let me examine him first.”

 Few minutes passed as I examined Gideon. I listened to his breathing and felt his pulse, carefully piecing together what his body was telling me. Then I turned toward Milo.

“Bring me some broth.”

There was a pause. “Broth?”

“Yes.”

He sounded confused. “What is broth going to do for my uncle?”

“Just bring it.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

I heard his footsteps leave the room.

A few minutes later, he returned carrying a bowl.

“Here.”

I reached out and took it carefully.

“Thank you.”

Milo remained beside me, clearly still confused.

“I hope you know what you're doing.”

I gave a small smile.

“So do I.”

I held the cup of broth carefully in both hands.

Milo stood nearby, still confused about why I had asked for it.

I lowered my head.

I want him to see.

For so long, I had hidden what I could truly do. Everyone believed my healing came from the potions I made, and I had never given them a reason to think otherwise.

But now, I had no herbs. No bottles. No apothecary. Nothing.

Only my hands.

I whispered an old incantation beneath my breath, letting the words flow quietly over the warm broth.

The surface of the liquid began to tremble.

Milo went silent.

“Wha- what are you doing?” he asked.

I didn't answer.

I continued the spell, holding the cup close to Gideon.

For the first time, I was going to let someone see the truth.

The broth began to change.

I felt the warmth in the cup shift, almost as if something had awakened inside it. The plain broth slowly took on a different color, glowing faintly beneath my fingers.

Milo went completely silent.

I carefully leaned toward Gideon and lifted his head.

“Slowly,” I whispered.

I brought the cup to his lips and let him take a small sip.

He swallowed weakly. I waited.

Then I gave him another.

Milo stood beside me, watching every movement.

He still didn't understand what I had done.

But soon, he would.

I slowly lowered the cup.

“He should start recovering within two to four days,” I told Milo.

He sounded surprised. “Two to four days?”

I nodded.

“He's too weak. Whatever is happening inside his body has gone too far.” I placed the cup down carefully. “The magic needs time to reach the damaged parts and restore them.”

Milo was silent.

“So… he'll live?”

“If his body holds on, yes.”

I turned toward Gideon and listened to his breathing.

“The magic can heal him,” I whispered. “But it can't force his body to recover all at once. He needs rest.”

Milo let out a breath I hadn't realized he was holding.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

I smiled faintly.

“Don't thank me yet. We still have to wait.”

But his smile slowly disappeared.

For a moment, his voice had changed.

“Are you really a witch?”