The ancient city of Roma slumbered beneath a veil of morning mist, its cobblestone streets and ivy-draped buildings embraced by ethereal tendrils. The harsh edges of the ancient city were softened, transformed into a scene from a forgotten fairytale. Though the sun peeked shyly through the clouds, its rays were unable to fully penetrate the mesmerizing mist, creating a world bathed in an otherworldly glow.
Yet, within this enchanting shroud, life pulsed with vibrant energy. The cobblestones, slick with dew, resonated with the rhythmic clatter of carts laden with fresh produce and fragrant herbs. Shopkeepers, their voices rising in a cheerful melody, swept their storefronts, greeting customers with warm smiles.
Children, their laughter echoing through the mist like wind chimes, chased each other playfully through the market square, their joyous shouts adding to the symphony of sounds. The air was alive with the tempting aromas of freshly baked bread and roasting meat, mingled with the delicate fragrance of flowers overflowing from window boxes.
Here, amidst the swirling mist, reality painted itself in a thousand hues. Brightly painted buildings, adorned with murals that whispered of ancient legends, lined the streets like vibrant storybooks. Women, their laughter echoing like cascading chimes, strolled by in silks and embroidered shawls, their garments shimmering with every shade the sun could conjure. Even the cobblestones, slick with dew, seemed to dance with reflected color, transformed from mundane stones into a shimmering mosaic.
Leaving the vibrant heart of Roma behind, the old woman's steps carried her along the winding path that led to her cottage. As she walked, the mist thinned, revealing the rolling hills and ancient oaks that cradled her home. The city, once a bustling symphony of sound and color, faded into a gentle hum, its energy replaced by the quiet solitude that awaited her return.
An old woman, her skin etched with the wisdom of years, could be seen returning to the cottage with a basket overflowing with herbs and wildflowers. Her steps, though slow and deliberate, carried the quiet strength of one who had lived a life both full and bittersweet. She paused as she reached the doorstep, her gaze sweeping over the mist-shrouded city nestled below.
As the old woman reached the doorstep, a faint clatter from inside the cottage startled her. Her heart skipped a beat, a familiar tension rising in her chest. This was it. A low groan echoed from within, confirming her suspicions. He was awake.
With a sigh, a mixture of relief and apprehension washing over her, the woman rose to her feet. For days, she had transformed her cottage into a haven for the young man who had arrived unexpectedly. Fresh linens, a warm blanket, and a cup of steaming tea awaited him, each detail a silent promise of comfort and solace
Her steps, light and silent, carried her across the room. Her gaze fell upon the figure lying upon the bed, the stark contrast between his youthful features and the bandages that swathed his body.
For a moment, the old woman simply stood there, taking him in. Her heart ached for this boy who had stumbled into her life, carrying the scars of a struggle she could only imagine. His brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes struggling to focus through the lingering haze of pain and exhaustion.
"Well," she declared, her voice surprisingly gentle despite the tremor in her hands. "You're finally awake. Took you long enough."
Her tone was frank, but not harsh. It held a hint of humor, an attempt to ease the tension in the air. The warmth in her eyes, however, betrayed the gruffness of her exterior. It was a balance she had honed over the years, offering comfort without coddling. She pulled a chair beside the bed, promptly taking a seat.
The young man blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to pierce the veil of confusion. He seemed disoriented, unsure of his surroundings and how he had gotten there. The old woman watched him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
"Do you remember anything?" she asked softly, her voice a soothing balm.
His brow furrowed further, his mind a fog of fragmented memories. Images of flames, searing pain, and then… the assassin. He shook his head, frustration and traces of fear etched on his face.
"No," he rasped, his voice weak and hoarse. "I... I can't remember anything."
The old woman placed a hand on his forehead, her touch surprisingly warm and reassuring. "How are you feeling?" she asked gently. "I was worried you might never wake up."
The young man sat upright in bed, glancing around his unfamiliar surroundings. This was a quaint cottage, every element giving the impression that this cottage existed since the beginning of time. A tattered map hung askew on the weathered wall, its once-proud parchment drooping with the weight of neglect. Dust, like a fine shroud, lay settled across its surface, blurring the more intricate lines. The air hummed with a subtle magic, a low vibration that made him feel both curious and comforted. His eyes eventually settled back onto the woman who must have tended to him for all this time.
" What's your name, child?" she asked, her gaze holding his.
With a touch of hesitation threading his voice, he answered, "Abel."
"Abel," the woman repeated, her voice gentle but firm, cutting through his rising panic. "You're safe here. Rest, recover."
He flinched, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar room, searching for an escape. The woman's words held a strange authority, a calming power that seemed to soothe his racing heart. He felt torn between the need to flee and the inexplicable urge to trust her.
"Where am I?" he rasped, his voice raspy from disuse.
The woman smiled, her expression softening. "You're in Roma, a haven for those who seek refuge."
The name hung in the air, unfamiliar yet somehow intriguing. He furrowed his brow, trying to grasp at any memory it might trigger.
"Roma?" he mumbled, the unfamiliar word rolling awkwardly on his tongue.
Isodora leaned in, her gaze unwavering. "Tell me, child," she urged, her voice laced with quiet concern. "There must be more. In all my years tending to the edge of the Magical Forest, I've only witnessed the forest embrace a magician like that once before. It was as if the very fabric of the forest shielded you. Even if your memories are fragmented, glean what you can. What whispers of the past come to mind, before your arrival here?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to grasp onto anything, his mind a chaotic swirl of fragmented images – fire, searing pain, the relentless pursuit of unseen shadows. A wave of nausea washed over him, threatening to drown him in the torrent of fragmented memories.
"Fire," he whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible. "And a woman... chasing me." His voice trailed off, choked by fear and the overwhelming burden of the unknown.
Isodora's brows furrowed in concern. "Tell me about the flames," she urged. "Anything you can remember, no matter how small."
He closed his eyes, focusing on the fragmented memories. He could recall most of his life until his exile. Once Abel entered the forest, the details eluded him. He saw himself surrounded by burning trees, the heat searing his skin. He tasted smoke and ash, and felt the terror clawing at his throat. Then, a figure emerged from the flames, their face obscured by shadow, their eyes filled with a cold, predatory glint.
"They were trying to kill me," he whispered, the words rasping in his throat. "I need to go. They'll be back."
Isodora placed a comforting hand on his arm. "You're safe now, Abel. It won't be that easy for this woman to do as she pleases in Roma."
"Do you remember where you were, before entering the Magical Forest?" probed the woman.
Abel remained silent, reluctant to involve this woman any further. The less this woman knew about Abel and the Kaid family, the safer.
Sensing Abel's apprehension, the woman rose from her seat.
"You are injured, but strong enough to walk," the woman said, maintaining her gentle smile. "Rest for now. This is your home. Here, you may find solace and healing. You can stay here as long as you need, even with the darkness that follows you."
Abel blinked, processing this woman's words. "Thank you."
Slowly, he forced himself out of the bed, groaning every step of the way.
"Magic is woven into the very fabric of this city. When the time comes, you should see for yourself." said the woman as she made her way towards the door.
"Wait" urged Abel, prompting the woman to stop in her tracks.
"I never asked you your name. Who are you?" he asked, his voice more audible than before.
The woman smiled. "I am Isadora," she said, her voice a gentle rumble like the earth itself. "And I am the one of the Seers of Roma."