The path back to the village felt longer than Damiana remembered.
The winding trail through the dark forests was as familiar to her as the back of her hand, yet each step she took felt heavier, more distant, as if the village she had once called home was where she no longer belonged. The years she had spent in the wilds had changed her—honed her into something different that didn't fit neatly into the life she had left behind.
The shadows moved with her as she walked, swirling at her feet and flickering in the corners of her vision. Their presence was comforting as if they understood the turmoil brewing inside her, the strange mix of excitement and dread that tightened her chest. She had always known she would have to return one day, but now that the moment had come, the village felt like a foreign land—a place that held memories she wasn't sure she wanted to face.
Remembering the look on her aunt's face when she told her to return.
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The air in the dark forests had changed.
Damiana noticed it the moment she awoke. The usual calm stillness that greeted her every morning was now charged with something else—something heavier. The shadows, once so familiar and comforting, seemed restless, like a storm brewing just beyond the edge of her senses. She could feel their agitation in the way they clung to the trees, in the way they whispered too softly for her to understand.
For the past few weeks, her training had been intense and focused. Deyanira had pushed her hard, teaching her to deepen her bond with the shadows, listen to their whispers, and learn the delicate balance between control and trust. Damiana had been making progress, her connection to the shadows growing stronger with each passing day, but now... something was wrong. The forest itself felt on edge.
She found Deyanira standing at the edge of the clearing, her back to Damiana as she stared into the thickest part of the forest. Her aunt's posture was tense, and her hands were clenched at her sides, as if she, too, could sense the growing unease in the air.
"Aunt Deyanira?" Damiana called softly, her voice cutting through the stillness.
Deyanira didn't turn at first. She remained perfectly still, her sharp gaze fixed on something unseen beyond the trees. The shadows around her swirled slowly as if drawn to her, but they lacked their usual grace. They were restless and agitated.
After a long, tense moment, Deyanira finally spoke, her voice low and measured. "The forest is warning us."
Damiana felt a chill run down her spine. "Warning us? About what?"
Deyanira turned then, her expression grave. Her eyes, usually sharp and confident, were clouded with something that made Damiana uneasy—something she rarely saw in her aunt: concern.
"There is a darkness approaching," Deyanira said quietly, stepping closer to her niece. "The wilds can sense it. The shadows can feel it. Something is coming... something malevolent."
Damiana swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. "What kind of darkness?"
Deyanira shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not certain yet. But whatever it is, it's tied to the village. I've felt its pull growing stronger every day. The forest is on edge because it knows something will change."
Damiana's mind raced. The village—her once home. It had been so long since she had been there, so long since she had seen her parents. Her brother. She had grown used to the wilds and the forest's silence and solitude. But now, the very place she had left behind seemed to be the source of the impending threat.
Her thoughts turned to her brother, to the beautiful handmaiden he claims is his soulmate, and to the beautiful, powerful witch—Qetsiyah.
Looking in the direction the village would be, Damiana wondered if it was about that time. "So, it has begun, huh?" She whispered to herself.
"What do you want me to do?" Damiana asked, her voice steady despite the growing unease gnawing at her.
Deyanira's expression hardened. "It's time for you to return to the village."
Damiana blinked, surprised. She hadn't expected that. "Return? Why now?"
Deyanira's eyes softened slightly, though her voice remained firm. "You need to be there. The forest's warnings are growing stronger by the day, and I fear that whatever is coming will begin there."
Damiana frowned, her mind racing. Return to the village. It felt strange—like stepping back into a life she had left behind long ago. She had grown so accustomed to the wilds, to the power and freedom she had found here, but Deyanira was right. Something was wrong, and she couldn't ignore it.
"What about you?" Damiana asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Aren't you coming with me?"
Deyanira shook her head. "The forest needs me. There are forces at work here that are older than I understand. I need to stay, to watch, to protect the wilds. But you... you must go to the village. You are connected to what is happening there in ways I cannot be."
Damiana swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. She didn't want to leave. The dark forests had become her home, and Deyanira had been more of a mother to her than anyone in the village ever had. But deep down, she knew her aunt was right. She could feel the pull of the village, the way the shadows seemed to urge her forward, as if they, too, knew her place was no longer in the safety of the wilds.
Deyanira stepped closer, placing a hand on Damiana's shoulder. "Remember what you've learned here. The shadows are with you, always. They will protect you and guide you. But you must be vigilant. Something is coming, and when it does, you must be ready."
Damiana nodded, her chest tight with anticipation and dread. "I will be."
Deyanira's lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "Good. Then go. The forest will be waiting for your return."
Damiana gave one last glance to the trees around her, feeling their silent whispers in her bones, before turning and making her way back toward the village.
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The trees thinned as she approached the outskirts of the wilds; the dense canopy above her gave way to patches of sunlight streamed down in broken beams. Damiana squinted against the sudden brightness, her eyes so accustomed to the twilight of the forest that the daylight felt sharp, almost intrusive. She had spent so long in the shadows that even the sun seemed foreign now, a distant memory from a life she had left behind.
As she continued along the path, the sounds of the forest began to change. The rustling of leaves and the calls of distant animals, once so familiar, gave way to the faint murmur of village life in the distance—the distant clanging of metal, the murmur of voices, the occasional bark of a dog. Each sound was a reminder of the world she had once been a part of, but now it all seemed muted, less natural compared to the vivid, primal energy of the dark forests.
Damiana's pace slowed as she reached the edge of the wilds, where the trees gave way to rolling fields that stretched toward the village. She stood for a moment at the forest's edge, her hand resting on the hilt of the fae dagger at her side, and gazed out at the familiar landscape. It was almost exactly as she remembered—the tiny houses clustered together, the dirt paths winding through the village, the temple standing tall in the center, its stone walls casting long shadows in the late afternoon light.
But something had changed. It wasn't the village itself—it was her. She no longer felt the pull of this place, the warmth of homecoming. Instead, there was a distance, an invisible wall that separated her from the life she had once known. The village was smaller than she remembered, its boundaries confined by the horizon, while the wilds stretched forever in every direction.
Taking a deep breath, Damiana stepped out from the cover of the trees, her feet hitting the soft dirt of the village path. As she walked, she felt the eyes of the villagers on her, though no one approached her. She had changed too much—her years in the forest had left their mark. Once as pale as the moonlight, her skin was now kissed by the shadows. Her hair, long and black, flowed down her back like a river of darkness, and her eyes, sharpened by the wilds, gleamed with the knowledge and power she had gained under Deyanira's guidance.
She was no longer the child who had left this village all those years ago. The 5-year-old girl they had known was gone, replaced by a huntress who walked with the shadows at her heels.