Somewhere far, and unknown
A cottage stood solitary atop a gentle hill, its weathered stone walls and thatched roof blending seamlessly with the lush greenery surrounding it. Wildflowers dotted the meadow, swaying in the breeze that carried the earthy scent of distant rain. From the hilltop, the village lay far below, its clustered houses huddled together as though seeking safety in numbers. A dirt path meandered between the hill and the village, but few ventured up to the isolated home. Some whispered of its occupants, while others simply feared what they did not understand.
Beside the cottage, a tall oak tree stretched its branches to the sky, its broad leaves casting playful shadows on the ground. Beneath it, an eleven-year-old boy swung from a low-hanging branch, his laughter ringing out as he leapt to the ground and climbed back up again.
Lucius was a striking child, though no person in the village had seen him to know. His hair, a vivid shade of blood red, stood out starkly against the muted greens and browns of the landscape. His eyes, deep and pitch black, seemed to hold secrets far beyond his years. He was slender, his youthful frame hinting at a wiry strength, though his hands and knees bore the scrapes and bruises of an active boy.
Tomorrow was his birthday—his twelfth. The thought brought a quiet thrill to his chest. He'd been counting down the days, wondering what small surprise his mother might have planned. Life atop the hill was simple, but it was theirs, and that made it enough.
"Lucius!" A melodic voice called out from the cottage.
He paused, balancing precariously on the branch, and turned toward the sound. His mother stood in the doorway, a hand shading her eyes from the afternoon sun. Her hair was the same vivid red as his, though it shimmered like fire when the light caught it. Her eyes, unlike his, were a brilliant crimson, glowing with an almost otherworldly warmth. She was clad in a simple dress, its hem dusted with flour from her morning chores, and her expression was a mix of affection and exasperation.
"Come down from there, you'll hurt yourself! Lunch is ready," she called, beckoning him with a wave.
Lucius grinned and jumped from the branch, landing with a practiced roll before sprinting toward her. "Coming, Mom!" he shouted, his voice carrying easily through the still air.
As he reached her, she tousled his hair with a smile. "You're going to wear yourself out before the day's even half done," she teased.
Lucius stuck out his tongue playfully before darting past her into the warm, inviting interior of their home, his thoughts already leaping ahead to the meal awaiting him—and to tomorrow, when he would finally be twelve.
Inside the cottage, the aroma of freshly baked bread and a hearty vegetable stew filled the air. Lucius eagerly slid into his usual seat at the small wooden table as his mother set a steaming bowl before him. She smiled warmly, brushing a stray strand of red hair behind her ear.
"Eat up," she said, sitting across from him with her own bowl. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow. Twelve is a big age, you know."
Lucius grinned. "Does that mean I'll finally be old enough to do the big chores? Like chopping firewood?"
His mother chuckled her laughter as light as a summer breeze. "Let's not rush things. You've got plenty of time to grow into those responsibilities."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle clink of spoons against bowls. As Lucius looked at his mother, a pang of sadness struck him. His thoughts drifted to the father he barely remembered—a shadowy figure in his mind, more a feeling than a memory.
He missed the idea of him, missed the stories his mother would sometimes tell late at night about a brave and kind man who had loved them both fiercely. I wish you were here, Dad, Lucius thought, his gaze dropping to his bowl. Mom doesn't say it, but I think she misses you too.
The toll of a bell echoed faintly through the air, breaking his reverie. Lucius looked up, puzzled.
"Why's the village bell ringing, Mom?" he asked, his brows furrowing.
His mother's expression darkened slightly, though she quickly masked it with a neutral smile. "Probably a town meeting," she replied. "They've been holding a lot of those lately."
Lucius tilted his head. "Why don't you ever go? Don't they want you there?"
She paused, her spoon hovering over her bowl, before shaking her head lightly. "It's not important. We have everything we need right here, don't we?"
Lucius nodded slowly, but an uneasy feeling crept into his chest. He knew the villagers didn't like them—whispered rumors, furtive glances, and an air of unease followed them whenever they ventured down the hill. But he was glad his mother didn't have to go. Somehow, she always managed to get what they needed without the villagers' help, though he never quite understood how.
Still, he was happy she stayed close. The world beyond their hill felt complicated and harsh, but here, with her, things felt simple and safe.
Down the hill, at the village.
In the square at the heart of the village, a crowd had gathered, their voices rising in a cacophony of complaints and arguments. The bell's tolling had drawn nearly everyone, but harmony was nowhere to be found.
"What's the point of this meeting?" an older man grumbled, his hands folded across his chest. "I've got crops to tend to!"
"Crops won't save us if the Dreadnals decide to raid us again," a woman retorted, her voice sharp. "The last time they came, we barely had enough to rebuild!"
"I heard the Ascendants are fighting closer to the border. If they bring their war here, it won't matter if we have crops or houses!" another shouted, his words sparking a fresh wave of panic.
"Enough!"
The mayor's voice cut through the noise, his tone commanding enough to silence the crowd. He stood on a raised platform, his weathered face grim and his hands clasped behind his back. Once the crowd settled, he nodded in approval and began to speak.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice carrying across the square. "I won't waste time. We all know the state of the world. The Empyrean Races and the Dreadnal Races grow more ferocious with each passing year. Their wars edge closer to our lands, and we've already felt the sting of their battles."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, worry evident in their expressions.
"The Human Empire has made it clear—they cannot spare forces to protect villages like ours," the mayor continued, his tone grave. "That leaves us vulnerable, open to raids, or worse."
"Then what are we supposed to do?" someone shouted, panic creeping into their voice.
The mayor raised a hand to calm them. "That is why I've called this meeting. I have searched far and wide for a solution, and I have found one. An Empowered One. An Ascendant willing to protect us."
Gasps and murmurs erupted from the crowd. An Ascendant—one of the godlike beings of the Empyrean Races. Their powers were legendary, their presence a beacon of both awe and fear.
"Yes," the mayor continued, his voice firm. "An Ascendant has agreed to serve as our village protector."
The villagers buzzed with excitement at the mention of an Ascendant. Whispers of awe and hope swept through the square, the villagers exchanging relieved smiles and nods. Protection by an Empowered One was more than they could have hoped for.
The mayor let the murmur of anticipation grow before raising his hands again for silence. "But this Ascendant," he said, his voice dropping for emphasis, "is not ordinary. He is one of the few blessed with a special Class—one that will serve our village in ways beyond mere protection."
"What kind of Class?" someone asked, their curiosity piqued.
The mayor paused, scanning the crowd with an expression of measured gravity. Then, as though it were an afterthought, he said, "Before I answer that, let me address a long-standing concern for our village—one many of you have whispered about but dared not speak openly. It concerns the blood-haired woman who lives on the hill."
The crowd stilled, the mention of the woman drawing a ripple of unease.
"What about her?" an older man asked warily, stroking his grizzled beard. "She's been here for years. Keeps to herself. What harm has she done?"
The mayor's face hardened. "That's precisely the problem, isn't it? She came here five years ago, alone and unannounced, and since her arrival, have we not suffered more than our share of misfortunes? Failed crops, livestock disappearing, strange illnesses among the children?"
A few villagers exchanged uncertain glances, nodding hesitantly.
"But those could've been coincidence," the old man argued, his tone less confident now.
"Coincidence?" the mayor said, his voice rising. "There is nothing coincidental about her. A woman with blood-red hair and crimson eyes? Skin pale as death? Do any of you know where she comes from? How she survives without ever coming down to the village for supplies? Have any of you seen her age a single day since she arrived?"
The murmurs grew louder, uncertainty shifting toward fear. The villagers began to nod more readily, their faces darkening as the mayor's words took root.
"She's just a woman," someone muttered, but their voice lacked conviction.
"Is she?" the mayor countered sharply. "There is nothing normal about her. Nothing natural. We all know what such unnatural traits mean, don't we?" He let the question hang in the air, the weight of his insinuation pulling the crowd toward the conclusion he wanted.
A sharp gasp broke the silence. "A Witch," someone whispered, the word spreading like wildfire through the crowd.
The villagers recoiled at the accusation, horror dawning on their faces.
"But Witches are the enemies of all races," someone said, their voice shaking. "Why would one live here, among us?"
"Witches thrive on sowing discord and feeding on our misery," the mayor said gravely. "Do you think it's a coincidence that our hardships grew worse after her arrival? That she isolates herself, as though she's too good for us? No! She's been here, hiding in plain sight, waiting for the moment to strike."
The crowd erupted into frightened chatter, their fear and suspicion building like a storm.
Watching from the shadow of a nearby building, the Ascendant frowned. His dark cloak blended with the dim light, his sharp eyes observing the scene with growing distaste. The villagers' reasoning was as thin as gossamer, yet it was enough to rouse their fervor. Their logic was riddled with holes, but fear needed no firm foundation to flourish.
One of the braver villagers called out, "If she's a Witch, why are we only hearing this now? What made you so sure all of a sudden?"
The mayor smiled thinly, sensing the moment to unveil his trump card. "Because of him," he said, gesturing toward the Ascendant, who stepped forward reluctantly.
The crowd turned as one, their eyes widening in awe. The Ascendant cut an imposing figure, his armor sleek and etched with runes that shimmered faintly. His silver gauntlets bore the insignia of the Empyrean, and his gaze was piercing, though his expression betrayed no emotion.
"This Ascendant," the mayor declared, "is blessed with the rare and holy Class of Witch Hunter!"
Gasps erupted from the crowd, reverence and astonishment overtaking their fear.
The Ascendant remained silent, though inwardly he grimaced. These people were fools, blinded by superstition and their mayor's manipulations. Still, he held his tongue. His mission was to serve, not to argue with the logic of peasants.
"With his divine powers, not only can he protect us from the Empyreans and Dreadnals," the mayor continued, his voice rising triumphantly, "but he can cultivate future Empowered Ones from among our people. And—most importantly—he can rid us of the evil Witch who has cursed this village for far too long!"
The villagers cheered, their fear transforming into fervent resolve. Cries of "Death to the Witch!" and "Protect us, Ascendant!" echoed across the square.
The mayor raised his hand, silencing them once more. "But such matters cannot be rushed," he said, his tone measured. "A Witch is no ordinary foe. If we confront her in the open, she will see us coming and prepare herself. No—if we are to strike, it must be under the cover of darkness, when her guard is lowered, and when she least expects it."
The crowd murmured their agreement, heads nodding.
"Tonight," the mayor declared. "Prepare yourselves. Sharpen your tools, bring torches, and be ready. We will march as one under the guidance of the Ascendant. By dawn, the Witch's curse upon our village will be lifted."
The villagers roared their approval, their bloodlust palpable.
The Ascendant's frown deepened. These people were driven more by fear than reason, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. As the mob dispersed to make their preparations, he remained still, his gaze fixed on the mayor, who now wore a satisfied smirk.
This is going to end poorly, the Ascendant thought. For everyone.