Chapter 1
The first glyph Kiera ever wrote was traced in someone else’s blood. She still felt its light, its warmth, the fierce mix of hope and desperation as if it had happened yesterday. That forbidden glyph had come to her naturally, as though it had always lived beneath her skin, etched deep in her mind.
But this moment was different. Now, her fingers hovered, trembling, as she wrote onto slick stone, thunder ripping the sky above like paper. The glyph looked fragile, no more than a child’s crude sketch, but it had to be enough. There was no time to second-guess the syntax.
Somewhere beneath the shattered shrine, a child was choking on dust.
Kiera etched the command: lift. The wild shape she summoned blinked alive, jagged and restless, its glowing light like a cautious eye watching her.
Then, slowly, a deep, grinding sound echoed through the rubble: the shifting of heavy stones reluctantly moving aside. A narrow crack widened just enough to reveal a glimpse of the trapped child’s blonde hair, tangled and dust-covered.
Kiera’s heart clenched with relief and urgency. She crouched low, the rough edges of broken stone biting at her knees, and crawled forward, every movement careful and deliberate. Her fingers stretched out trembling, brushing against rubble, until they finally found the child’s small shoulders beneath layers of dust and sweat.
She wrapped her arm around the fragile frame, holding her breath as she whispered a silent plea to the glyph still glowing faintly on the stone wall. The magic thrummed, raw and wild, and she prayed it would hold, that it would keep the stone lifted just a moment longer.
With a sudden, sharp “pop,” the stone that pinned the child shifted free, releasing its grip. The child was launched gently but decisively into Kiera’s arms. Relief flooded through her as she pulled back, finally able to stand, cradling the fragile life she had fought so hard to save.
“It’s alright now. Everything’s alright,” Kiera whispered gently, brushing the dust-covered strands of hair away from the girl’s pale face.
Anna’s eyes remained closed. She’s unconscious, Kiera thought, her own heart still hammering in her chest. “I told you not to play in this area.”
The relief of having the child safe began to fade, replaced by a sharp sting of reproach rising to the tip of her tongue. Of course, Anna never listened, no matter how many times she warned her. Or maybe she did listen, but chose to do the exact opposite every time.
Either way, she’s grounded, Kiera decided firmly as she rose, cradling Anna close. Her hand, resting on the girl’s back, trembled with lingering worry.
“Mommy,” Anna whined softly in her sleep, her voice barely audible.
Kiera sighted.
She paused and turned back, now able to really see the debris, now that Anna was safe.
Everyone in the village knew better than to play near the old shrine. Some whispered ghost stories about it, said it was cursed. Others simply pointed out the obvious: the place was falling apart. A relic of better days, when the nobles behind their high walls still cared enough to send stone masons to the outlands.
But even before that, the shrine had always been there. Longer than Kiera’s twenty years of life. It had weathered storms, floods, and frostbitten winters without a single repair.
And yet today, of all days — the day Anna decided to play inside — it collapsed.
Her brows drew together, suspicion forming a tight knot in her chest.
She let her gaze scan the grey, dust-covered rubble… then froze.
Something had been carved into the stone. It wasn’t her glyph. The lines were sharper, angrier. They radiated out in furious, extinguished streaks. A spell, long spent. A different hand. She didn’t recognize the spell, but guessed it was most likely a destruction one.
Someone else had been here.
Someone had done this.
But why?
She didn’t have time to wonder.
Soft voices whispered through the dust-filled air, growing louder with every heartbeat. Someone, drawn by the grinding collapse, was coming to see what had happened.
Kiera froze, caught off guard. She swallowed hard, tasting a curse she bit back. Her eyes flicked to the faint glow still pulsing from the glyph carved into the stone. That stubborn light was the last thing she needed right now.
She stood still for a moment, weighing her options. She could try to erase the glyph, scribble over it, disrupt the magic, but Quill’s warnings echoed in her mind: You can’t just erase a spell. Once it’s down, it lasts for the time you set. Trying to undo it can corrupt the magic and backfire.
Magic was dangerous for that very reason.
Kiera muttered another curse under her breath. She had wanted the spell to hold… but hadn’t expected to need to rescue Anna so quickly.
The footsteps grew louder. Her time was running out. If she stayed, she’d be caught, and then… Quill’s words burned sharper than ever.
She could risk erasing the spell and pray it didn’t fail, or risk fleeing and hoping the magic held.
She held her breath and hurried toward the bridge.
“Hey!” a voice called behind her.
Fuck, she whispered again. Thankfully, Anna was still unconscious, or another word would be added to her vocabulary.
Kiera didn’t look back. Cradling Anna with one arm, she pushed off the edge and leapt from the bridge.
Glyphs sparked in her mind: Levitation. Feet. Low. Short time.
The command etched itself into her thoughts as instinctively as a breath.
Her descent slowed, just before hitting the ground, her boots hovered inches above the stones. The magic caught her in a sudden, weightless pause.
One heartbeat.
Then the spell snapped out like a candle flame.
She landed hard but upright, knees buckling slightly, Anna still cradled against her chest. Without pausing, Kiera slipped beneath the bridge and into the narrow tunnel beyond, boots splashing through shallow water as she ducked into the sewer system it led to.
The air turned cold and wet, thick with the scent of moss and rot. She didn’t slow down.
As her pulse steadied, her thoughts returned, biting and sarcastic.
Could’ve made myself invisible instead, she grumbled to herself. That would’ve been smart.
But invisibility was harder. Took longer to cast. No time. She’d made a call, the only one she could.
The walls of the sewer swallowed her up, the voices behind fading into silence. The walls of the sewer swallowed her, and the voices behind faded into silence. Water lapped softly around her boots as she moved, heart still pounding from the escape.
Only the soft sound of Anna’s breathing against her shoulder took her back to the present.
Kiera exhaled slowly. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath again.
The child was safe.
But the glowing glyph she’d left behind would keep burning, and sooner or later, someone would see it for what it was.
Too late now, she thought grimly, tightening her grip on Anna. The damage is done.
The glyph would burn until someone read it. And when they did, they’d know exactly what she was.
***
When she opened the door to the small quarters behind the bar, Quill stood up sharply, took one look at her, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You stink.”
He sounded offended, as if her dishevelled state were a personal insult.
But then his gaze dropped to the limp figure in her arms. His expression shifted. The exasperation drained away, replaced by a furrowed brow and the familiar twitch of worry in his jaw. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and seemed to pause, weighing his words.
“What happened?”
Kiera shook her head. Strands of damp, brown hair fell across her eyes.
“Anna went to play in the shrine.”
Quill blinked. “Why in the world would she—?”
But Kiera was already walking past him, across the narrow living room, toward the small door that led to her bedroom. She wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet. Not until Anna was lying down, safe, and her own arms stopped shaking.
She wasn’t out of shape, not by a long shot. But after casting a glyph under pressure, pulling a child from rubble, leaping off a bridge, and slogging through the sewer system that ran beneath both city and village, exhausted didn’t quite cover it.
Quill didn’t press. He just sat back down at the table and waited. Patient, silent.
Kiera returned to the living room and dropped herself into the chair with a soft thud. She leaned back, eyes falling shut as she exhaled long and slow.
After a stretch of silence, Quill spoke. “Do you want something to eat?”
She didn’t answer right away, just let the quiet settle around them. She knew he was itching to ask what had happened. And she loved him more for not pushing. The man had the patience of a saint.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked finally, cracking one eye open.
“Potato soup.”
“Delicious,” she deadpanned. “Exactly what I was craving. Honestly, a whole week of potato soup wasn’t enough. I’m thrilled we’re heading into a second.”
Quill smiled, the lines in his face deepening, and though his expression barely shifted, there was a shine in his eyes, the kind that carried both warning and amusement.
“You’re more than welcome to cook, you know.”
Kiera let out a short, mischievous laugh. For the first time since returning, her shoulders began to loosen. She could breathe a little deeper.
“You know I love your soup, Quill,” she said with exaggerated sweetness.
And she did. She was grateful for the soup, for him, for the simple fact of not being alone tonight. But there was only so much potato soup a person could eat for days in a row.
Still, she understood. There weren’t many other options.
The bar, the only real attraction in their village, just outside the city, wasn’t drawing much of a crowd lately. People didn’t have coin to spare on drinks, and the ones who came anyway often left behind nothing but a scribbled promise-to-pay. Most of what the bar earned went straight back into restocking the liquor shelves. That didn’t leave much for things like meat, fruit… or anything that didn’t grow in a field and sit in a sack for months.
So, soup it was. Again.
But it was warm. And she was safe. And Anna was asleep in the next room.
For now, that was enough.
