The Gifted Boksi

The Queen’s Silence

They called it Edith’s Bloodmoon. And tonight, an eerie light stretched across the glimmering veil that separated the worlds. A pale, haunting glow crept over the horizon, casting shadows that whispered of things lost and promises broken.

Edith Eldermoor, the first Boksi of her kind—the first Ondrak had ever seen—stood at the edge of the world she had once called home. She was a child of this land, the very earth beneath her feet, yet now it felt more distant than any star.

She was powerful, kind, an empath, if you will, she had been loved by many and courted by suitors from distant realms. She had given herself freely, not only to the magic of Ondrak but to its people, her heart as vast as the skies above.

She was first an Ondrakian, and Boksi second—a distinction she had always held with pride. The people of Ondrak had been her family, the very blood in her veins, and she swore she would never leave. Until one night, she did.

That night had come and gone now, but Edith stood under the same blood moon that had witnessed the fracture of her soul. The magic that had once flowed through her with ease now felt alien, brittle. She could still feel the sting of her past, of the love she had once given so freely, the betrayal she had never seen coming.

She was born to love, to care—to mend. But now, it felt as though everything she had ever held dear was breaking into pieces she couldn’t quite gather. And tonight, standing in front of the Fae Queen, she felt those pieces slipping further away, like leaves swept away in a storm.

Her feet had barely touched the ground in the Fae Queen’s sacred domain, and already she could feel the oppressive weight of its power pressing against her chest. But she was here, standing at the foot of an altar made of precious stones, surrounded by the shimmering edges of the Fae realm, where everything—everything—was supposed to make sense.

And there, seated upon a throne illuminating all the seasons, was the Fae Queen herself.

Seraphina’s mother. The ethereal, untouchable force that ruled over all of them.

Edith’s breath caught in her throat as she approached, her steps uncertain despite the strength in her veins. She had come with a single request. A plea. A desperate cry from the depths of her soul. She had turned Nikolaos into the willow tree. She had done it for love, for protection, for everything that had once burned between them. And yet, now, here she stood before the one being who could undo it, who could return him to her, to life.

“Your Majesty,” Edith whispered, her voice trembling despite her strength. “Please... undo it. He was not meant to stay this way.”

Even here, far from the lake, she could almost hear the rustle of willow leaves—the only place that still remembered who she used to be.

The Queen regarded her with the cold, detached gaze of someone who had seen more lives and more loss than could be counted. Her beauty was untouchable, her presence, suffocating. The years she had lived stretched beyond comprehension, her wisdom a chilling, unfeeling thing.

“Why are you here, Edith Eldermoor?” The Fae Queen’s voice echoed through the room, carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom and power. It should have soothed, but it only heightened the emptiness Edith felt.

“I beg of you,” Edith’s voice was barely a whisper, crackling with the desperation she could no longer control. “Undo it. Undo what I did to Nikolaos.”

The words tasted like ash. She had already asked. And asked. And asked again. But each time, it was as though she was speaking to a wall of ice, her pain swallowed by the Queen’s cold indifference.

“Undo it?” The Queen’s voice was a murmur, soft as silk but sharp as ice. She tilted her head slightly, as though the question had no real weight. “You ask me to undo the consequences of your choices, Edith Eldermoor?”

Edith’s breath quickened, her pulse hammering in her ears. “It was a mistake. I... I didn’t understand what I was doing. I still love him. I still... need him.”

The words tasted like broken glass as they left her lips, the truth she had been hiding for so long now exposed, raw, and open for the first time. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest, a beat that felt too loud in the quiet of the Queen’s hall.

For a long moment, the Queen said nothing. Her gaze was not unkind, but it wasn’t warm, either. It was the gaze of someone who had long ago learned to see the world in lesser colors, as though no amount of emotion could touch her.

“You should have thought of that before,” the Queen said, her gaze unblinking. “Love requires sacrifice. If you cannot understand that, then you are not yet fit to hold the power you claim. Next time choose better.”

Edith felt the heat rise in her chest, anger bubbling up through the cracks of her despair. She had always feared this moment—the moment the Fae Queen would reveal her true disdain, the moment she would see that she was nothing but a small, inconsequential player in a game she could never win.

“I understand sacrifice,” Edith snapped. “I sacrificed everything for him. My love, my power, my future—and you, you tell me to choose better?”

“You still love him?” The Fae Queen’s voice was like a whisper of wind, cold and sharp. “How quaint.”

Edith flinched. The word cut deeper than she had expected. She had imagined that Seraphina’s mother would understand. She had believed that the Queen, with all her power, would recognize the depth of Edith’s sacrifice. That she would see the pain in her heart, the wreckage of what love had done to her.

But there was no understanding here. No compassion. Only distance, as if Edith was nothing more than a speck of dust on her gleaming throne.

“I beg you,” Edith said, her voice faltering, her hands trembling. She reached out, but the Queen did not move. Her aura was too thick, too heavy to touch. “Undo the spell. You have the power. You can bring him back.”

The Queen’s lips curled slightly, an expression so small and so cold it could have been a smile, but it wasn’t. “I can undo many things, Edith,” she said, rising from her throne, her movement so fluid it seemed unnatural, as though she was no longer bound by the same laws of time and space. “But love requires sacrifice. And you, foolish child, chose to bind him to the earth.”

Edith’s chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I didn’t mean to. I was trying to—”

“Trying to control him,” the Queen interrupted. Her words were final, as though they were the truth of all things. “Trying to hold on to what was never meant to stay. Love demands more than you are willing to give. It requires surrender. Letting go.”

The words echoed in Edith’s mind, louder than the wind that howled outside the Fae realm. Letting go. The concept was foreign to her. In all her years, she had never let go of anything. Not her love. Not her power. Not Nikolaos. She had always held on, clenched her fists tight around what she wanted. What she needed.

Her heart shattered with an audible crack.

“I can’t,” Edith whispered. “I can’t just let him go. Not like this. Not after all that we—”

“You made a choice,” the Queen said, her voice cutting through Edith’s spiraling thoughts like a blade. “A choice that cannot be undone. Do not mistake my pity for forgiveness.”

It hit Edith like a physical blow. She staggered backward, the floor beneath her shifting. Her breath came too fast, her chest rising and falling in jagged motions as though her very soul was being suffocated. She had thought that the Fae Queen would understand her pain. That she would feel the weight of her love, her sacrifice, the loss of everything she had held dear.

But instead, she was met with indifference. The Queen stood tall, unyielding, untouched by the storm Edith felt inside her.

“You do not understand,” Edith’s voice broke, and she finally fell to her knees, her hands pressed to the cold stone floor. “You—you do not understand what it is like to love so deeply that you would give up everything, even yourself, for that love.”

The Queen’s eyes softened, but only just. “No,” she said, almost pityingly, “I do not.”

Edith’s rage flared like wildfire in her chest, a heat so intense that she could feel her magic shifting, running, begging to be released. How dare she? How dare the Fae Queen, who had everything, look at her like that? To dismiss her love, her sacrifice, as though they were nothing?

“I don’t need your pity,” Edith spat, her voice now full of venom. “I need your help. But you’ve made it clear you have no interest in saving me. You have no interest in anyone but yourself, Queen of nothing.”

The Fae Queen’s eyes flashed with something between amusement and disdain. “Do not mistake your heart for strength, Edith,” she said, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Your magic, your power, they were never meant for such... wasted attachments.”

And that was it. The final blow.

Edith’s breath hitched in her throat. She had expected compassion—had believed, foolishly, that the Fae Queen would see her pain and offer solace, understanding, or at the very least, some form of healing. Instead, she was met with the Queen’s cold dismissal, a perfect reflection of her deepest fears: that she was never meant to be more than a pawn in the Fae’s game.

The Queen’s eyes flicked over her once more, calculating, cold. “Leave. Take your sorrow with you. I will not undo what you have done.”

Edith’s heart broke into a thousand jagged pieces. The weight of the rejection crushed her like a mountain. She had given everything for love, for the man who had once been her world—and now, not only had he been stolen from her, but the Fae Queen had stolen her hope.

The Queen watched her, silent and distant. For a moment, Edith thought she might beg her for the last time, but something inside her snapped. She no longer cared about what the Queen might think or do. She had nothing left to lose. The magic inside her grew wild and uncontrollable, a force she had long since learned to fear.

“You will undo it,” Edith said, voice trembling, the words thick with venom and pain. “You will undo it, or you will regret the day you turned me away.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a low, cruel chuckle escaped the Queen’s lips.

“You are a fool,” the Fae Queen said, her voice almost a whisper, yet it reverberated in Edith’s mind. “You believe that power comes from love? No, Edith. Power comes from destruction. From breaking what is sacred and rebuilding it in your own image. And you—” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with cruel delight. “You will learn that lesson soon enough.”

The Queen’s words slithered into her soul, cutting deeper than any blade ever could. The room grew cold, the light flickering like a dying flame, but Edith’s heart burned with something new. Not love. Not sorrow. But a consuming darkness, a desire to make the world bend to her will—just as Nikolaos had tried to do.

With a final glance at the Fae Queen, Edith stood. The weight of her decision settled in her chest like a stone.

This would be her last visit.

And from now on, Edith would no longer be the healer, the empath, the lover. She would be something else—something far darker.

“I will never forgive you,” she hissed, her voice low and filled with hatred. “I will make you regret this. You will see what happens when someone is forced to let go. You’ll wish you had never crossed me.”

The Fae Queen did not respond. She didn’t need to.

Edith turned away, feeling the fissures in her soul begin to widen, cracks of despair and fury stretching outward. The Queen’s words echoed in her ears, drowning out everything else. Love demanded sacrifice. But Edith knew better now. Love had betrayed her. And now, she would make sure that everyone would feel the true power of her loss.

As she walked away, leaving the Queen and her kingdom behind, the willow tree she had created for Nikolaos whispered to her in the distance. Its branches moved like arms, reaching for her, as if calling her home.

Edith Eldermoor would become the Dark Mother Witch.

And with her, she would bring a storm.

Many years passed after Edith vanished into the unknown. Her mother mourned her, and her grandmother both mourned and celebrated her. Edith had been courageous—the very embodiment of strength. Pasima, her grandmother, had rooted for her and Nikolaos. But there were forces that had never wanted them together. They feared what a union between a Boksi and an Elder could mean. It was unheard of, a threat to the order. There was a reason the system existed as it did—and no one dared to challenge it.

Their love was too true, too pure, too real. Many were jealous. Many within the system knew that if Edith and Nikolaos married—and if they were happy—they would bring real change. With Nikolaos’s rank in the Elder council, that kind of shift terrified people. No one liked it.

Pasima believed there had been foul play. But accusations like that were dangerous. Still, she felt something in her bones. That’s why she had encouraged Edith to go see the Fae Queen. But Edith never came back.

A new generation grew up hearing the tale—though never the real story. No one knew what had truly happened at the Fae Queen’s throne. Why had Edith turned the only man she had ever loved into a willow tree? Had she gone mad? And who was the first to whisper the name Dark Mother Witch? No one remembered. They only knew one thing: her true name was no longer spoken.