Sylvaria Moonwhisper's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Sylvaria pulled her hood low and stepped into the square. She had come for one reason: a name, whispered to her last week, of a scholar asking about the buried shapeshifting craft. The same craft she had been hunting in silence for years. She kept to the shadow of a pine-walled chalet and watched the crowd thicken on the worn benches. The scholar was already on the wooden platform. Rope swung above him. A pale fox sat chained at his feet, its glow dimmed, eyes fixed on his face. A rune-carved stone rested on his chest. Sylvaria knew that stone. It had sat on her mentor's chest, years ago, in a square much like this one. The message had not changed. They dropped him. The benches stayed full. No one moved until the fox let out a single, broken sound and the glow went out of it. Sylvaria did not flinch. She counted faces, marked exits, and felt the old cold settle behind her ribs. The warning was for her. She had been louder than she thought. She turned back toward the chalet where her ally waited. She would lie better tonight, move faster tomorrow, and never ask a question out loud again.