Liora Veyne walked through Elderglow's cobblestone streets, her boots scuffing against the worn stones as dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and gold. The village was waking, its thatched roofs and ivy-covered cottages stirring with the hum of morning chores. Bakers kneaded dough, blacksmiths stoked their forges, and children darted between market stalls, their laughter mingling with the clatter of carts. But Liora's mind was elsewhere, tethered to the amulet now locked away in the coven's hall. Its warmth still lingered in her memory, a phantom pulse that quickened her heart. The vision it had sparked—a starlit glade, two figures hand in hand—haunted her, as did High Witch Selene's warning: *Magic doesn't choose. It tempts.*
Mara, walking beside her, cast a sidelong glance. "You're brooding again," she said, her tone half-teasing, half-worried. Her dark braid swayed as she adjusted the basket of herbs slung over her shoulder. "The elders will figure out the amulet. You don't need to carry the forest's secrets on your face."
Liora forced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not brooding. I'm just… thinking." She tugged her cloak tighter, the autumn chill biting through the wool. The truth was, she couldn't shake the feeling that the amulet was meant for her, no matter what Selene said. Its runes, its glow, the vision—they felt like pieces of a puzzle she was destined to solve.
The market square was bustling by the time they reached it. Stalls lined the square, their awnings vibrant with dyes of crimson, saffron, and indigo. Vendors hawked their wares: baskets of moonpetals, vials of crystalized dew, and charms woven with minor enchantments for luck or love. Liora's coven, the Order of the Crescent Flame, supplied many of the magical goods, their sigils marking the vials as authentic. Liora usually loved the market's energy, the way magic and mundane wove together in Elderglow's daily rhythm. But today, her thoughts were tangled, her magic restless beneath her skin.
"Let's get the sage and be done," Mara said, steering Liora toward a stall piled with bundled herbs. "Mother's expecting us for the midday brew."
Liora nodded absently, her gaze drifting across the square. That's when she saw him.
He stood by a cart laden with leather-bound books, his tall frame leaning casually against the wooden frame. His hair was dark, tousled by the breeze, and his cloak was travel-worn, the hem dusted with the red clay of distant roads. But it was his eyes that stopped her—storm-gray, sharp, and somehow familiar, as if they'd seen her in a dream. He was speaking to the bookseller, his voice low, but when his gaze flicked up and met hers, the air seemed to hum, just like the amulet had.
"Liora?" Mara's voice was sharp, pulling her back. "You're staring."
"I'm not," Liora said quickly, her cheeks warming. She turned to the herb stall, fumbling with a bundle of sage. But her eyes betrayed her, darting back to the stranger. He was watching her now, a faint smile curving his lips, as if he knew something she didn't.
Mara followed her gaze and sighed. "Don't get ideas. He's an outsider. You know how the elders feel about strangers poking around."
"He's just buying books," Liora said, though her voice lacked conviction. The stranger's presence felt like a spark in her chest, igniting something she couldn't name. She busied herself with the sage, haggling with the vendor to distract herself, but the weight of his gaze lingered.
By the time they finished, the stranger was gone, swallowed by the market's crowd. Liora told herself it didn't matter, but disappointment tugged at her. She and Mara made their way home, the amulet's mystery still gnawing at her thoughts.
---
Their cottage sat at the edge of Elderglow, its stone walls draped in ivy that glowed faintly at night, a gift from their mother's magic. Inside, the air smelled of dried lavender and simmering potions. Their mother, Eirwen, was at the hearth, stirring a cauldron that bubbled with a soft green glow. Her auburn hair, streaked with silver, was tied back, and her eyes—Liora's eyes—crinkled with warmth as they entered.
"You're late," Eirwen said, though her tone was gentle. "Did the market distract you, or was it the woods again?"
Mara shot Liora a pointed look. "The woods. She found something yesterday, and now she's mooning over it."
"Not mooning," Liora protested, setting the sage on the table. "I found an amulet, Mother. It… showed me something. A vision."
Eirwen's stirring paused, her expression tightening. "What kind of vision?"
Liora recounted the starlit glade, the two figures, the sense of longing that had flooded her. Eirwen listened, her face unreadable, then turned back to the cauldron. "Selene has it now, yes? Leave it to her. Old magic is like a river—it pulls you under if you're not careful."
"But what if it's important?" Liora pressed. "What if it's meant for me?"
Eirwen's eyes softened, but her voice was firm. "The last witch who chased old magic in these woods lost everything. You're young, Liora. Your heart's too open for things that glitter."
Liora bit her lip, frustration simmering. She wanted to argue, but the weight of her mother's words—and the memory of Selene's warning—kept her silent. Instead, she helped Mara sort the herbs, her thoughts drifting back to the stranger's gray eyes. She didn't know why they felt connected to the amulet, but the coincidence was too strong to ignore.
---
That evening, Elderglow prepared for the Moonbloom Festival, a celebration of the harvest and the coven's magic. Lanterns enchanted to float like fireflies hung above the square, their light casting a golden haze. Villagers gathered in their finest, their laughter mingling with the music of lutes and flutes. Liora wore a dress of deep blue, its hem embroidered with silver threads that caught the light. She'd woven a minor charm into her hair, making it shimmer faintly, a small rebellion against the day's frustrations.
Mara nudged her as they joined the crowd. "Try to enjoy yourself, hmm? No brooding about amulets or strangers."
Liora rolled her eyes but smiled. "I'll try."
The festival was a whirl of color and sound. Children chased glowing orbs, couples danced in the square, and the coven's elders presided from a dais, their robes shimmering with protective sigils. Liora let herself be swept into the festivities, dancing with friends and sipping spiced cider. But her thoughts kept straying, searching the crowd for a pair of storm-gray eyes.
She found him near the edge of the square, leaning against a willow tree, a cup of cider in his hand. He was watching the dancers, but his gaze shifted to her as if drawn by the same pull she felt. Liora's heart stuttered. Before she could second-guess herself, she crossed the square, her dress swishing against her legs.
"You're new here," she said, stopping a few feet away. Up close, he was taller than she'd realized, his presence both calm and electric. His cloak was pushed back, revealing a simple tunic and a leather cord around his neck, its pendant hidden.
He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Rowan," he said, offering his name like a gift. "And you're the witch who stares at strangers in the market."
Liora flushed but held his gaze. "Liora. And I wasn't staring. You were… noticeable."
His laugh was soft, warm. "Fair enough. I've been told I stand out." He gestured to the festival. "This is quite the celebration. Your village knows how to welcome the harvest."
"It's the Moonbloom," Liora said, relaxing slightly. "We honor the earth's magic and the coven's protection. Are you just passing through?"
Rowan's eyes flickered, as if weighing his answer. "For now. I'm a traveler, mostly. Books, maps, stories—they take me where they will."
"Stories?" Liora's curiosity flared. "Like the ones in those books you were buying?"
"Exactly." He tilted his head, studying her. "You're curious, aren't you? Not just about books."
She hesitated, the amulet's glow flashing in her mind. "Maybe. Elderglow's full of secrets. Sometimes they find you."
His smile faded slightly, replaced by something deeper, almost searching. "Secrets have a way of doing that. Especially in places like this."
The music shifted, a slower melody that drew couples to the dance floor. Rowan set his cup on a nearby table and extended a hand. "Dance with me?"
Liora's breath caught. She glanced at the dais, where Selene's sharp eyes scanned the crowd. But the pull of Rowan's presence was stronger than her caution. She took his hand, and a spark jolted through her, like the amulet's hum but softer, warmer. His fingers closed around hers, steady and sure, and they joined the dancers.
The world blurred as they moved. Rowan was a graceful dancer, guiding her with an ease that felt practiced yet natural. The lanterns above cast golden light across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar above his brow. Liora's magic stirred, restless, and to her horror, the flowers woven into her hair began to bloom, their petals unfurling in bursts of violet and white.
Rowan's eyes widened, then softened with amusement. "Is that your doing?"
She laughed, embarrassed but oddly delighted. "Not on purpose. My magic's… unpredictable sometimes."
"It's beautiful," he said, and the sincerity in his voice made her heart skip. "Like you."
Liora's cheeks burned, but she didn't look away. The dance ended too soon, the music fading into applause. They stepped apart, but Rowan's hand lingered on hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. The touch sent another spark through her, and for a moment, she saw the starlit glade again—the two figures, their hands entwined, their love a quiet defiance against the dark.
"Liora!" Mara's voice cut through the moment, sharp and urgent. She stood a few yards away, her arms crossed. "We need to go. Now."
Liora pulled her hand from Rowan's, the warmth fading. "I'll see you around?" she asked, her voice softer than she meant.
Rowan's smile returned, but it was tinged with something unreadable. "Count on it."
As Liora followed Mara through the crowd, her sister's disapproval was palpable. "You're playing with fire," Mara hissed. "He's an outsider, and you're already in trouble with Selene."
"He's just a traveler," Liora said, but the words felt hollow. Rowan wasn't just anything. His eyes, his touch, the way her magic had flared—they were all tied to something bigger, something that felt dangerously close to the amulet's secrets.
Back at the cottage, Liora lay awake, the festival's music echoing in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about Rowan, his gray eyes like a storm she wanted to chase. And somewhere, locked in the coven's hall, the amulet waited, its runes whispering of a love that had once burned bright enough to curse a forest. Liora didn't know how, but she was certain: her story, Rowan's story, and the amulet's story were one and the same.