They told stories about the woman in the woods. That she was born under a blood moon. That her first cry made the wolves fall silent. That if she spoke your name in her sleep, death would follow within the week.
Aria didn’t believe in fairy tales.
But she believed in patterns. Signs. Instincts that curled like smoke in her chest and wouldn’t go away.
And for the past three nights, her instincts had whispered the same name:
Mother Rina.
The forest thickened the farther Aria walked. Branches arched overhead like ribs, skeletal and bare, muffling even the wind. Snow crunched beneath her boots in hushed, irregular beats. No animals. No birds. Just her, the trees, and the scent of dried pine and something older.
Zara had begged her not to go alone.
But Aria knew this wasn’t a path anyone could walk with her.
The hut appeared suddenly, like it had grown up out of the soil. Stones stacked crookedly, roof bowed under the weight of years, door hanging slightly ajar as if it were always waiting.
She paused before crossing the threshold.
It felt less like entering a home… and more like entering a mouth.
“Come in,” croaked a voice from within. “You tracked snow into my dreams. Might as well bring it through the door too.”
Aria stepped inside. The air was thick—smoke and herbs, damp wood, a hint of iron. Dried plants dangled from the beams above. A black cat with one blind eye blinked at her from the hearth.
And in the corner, half-shrouded in tattered blankets, sat the woman herself.
Mother Rina.
Her skin was lined like cracked parchment, her eyes cloudy and pale—but somehow sharp. As if they saw more than yours ever would.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I didn’t make an appointment.”
Mother Rina cackled, a sound like dried leaves being crushed. “No one does. But time still keeps track.”
Aria hesitated before the fire, unsure where to sit.
The old woman patted a woven cushion across from her. “Well? Do you want your fortune or your funeral?”
“I don’t believe in either,” Aria said, but she sat anyway.
Mother Rina leaned forward. “Good. Those are for people with ordinary fates.”
She pulled a shallow bowl from beneath her blanket and placed it between them. Then she took Aria’s hands in her own—cold and gnarled like roots—and turned them palm-up.
“Let’s see what’s screaming inside you.”
Before Aria could react, the seer used a knife to prick her index finger. One sharp sting, one drop of blood into the bowl.
Mother Rina added ash from the hearth, a sprig of wolfsbane, and a single thorn that gleamed silver.
Then she whispered something in a language Aria didn’t recognize.
The contents of the bowl swirled… then stilled.
And images began to surface.
Aria saw herself—pregnant, bare-footed in snow, walking into a room full of men who looked at her like a weapon.
Then the baby—still a blur of light and shadow—cradled in her arms, with eyes not like hers or Kael’s, but something older.
Then Kael. Bleeding. Reaching for her. Not from love… but from regret.
And then—
A throne of stone.
A council chamber on fire.
A crown that didn’t shine, but pulsed like a heartbeat.
Finally, a howl.
A girl’s howl.
Not a woman’s.
Not yet.
But soon.
Mother Rina exhaled slowly. “You are the blade. But the child… she is the tip.”
Aria frowned. “What does that mean?”
“She will do what you cannot. See what you miss. Choose what you won’t.”
“I don’t understand—”
“You do.” The woman’s eyes flared milky white. “That’s what makes it so dangerous.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “Will she survive?”
The fire popped.
The silence that followed felt unbearable.
Then Rina murmured, “Only if you don’t hesitate when the time comes.”
“What time?”
The old woman looked straight through her. “When you must choose between her life… or your vengeance.”
Aria stood, blood rushing to her ears. “That’s not a choice.”
“It always is.”
“I won’t trade my daughter for revenge.”
“Then you’d better start building a world where no one makes that trade for you.”
She turned to go, breath shallow, but Mother Rina’s final words stopped her cold.
“She has Kael’s strength. But none of his weakness. That is her gift… and her curse.”
Aria didn’t respond.
She just stepped out into the forest.
And didn’t look back.
The woods were darker now. The snow deeper. The cold sharper. But Aria walked with something new in her chest:
Resolve.
She could no longer afford to look behind.
Could no longer indulge in memory or grief.
Not when the future she just saw was still avoidable.
But only if she acted fast. Smart. And without mercy.
