The market smelled of fresh herbs and damp wood. Maelra walked its narrow paths with precise footsteps, her gaze gliding over stalls and faces like a passing shadow.
Every step was purposeful.
The woman selling apples favored her left side. Old injury. Easy to disarm.
The boy chasing goats, quick on his feet, but clumsy in turns.
The elder mending nets had a burn scar across his collarbone. Possibly alchemy. Possibly not.
Maelra's mind worked faster than her eyes. She catalogued every limp, twitch, and gesture. Every locked door. Every open one. Which homes emptied at dawn. Which merchants left their coin boxes unattended when distracted with gossip.
There were no walls around the village. No guards at the entrance. No steel. No strategy.
Only warmth.
It made them vulnerable.
She hated how easily she blended in. How easily the greetings came. A nod here. A half-smile there. They didn't know they were shaking hands with their own downfall.
That night, after the fires dimmed and shutters creaked shut, Maelra crouched beneath her bedframe. Her fingertips brushed the smooth groove of a rune she'd etched there days ago, a Whisper rune, faint and hidden beneath a knot in the wood.
She whispered into it.
"No threats. Minimal resistance expected. One anomaly: Kaelen."
The rune dimmed.
She leaned back on her heels, exhaling through her nose.
Kaelen.
He trained alone in the mornings. He didn't laugh like the others. He watched her, sometimes. Not suspiciously, but like someone who understood silence better than most.
He wasn't dangerous.
But he wasn't ordinary, either.
Just before sunrise, she wandered near the old well, where children were gathered in a huddle. A heated argument broke the quiet as she heard snapping voices and shuffling feet.
"He always ruins it!"
"He's too slow"
"I don't want him on my side!"
Maelra moved to leave. Not her concern.
Then she saw him.
The boy with his back to the wall. Not crying. Just still. Like he'd stopped trying to be part of anything.
Her fingers brushed the inside of her cloak. A small wooden token a discarded game piece she'd found near the blacksmith's days ago.
She flicked it toward the group. It landed near the boy's feet with a soft clack.
The others turned. One of the older kids bent, picked it up, and grinned.
"Alright, he can play. He has the wild token."
Laughter. Movement. They pulled the boy in. He smiled. Just a little.
Maelra stood watching.
Only for a moment.
Then she turned and walked away, jaw clenched tight.
That night, she sat on the floor, sharpening her dagger with slow, angry strokes.
The crow came again.
It landed on the sill, eyes like ink.
The scroll on its leg was sealed in dark wax.
She read the message silently:
"Soon. Do not lose focus. The first test will leave remains."
Her eyes narrowed.
Remains?
Runes weren't supposed to leave residue. Not the kind the Arcane used. Not unless...
These were old. Ancient. Something forbidden.
Something hungry.
She looked out the window at the sleeping village.
"...What exactly are we testing?"