Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 3 - Seraphael

A fluid, shimmering magic flowed from Alarielle’s body, slipping free from the confines of the cage Alina had built around her. Alina trembled, her voice barely above a whisper, “How... how did you...?” But before she could finish her question, Alarielle’s magic averted its gaze and immobilized Alina in place, effortlessly breaking free from Alina’s magic as if it were nothing more than a breeze passing over her body.

From Alarielle’s right, Vanessa hurled a pulsing ball of light toward Alarielle, but it ricocheted off a barrier of icy flames. Vanessa’s gaze locked onto Alarielle’s mismatched eyes, now swirling with shades of blue and gold. With a flick of Alarielle’s wrist, blue and gold icy flames erupted from Vanessa’s body. A piercing scream escaped Vanessa’s lips as her beautiful form became engulfed in flames, leaving her frozen in place.

Alarielle observed as her magic guided her body to the bed, settling down to confront Agatha, who assessed the scene with calculating eyes. “I have no interest in a fistfight with you, windling. You can either leave my sight, or I will erase you from existence,” Alarielle’s magic declared through her, its tone indifferent and dismissive.

Agatha sneered, taking a cautious step back, only to collide with a wall of flame. A cruel smile spread across Alarielle’s face as her magic continued, “Or... perhaps I’ll simply watch you die a very slow, agony-filled death, windling. I haven’t decided yet.” Alarielle felt her body stretch, releasing a lazy sigh. “It’s been a while since I had this much fun.”

When Agatha remained silent, watching Alarielle as if she had grown another head, Alarielle’s magic persisted, “Tell me, windling, can Humans like you still feel pain?” Agatha’s eyes widened, “I’m no human”

“I guess you aren’t, not anymore anyway.” Alarielle stood up from the bed and continued, “I haven’t seen a human witch turned windling in a very long time, and such an old, pathetic one at that. Was it Krethos who turned you?” Agatha’s nostrils flared as she spoke through gritted teeth, “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,Seraphael."

Alarielle’s magic let out an amused huff. “Oh, so you’re not as stupid as I thought.”

Agatha took a step forward, her eyes sharp. “You are the infamous Seraphael of Nyxvelyn, the one that b***h Illiana claimed not to possess. I must say, she hid you well, since I couldn’t detect you from her, even then.”

“That’s a strange way of admitting your rotten magic is inferior, but I’ll take it,” Alarielle’s magic replied nonchalantly. “Anyway, does Krethos know about this girl?”

Agatha straightened, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. Why would I tell you anything?”

Lifting her hands, Agatha began to chant,“Per vincula sanguinis et animam tuam, ligatur dolor et tormentum. Sentias ignem, sentias dolorem, donec vis mea te solvat.”Black, fiery tendrils burst from her hands and lashed toward Alarielle, wrapping around her midriff and tightening. But for some reason, Alarielle felt no pain. Her body remained eerily still as her magic observed Agatha, almost as if amused by the attempt.

Alarielle took a moment to notice that her body was emitting a soft glow, a soft blue light that enveloped her form—a protective coat, her magic shielding her.

As if reading her thoughts, her magic spoke irritably in her head, “You’re surprised as if it’s strange for me to protect the body I reside in, faeling.”

“You can read my thoughts?” Alarielle shot back, disbelief flooding her voice. Her magic responded with an impatient tone, “No, only the ones you project at me.”

Suddenly, Alarielle felt a wall form within her mind, blocking her from speaking any further. “Can’t have you distracting me, little faeling, while I save our ass,” her magic said as the wall fully closed, leaving Alarielle trapped in the corner of her own mind. Alarielle struggled against the hold, urging to be let out. Desperation clawed at her as she pressed against the confines of her own mind, but the wall held firm, leaving her helpless while her magic took charge.

Alarielle’s magic, now fully in control of her body and mind, lifted her fingers to touch the fiery ropes coiling around her. The moment she made contact, the tendrils stilled, shifting from black to blue and then white before bursting into pieces. “Now, now, here I thought we were having a civilized conversation, and you, old bitchling, go on and get handsy—no self-preservation at all,” Alarielle remarked, her hands moving to swat invisible lint off her tunic. “Don’t ruin the clothes; this girl, for some reason, doesn’t have many of them.”

Agatha gaped for a moment, but fury quickly twisted the features of the boy she possessed. “I’ve gone through too much trouble over the years to find you, Saraphael, to let you slip away now. When I have you, you will be the bargain that grants me a demon’s body!”

“So that’s what you were going to bargain from Krethos before you let your hunger for torture distract you in that forest,” Alarielle said with a smirk. “I always wondered what you intended to do with a little faeling. But my dear bitchling, do you really think Krethos can get you a demon from the Shadow Realm of all places? Demons haven’t walked this realm in five thousand years.”

Agatha let out a humorless laugh as the boy’s small hand dug into his tunic pocket, retrieving a small silver orb.

“What now? Are you going to catch me like one of those Pokémon creatures the little boys in the village talk about from their books in the human realm? I suppose there’s some creativity in that,” she taunted, her eyes narrowing in mock amusement. “I once saw a little boy sing a tune for one of them when Alarielle went to the human realm with that daughter of yours, to heal a changeling. Do you want me to sing it too while you do whatever you’re about to do?” alarielle’s magic chuckled.

Agatha however wasn’t amused at all as the boy’s eyes narrowed at Alarielle and then closed. The chant she started seemed to shake the whole manor

“By dark chains, I bind you,

No freedom, no escape,

In darkness, I relegate you,

Forever in this prison, I hope.

Weaken your strength,

Enclose all chances within you.

I will do as I command,

Now and forever,

May my shadows hold you.”

This wasn’t an incantation for a spell, Alarielle realized, as she watched her magic observe the scene without flinching. It was a curse, designed to bind and confine. The air around her thickened with the weight of Agatha’s dark intentions. Yet Alarielle’s magic remained unyielding, a calm force in the chaos, as if it reveled in the confrontation.

Alarielle felt a sharp pain stab through her core as Agatha’s power surged around the room, wreaking havoc and swirling like a tornado, demolishing every piece of furniture in its path.

For a brief moment, Alarielle’s magic grew still, and it felt as if she were utterly alone, trapped within her own body. Then it spoke. This time, the voice that emerged wasn’t the nonchalant tone she had been getting used to; it was strong, unyielding, and commanding. “You cross too many lines, bitchling,” it boomed, resonating with an authority that echoed through the chaos.

In an instant, her magic surged from the depths of her soul, enveloping her completely, its fury igniting a brilliant glow that filled the room. Alarielle’s hand rose, and the entire space erupted into blue-gold icy flames that both burned and froze.

The manor trembled with intensity, the marble walls cracking under the pressure of their chaotic energies. Agatha struggled to strengthen her curse, trying to latch onto Alarielle, but it froze mid-stride every time. The curse magic encircled Agatha, creating a cocoon that simultaneously attacked and defended itself and a swirling barrier of fire and ice, mirrored the chaos as the ceiling and walls of the manor began to crumble. The anguished screams of the fae echoed throughout the manor as they started to flee.

But Alarielle’s magic was far from finished. With a flick of her fingers, the flames ceased and froze momentarily before reigniting, now burning brighter and dimming the blue to a blinding gold. The flames broke through Agatha’s curse, enveloping her as the windling chanted yet another incantation. In that moment, the boy’s eyes went vacant, and his flesh began to melt away under the searing heat of the flames.

“No... stop! Don’t kill him...” Alarielle begged her magic, desperation clawing at her heart. “No, no... stop!” Her pleas fell on deaf ears as her magic, now in full control of her body, turned and raced toward the window.

“Stop! Stop! Go back... he is just a child... please, stop!” Her frantic cries went unanswered as her magic, resolute and unyielding, crouched at the window sill and leaped into the garden below.

Alarielle landed on the grass with a thump, and a surge of magic erupted from her, as if the magic was struggling to break free from her body. She cried and pleaded, her voice echoing through the air as her magic darted across the gardens and into the forest. The ground beneath her trembled violently, and she could feel the manor they had escaped from crumble into chaos behind her.

The fae inside—the little boy... Alina... no, no... Panic clawed at Alarielle as she realized what her magic had just unleashed, what SHE had just done. Every heart-wrenching thought fueled her dread, and an overwhelming sense of guilt washed over her like a cold tide. The weight of her power and the destruction it had wrought pressed down on her. Trees zoomed past her as she ran faster than she ever had before, her feet barely touching the ground.

As she sprinted, Alarielle felt her limbs begin to shake violently, dark spots dancing at the corners of her vision. The world around her started to blur, the sounds of the forest fading into a distant echo, until everything went dark.

Alarielle awoke to the soft, rhythmic sound of running water. The cool touch of damp earth pressed against her cheek as she slowly blinked her eyes open, the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. She was lying on her side, nestled in the grass near a riverbank. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of moss and wildflowers, and the gentle rush of the river filled her ears.

She groaned softly, her body feeling heavy and sore, and as she pushed herself up to a sitting position, a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her head pounded, and she winced, clutching her temple as she tried to steady her breathing.

Glancing around, she realized she was alone. The forest stretched out on all sides, unfamiliar and vast. The river’s waters glimmered as they flowed past, and the trees rustled softly, but there were no signs of life, no hints of where she was. Her heart raced, a tight knot of anxiety forming in her chest.

Where was she? And how far had she run?

Alarielle tried to recall the events leading up to her collapse. She remembered the manor crumbling, the surge of her magic, and the terrifying realization of what she had done. But everything after that was a blur. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious or how far her body had carried her before it had given out.

With a deep, shaky breath, she scanned her surroundings again, hoping for any clue. Her fingers traced the grass beneath her, and she found herself gazing into the river’s clear water, her reflection staring back at her—disheveled, exhausted, and stained with remnants of ash and dirt. But there was something else—her eyes still carried the faintest hint of the blue and gold glow from before, a reminder of the power she could barely control.

She clenched her fists, feeling the rising swell of fear and anger. “What have I done?” she whispered, the words barely audible over the rush of the river. “And where am I?”

Her throat felt parched, as if sand had lodged itself there, and a desperate thirst clawed at her. Without another thought, she scrambled to the river’s edge, cupping the cold water with her hands and bringing it to her lips. She drank deeply, the icy liquid soothing her dry throat, but as she swallowed, a bitter taste filled her mouth.

She grimaced, coughing as the unpleasant flavor lingered. It was metallic, almost earthy, like the taste of minerals and soil. Wiping her mouth, she glanced down at the water, wondering if it was safe to drink. But in her desperation, she had taken the risk without thinking.

At least it was something. She leaned back, wiping the remnants of water from her chin and took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. Her body still ached, and the heaviness in her chest remained, but the drink had granted her a moment of clarity. Now, she needed to figure out her next move.

She had to get answers from the strange power within her. She needed to know what had happened, why it had taken control, and whether Agatha had escaped or perished in the flames. The thought of the fae in the manor—of the boy, of Alina—made her sick. How many had suffered because of her magic? And where was she now?

“Magic, or is it Seraphael as gatha called you” she called out, her voice raw, echoing in the quiet forest. “What happened? What did you do?”

There was no response, only the gentle murmur of the river and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Alarielle’s fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms as frustration and fear bubbled inside her. She closed her eyes, trying to each for the presence that had so easily seized control of her body before.

“Answer me!” she demanded, but all she felt was an unsettling silence. Alarielle steadied herself, closing her eyes as she reached inward, searching for the familiar warmth of her magic. She called for it, her mind reaching into the depths where it usually lingered. Panic gripped her. She tried again, focusing harder, whispering,Please, come back...she urged, but there was nothing—just an empty echo in the space where her magic should respond. It was like a door had slammed shut in her mind.

Frustration bubbled up, and she pushed harder, clawing at the wall she sensed was there, an unseen barrier blocking her from her own power. It was as if her magic had retreated deep inside, sealing itself off from her completely. The part of her that was usually filled with its presence now felt strangely hollow, like a limb gone numb.

“No... no, please!” she whispered, her voice breaking as she pressed her hands against her temples, willing the connection to return. But the barrier remained, immovable and unyielding, and she could sense her magic’s distant presence on the other side—silent and indifferent.

It felt like being trapped in a cage within her own mind, powerless. For the first time in years, she was truly alone, cut off from the one thing that had always been a part of her. The realization left her feeling small and vulnerable, a shiver running down her spine as she hugged her arms around herself.

Why are you doing this? she thought, but there was no response, no mocking voice or arrogant tone. Just silence.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she sank to her knees, the weight of her helplessness bearing down on her.Come on.. please.. don’t leave me alone.I.. I .. need you ..she thought desperately. But no matter how much she pleaded, her magic remained out of reach, the barrier in her mind holding firm.

Alarielle’s shoulders slumped, and she glanced around the unfamiliar forest. “Where am I?” she whispered to herself, hoping for some kind of sign, some clue. But the woods remained as still as ever, indifferent to her presence.

She had no choice but to move forward. Pushing herself up, she stood, swaying slightly as the dizziness from earlier threatened to return. She steadied herself, casting one last look at the river before turning to face the dense forest. She needed to find shelter, a safe place to think, and maybe—just maybe—some answers.

Alarielle trudged along the river, heading in what she hoped was north, praying she might stumble upon a village. She had no idea how long she’d been walking; hunger gnawed at her, leaving her insides hollow, and her body shivered against the cold winds as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

“You’re walking straight to your death, faeling,” the familiar, arrogant voice echoed in her mind. The sudden intrusion startled her; it had been silent all day.

Alarielle’s exhaustion was evident in her tone. “You finally decided to talk to me,” she muttered, bitterness lacing her voice.

“You should be grateful,” the magic replied, its presence like a cold hand gripping her mind. “I could have left you stumbling in the dark forever.”

She clenched her fists, trying to suppress her frustration. “Then tell me—where am I? What happened after the manor?”

The magic’s response was slow, as if weighing whether or not to share. “You ran, faeling. You ran far. The bitchling’s curse was powerful, and you barely escaped. As for where you are... even I cannot say. Your little body carried us here, far from any place I recognize.”

Alarielle’s heart sank. “So you don’t know either.”

“Oh, I know plenty,” the magic sneered. “But none of it will help you if you keep heading in the direction of your death.”

Alarielle halted mid-step. “Why did you kill the boy and... Alina... do you even know how many died? And... and what do you mean, ‘toward my death’? What’s in that direction?”

The magic’s voice remained cold and unyielding. “Oh, spare me your moral outrage. The boy was a vessel, a puppet, that was already dead. And Alina... she was a liability. You should know better than to mourn those who stand in the way of survival.”

Alarielle’s fists clenched. “You didn’t have to kill them. I would’ve found another way.”

The magic scoffed, the sound echoing in her mind. “Another way? You, who can’t even control a fraction of your power? You would have been dead if it weren’t for me. You think those people matter more than your life?”

Alarielle’s chest tightened. “They weren’t just people—they were innocent. And Alina, she was—”

“A backstabbing b***h” the magic cut her off sharply. “One that would’ve cost us everything. As for your death—there are creatures far worse than Windlings lurking in these lands. They’ll tear you apart without hesitation, especially with how drained you are.”

A chill ran down Alarielle’s spine. She scanned the forest, the shadows growing longer as the sun dipped lower. “Then where am I supposed to go?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The magic was silent for a moment, and she felt a prickle of unease. “There’s a path deeper into the forest, away from the river. It will lead you to shelter.”

Alarielle hesitated. “And why should I trust you?”

A low, mocking laugh filled her mind. “Because, little faeling, as much as I enjoy watching you struggle, your death would be an inconvenience to me.”

Alarielle’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. “Wait... I thought you said you didn’t know where we were. How do you know about this so-called path?”

Her magic sighed, sounding exasperated. “Because, faeling, I can sense the surroundings—something far beyond your limited perception. The forest, its creatures, and the paths it hides. All of it is within my reach, unlike yours.”

Alarielle felt a pang of frustration. “You could’ve told me that sooner.”

The magic’s response was sharp. “And what good would that have done when you’ve spent years trying to shut me out? Had you not resisted, you might have had that ability yourself. Instead, you’re stumbling through the dark, helpless and afraid.”

The truth stung. Alarielle felt the weight of her choices pressing down on her, but there was no time to dwell on regrets. She had no other option but to trust her magic, as much as she resented it. “Fine. Lead the way,” she muttered, her voice filled with reluctant resolve.

The magic’s presence seemed to guide her, nudging her forward and deeper into the forest. The air grew colder, the trees denser, their branches intertwining overhead like a tangled web. Every instinct in her body screamed to turn back, but she pushed onward, knowing that whatever lay behind was far worse than the uncertainty ahead.

As Alarielle carefully tracked the path through the dense forest, she felt the weight of her magic’s presence lingering in her mind. “What actually are you? Normal magic doesn’t... well, speak,” she ventured, a mix of curiosity and frustration in her voice.

The voice responded, dripping with condescension. “Oh, how naive you are, faeling. I am not mere magic. I am a manifestation of power—ancient, bound to your bloodline. While lesser magics may simply obey, I possess consciousness. I have watched over generations, passing from one queen to another. Your mother was my last vessel, and she passed me to you.”

Alarielle stumbled slightly, her breath hitching in her throat. “My mother? But she was terrified of her magic. She never wanted it, and she kept me away from it!”

“Exactly,” the magic replied, the tone almost mocking. “Her fear has infected you, making you weak. She believed that avoiding your power would keep you safe, but in truth, it only bound you. I am your inheritance.”

“But I don’t want this,” Alarielle protested, her heart racing. “I didn’t ask for any of it!”

The magic’s laughter echoed in her mind, cold and relentless. “Normalcy is an illusion, little faeling. You can no longer afford such delusions.”

Tears prickled at the corners of Alarielle’s eyes. “So this is how it’s always going to be—running? I’ll always be running?”

The magic remained silent. Alarielle’s heart ached as memories of the past ten years flooded her mind. In the Elder Grove, despite the disdain of the other fae, she had carved out a semblance of normalcy with Alina. Alina, who had seen her not as a monster or a disease, but as a friend.

She had shared laughter, secrets, and warmth with Alina—the first person to accept her, to treat her like she was worthy of love and companionship only to throw her to the wolves. Now, Alarielle felt that fragile world slipping away, like sand through her fingers.

“I... I can’t do this. I’m so tired of all this. I can’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling. The weight of her circumstances pressed down on her, suffocating her spirit. Panic gripped her tight as the reality of her situation crashed down, making it hard to breathe.

The trees seemed to loom closer, their dark silhouettes closing in around her like a tightening noose. The forest felt alive, and every rustle and crack of a branch sent fresh waves of dread coursing through her veins. “What if I can’t escape?” she thought, her heart racing as fear clawed at her insides.

Her magic spoke in a soft voice, a surprising contrast to its usual arrogance. “You have faced death more than any fae since you were born.”

Alarielle paused, uncertainty mixing with a flicker of defiance. “But at what cost? I’ve lost so much already. How can I keep fighting when I don’t even know what I’m fighting for?”

“Fighting is what you do best,” the magic replied, its tone firm yet encouraging. “You are more than your fear. Embrace your uncertainty, faeling. It is your only ally now. There is strength in your fear if you can channel it.”

Alarielle moved forward, her heart racing as she pressed through the dense underbrush. After what felt like an eternity of navigating the thick foliage, she finally caught sight of something that made her pause—a small cave entrance, partially concealed by intertwining roots and branches.

The cave’s dark mouth seemed to beckon her, a refuge from the encroaching shadows of the forest. Alarielle approached cautiously, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the cool air wafting from within, a stark contrast to the chill settling around her.

“Go inside,” the magic urged. Alarielle hesitated, glancing back at the path she had traveled. “What if there’s something in there? What if it’s dangerous?”

“You’re in danger out here, too,” the magic replied, sharper now. “And you need to regroup. Trust me, faeling. You have faced worse.”

Taking another steadying breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the cave. As she crossed the threshold, the dim light faded, and she was enveloped by darkness. The air inside was damp and cool, and she could hear the soft trickle of water echoing in the distance.

She pressed her back against the rocky wall, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Every instinct screamed at her to be cautious, but she knew she had to move forward.

“Do you sense anything?” she whispered to her magic.

“No, the cave seems empty. Rest here tonight,” her magic responded, its voice a low murmur in her mind. “Don’t light any fires; it might attract unwanted things.”

Alarielle nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. She slowly made her way deeper into the cave, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The darkness enveloped her, but she felt oddly safe, shielded from the horrors of the outside world. She settled into a small alcove, curling up against the cool stone, the sound of the distant trickling water providing a soothing backdrop.

“Will they find me here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Only if you make a noise,” the magic replied, a hint of annoyance creeping in.

As Alarielle lay in the dark, her thoughts spiraled, drifting back to Alina and the little boy—the lives that had been snuffed out because of her. Guilt clawed at her insides, but she forced herself to breathe, to focus on the present.

“I’m tired of running,” she murmured to herself.

“Then fight, faeling,” the magic urged, its voice resonating with a strange fervor.

Alarielle lay in silence as her stomach grumbled, hunger gnawing at her insides. Yet she was too weary to go out and find food, the exhaustion weighing her down. She whispered to her magic, “Do you have a name? Will you tell me more about you and my mother later?”

The magic was silent for a long moment, leaving Alarielle to wrestle with her thoughts as she drifted closer to sleep. Just as her eyelids grew heavy, she heard a soft, distant voice. “Promedius. My name is Promedius.”