A hush settled across Brocéliande’s ancient forest as Ventania trotted cautiously through the fading light of dusk. More than a week had passed since she first faced the wolves, and the days following that encounter blurred together in her memory. Loneliness and hunger hollowed her from within, yet she forced herself onward, driven by a single question: Where are my parents?

  Though she tested her magic whenever possible, each attempt left her drained—her body was simply not getting enough nourishment or rest. Her mane lost some of its luster, and her steps grew uneven. The forest offered minimal guidance; it remained vast and indifferent, a tangle of ancient roots, towering trunks, and murmuring leaves. Only her burning desire to rescue her parents kept her hooves moving, despite the aches of hunger and exhaustion.

  A few times, she caught glimpses of distant shapes that might have been humans. She’d approached warily, but each time, they disappeared into the thick undergrowth before she could confirm if they were the hunters who’d captured her parents or innocent travelers passing through. Every shadow, every distant footstep, made her heart race with the prospect of either relief or renewed danger.

  Still, no true answers presented themselves. She managed to drink from trickling streams and nibble on moss and tender shoots under certain trees, but the fear of predators never left her mind. The forest’s silence pressed in more ominously each day. If she kept wandering blindly, she might collapse from weakness long before she found even a clue to her parents’ whereabouts.

  On the ninth day of her solitary journey, Ventania happened upon an overgrown path. Grass and wildflowers sprouted through faint impressions that hinted at human footprints. She crouched low, heart pounding in her chest. The hunters had worn heavy boots, and she couldn’t be certain if these prints belonged to them or someone else entirely. But she had no other lead—no sign or trail of runic script or armor shards that might show where they’d gone.

  I have to find out, she told herself, pushing forward despite her trembling legs. If these footprints led to a campsite, or even a villager, perhaps she could glean some hint of where her parents had been taken. She recalled how the hunters had spoken in harsh, foreign tones and employed advanced runes. Maybe all hunters are like that, she thought, but the memory only fueled her mixture of dread and fierce resolve.

  Days of fatigue weighed on her spirit, yet she pushed aside her weariness, readying herself for anything. The thick canopy darkened overhead, turning day into a dim twilight. Hints of magical energy flickered at the edges of her awareness—a subtle warmth dancing along her horn. Her instincts sharpened, and she silently thanked whatever spark of inheritance she possessed that allowed her to sense even faint traces of enchantments.

  At last, a small clearing emerged in the gloom. There, a lean figure in a tattered cloak stood with his back turned. He seemed absorbed in studying the twisted trunk of an ancient tree jutting from a mossy boulder. A human, Ventania realized, heart lurching. But not dressed like a hunter. His cloak bore no iron rings or runic armor, and she detected none of the usual hostility in his stance.

  Yet mistrust flared hot within her—she had learned the hard way not to trust appearances. Summoning what remained of her storm magic, she lowered her horn, ignoring the protest of her aching muscles. If this was another enemy, she would surprise him before he could trap her as they had trapped her parents.

  She unleashed a charge of swirling wind, her horn sparking with raw power. Debris and leaves rose from the clearing’s floor, spinning into a small vortex aimed directly at the man. She imagined bursting through his defenses, demanding to know where the hunters were—or if he was one of them.

  The man spun with startling quickness. A translucent barrier of rippling light formed between them, neutralizing her gale without so much as a jolt to his posture. Ventania skidded to a halt, panting heavily. She tried again, channeling every bit of her meager strength into a more forceful surge. The swirling wind hammered his shield but dispersed harmlessly, scattering leaves and twigs across the clearing.

  He tilted his head, calm eyes regarding her from beneath the hood. With a single fluid motion, he stepped forward, palm outstretched, and batted aside her final attack as though brushing away a stray leaf. Ventania’s legs shook from fatigue, and her vision blurred at the edges. Confusion settled in—this was a human, yet his magic felt different, almost soothing in its precision. He’s not using runes or armor, she realized. He’s controlling the air like… me.

  Before she could muster another attack, the man shifted with graceful agility, using minimal magic at first—merely small bursts of force or the well-placed movement of an arm or leg to deflect her gusts. Each time she lashed out, he countered with effortless calm, never striking her directly but always thwarting her attempts. Finally, out of breath and nearly collapsing, Ventania summoned the last scraps of her energy for one powerful strike, hurling a vortex of swirling leaves and branches. He clapped his hands, creating a shimmer of light that snared her mid-charge. She found herself ensnared by glowing ribbons of enchantment, pinned and spent.

  She huffed, trembling under the bindings. Though they didn’t tighten painfully, she was utterly immobilized. This is it, she thought, horror swirling in her mind. He’ll finish me now… or take me to the hunters. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a blow. Instead, the man crouched at a safe distance, observing her labored breathing.

  “That’s enough,” he said quietly, the calm in his voice contrasting her own panicked gasps. She slowly opened her eyes to find him studying her, not with malice but with a curious, almost sympathetic expression.

  Her mind reeled. “Why aren’t you… hurting me?” she whispered. “You’re human. Aren’t you here to capture me?”

  He breathed a soft sigh. “I have no reason to hurt you, little one,” he replied, his voice an even baritone. “I’m not a hunter. I’m merely a traveler—an explorer, if you will. My name is Ferlin.”

  She studied his cloak, tattered at the edges, and the faint glow around his fingertips. This was not the runic magic she despised, but something else entirely. Wariness and desperation battled within her. If he isn’t one of them, then who is he?

  He flicked his wrist, and the binding ribbons dispersed in a gentle shimmer. Free, Ventania stumbled, nearly crumpling from exhaustion. Should I fight again? she wondered, but she had nothing left to give. Her body felt as though it might collapse with one wrong step.

  “I felt your power from afar, though it seemed erratic,” Ferlin continued, stepping back to give her space. “You’re impressive, yet you lack proper training—and strength.” He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over her ragged coat and the dark circles beneath her eyes. “You haven’t rested in days, have you?”

  Ventania bristled at his concern, but the truth stung too deeply to deny. “Maybe,” she muttered. “I’m fine.”

  But she wasn’t. The swirling world around her threatened to tip sideways. She steadied herself against a nearby rock, glaring at him with what she hoped was fierce determination. “You say you’re not a hunter. Then maybe you can tell me how hunters operate. Where do they take… people they capture?” Her voice cracked on the last words. Or unicorns, she thought, her heart wrenching at the memory of her parents in chains.

  Ferlin’s lips pressed into a thin line, sympathy flickering in his eyes. “It depends on the hunters. Some deliver magical creatures to black markets, others to twisted scholars who seek to harvest magical essence. I’ve even heard rumors of wealthy nobles who pay handsomely for exotic trophies. I can’t say exactly which group took your loved ones without more details.”

  Ventania’s hope wavered. She wanted exact answers, not speculation. “Is there… a central place they go?” she pressed. “A fortress? A big city with dungeons?” She’d never ventured beyond Brocéliande, so her knowledge of human lands was practically nonexistent.

  He shook his head. “Not typically. Most operate as roving bands with their own supply routes. But if they were well-armed with runes, they might have connections in wealthier regions or direct ties to certain warlords. This realm has no shortage of those who covet magical creatures.”

  Anguish swelled inside Ventania, threatening to break her composure. Where do I even begin searching? She felt tears well in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth, refusing to cry in front of this stranger.

  After a tense silence, Ferlin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You mentioned your parents. Were they also… like you?” He let his gaze drift to her horn, the faint patterns of gold and silver etched in her coat.

  “Yes,” she admitted warily, “though far stronger.” She recalled her mother’s healing magic and her father’s roaring gusts that had once warded off threats. How quickly the hunters subdued them, she thought bitterly.

  Her anger rose again, but with it came a spark of realization that she had escaped capture. That, she only managed by luck. Without training, her powers were as unpredictable as the storms that raged above Brocéliande. “I’ve just… begun learning my magic, I guess. I didn’t even know I could call the wind until a few days ago.”

  Ferlin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “A few days? And yet you managed that vortex earlier?” He shook his head, clearly impressed. “At the academy—where I studied—students spend months just learning to stir a breeze. You formed a small storm on raw instinct.”

  A flicker of pride cut through her desperation, though she tried not to let it show. “It’s not like I know how to do it properly,” she muttered. “I’m exhausted after a single burst, and it barely does what I want.”

  He offered a faint smile. “You’re a natural conduit for elemental forces, it seems. That can be both a gift and a burden if left untrained.” His voice held a note of genuine admiration.

  Ventania narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying… you could teach me? Just like that?” She half-hoped for an immediate yes, and half-feared it. She remembered how her father used to say that trust should be earned, not freely given—but she was running out of options. She wondered if she dared reveal just how desperate she was.

  Ferlin spread his hands, palms up in a gesture of openness. “I can’t promise miracles. But I do have experience with elemental and arcane magics, far different from what those hunters used. If you’re truly seeking help—beyond learning about the hunters—there may be a way.”

  She hesitated. The man looked worn, yet possessed an air of quiet confidence. His cloak was patched in several places, and a well-used satchel at his side bulged with books, herbal pouches, and arcane implements. He certainly didn’t resemble a soldier. But how could she be sure he wasn’t leading her into some trap? Humans had proven themselves capable of great cruelty…

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Her stomach growled softly, a reminder that she was physically at her limit. Fatigue weighed on her like a heavy cloak. If she pressed on alone, she risked collapsing from hunger, never mind the constant threat of predators or more hunters. Memories of the unstoppable net that entangled her parents haunted her, fueling her desire to become stronger. She needed guidance, an ally, someone to provide the knowledge she lacked.

  She firmed her jaw, meeting his gaze. “Tell me more about these hunters. How do they fight? Do they have weaknesses? If… if I wanted to find them, could you help me track them down?”

  He folded his arms thoughtfully. “Some use elaborate runic systems that require forging or specialized crystals. That means they often carry supplies of runic powder or trinkets to recharge their gear. If you ever see them rummaging quickly through pouches, that might be your best moment to strike. But tracking them is another story—they roam, often covering their tracks with wards.” His expression softened. “That’s why I say knowledge is essential. If you learn enough about runes and the counters to them, you might stand a chance.”

  Ventania’s tail flicked with renewed determination. “I want to learn. But I… I don’t know where to start. My parents never expected me to be alone so soon. They never taught me everything, just… small bits.”

  “It’s all right,” Ferlin said gently, lowering his arms. “Tell me what you know.”

  And so she did—bit by bit, haltingly. She spoke of how she’d begun sensing the wind’s call only after the night her parents were taken, how each surge of power left her both exhilarated and drained, and how she could sometimes guess the direction of a breeze before it even arrived. She mentioned the violent wolves she’d encountered, and how she’d relied on raw emotion to conjure storms that felt beyond her control. With each detail, her voice wavered between frustration and a hint of pride.

  Ferlin listened intently, occasionally nodding. He didn’t interrupt, even when she struggled to find the right words. When she finished, he let out a slow breath. “You’re already past what many novices can handle,” he admitted. “Though you clearly lack a framework, your connection to elemental magic is… extraordinary. If you were a student at the academy, I imagine half the instructors would fight to take you under their wing.”

  Ventania shrugged, her eyes trailing to the patches of dirt where her earlier blasts had scorched the ground. “Well, I’m not at any academy. I’m here, in this forest, on my own—and I need more than just fancy spells. I need to find those hunters and get my parents back.”

  His gaze dropped, as if recalling old memories. “If your parents are with a band of highly skilled hunters, you’ll need more than raw power. You’ll need knowledge—about runic patterns, about infiltration, and about controlling the elements so they respond to your will rather than your rage.”

  At that, she stiffened, but deep down she knew he was right. Time and again, she’d seen how unbridled fury left her drained, nearly helpless once her tempest subsided. The cost was too great, and it would never be enough to face well-trained foes carrying advanced runic weaponry.

  “So… you think you can teach me these things?” she asked, voice uncertain but laced with desperate hope.

  Ferlin offered a small, patient smile and set aside any lingering tension in his posture. “I do. But only if you truly want it, and if you’re willing to place some trust in me.” He gestured around at the disheveled clearing, where branches lay snapped and leaves were plastered against trunks. “To be fair, we’ve had a rough introduction. Yet from what I’ve seen, we share at least one goal: we oppose the kind of people who would harm magical beings for profit or cruelty.”

  Ventania’s tail flicked restlessly. She glanced at the remnants of their scuffle, feeling a tug of guilt. He’d shown remarkable restraint while she’d thrown everything she had at him. Raking her lower lip with her teeth, she nodded. “You mentioned wanting knowledge about… old places in the forest. You’re not actually after me or my parents, then?” Her voice caught on that last word, and a pang of sorrow knifed through her chest at the memory.

  “Not at all,” Ferlin replied. “I’m seeking the ruins of a lost civilization—perhaps druids, perhaps an even older culture. If the legends are true, they held secrets of elemental magic that could benefit us both.”

  She wanted to press him further, to ensure no hidden motives lurked behind his calm gaze, but her body ached, and her mind spun with too many unanswered questions. I can’t survive alone, she admitted inwardly, recalling the stinging hunger and the constant fear of another ambush. I need help.

  Ferlin stepped closer, his movements unhurried and carefully non-threatening. “I can show you the basics—breathing exercises, focusing techniques—so your power doesn’t tear you apart. But for that, you’ll have to trust me. At least a little.”

  She swallowed hard, her throat dry. The idea of trusting a human again felt like stepping off a cliff into the unknown. But she also sensed a genuine kindness in him, something reinforced by how gently he had neutralized her attacks. He had no runic chains or nets, and his calm aura stood in stark contrast to the hunters’ ruthless precision.

  “You said you wanted to track them,” Ferlin continued, “but you can barely stand. You need food, rest, a safe place to train. Then, maybe, we can figure out how to gather real intelligence on who took your parents and where they might be. Does that sound acceptable?”

  Ventania hesitated, eyes darting around the clearing as though searching for some reassurance from the forest itself. Brocéliande offered no clear sign—only the rustle of leaves high above and the distant calls of birds. At length, she murmured, “Yes. I… I’ll hear you out.”

  His lips curved into a faint, genuine smile. “That’s good enough for me.”

  He snapped his fingers, and the shimmering lines of magic that remained along the ground evaporated into motes of soft light. In a quiet voice, he added, “I know the forest has been unkind to you recently, but it isn’t your enemy. Perhaps we can find it in ourselves to offer each other some measure of understanding. That’s usually how the best journeys begin.”

  She nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing fractionally. Whatever happened next, she would at least have a safe moment’s respite—an opportunity to learn, to recover, and to plan her next move. The memory of her parents still haunted her, but for the first time in days, she felt a tiny spark of hope.

  He placed a hand over his chest and inclined his head in a polite, almost courtly bow. “My name is Ferlin,” he said evenly. “I’m an explorer, a seeker of knowledge, and a sorcerer by trade. That’s all. I haven’t captured anyone, nor do I hunt magical creatures.”

  She studied him for a moment, recalling her initial fear that he was part of the hunter band. Though her doubt wasn’t entirely gone, it had lessened enough for her to relax her tense muscles. With a weary exhale, she asked, “Then… if you don’t mind, can you tell me more about these ruins you’re looking for? You said they might have secrets about controlling storms?”

  He nodded, turning aside to rummage in his satchel. “Some accounts mention druids who communed with nature’s raw forces. They built shrines or temples rumored to amplify elemental magic. Old texts hint that a being—maybe a unicorn—helped anchor those powers in times of need. Stories vary, but enough threads point here, to Brocéliande.”

  Her ears pricked at the mention of a unicorn anchor. Could it be that her species had a deeper legacy tied to elemental forces? She thought of her mother and father, each gifted with unique abilities she’d never fully understood. Maybe there’s a link, she mused, a flicker of excitement mingling with her dread for their safety.

  “I’ll show you some maps later,” Ferlin offered. “For now, let’s focus on ensuring you don’t collapse. You look like you haven’t eaten a proper meal in days.”

  Ventania nodded, exhaling shakily. More than a week, she silently admitted, though she’d survived on water and sparse forest greenery. “Fine. Let’s… let’s do that.”

  He withdrew a small mortar and pestle from his bag, along with a handful of dried leaves. “We’ll make something simple. Herbs that might soothe your fatigue and calm your mind. In return, you can tell me more about your own experiences—particularly how you first awakened to your power.”

  Though still cautious, Ventania settled gingerly onto a mossy log, curiosity overriding her suspicion. She watched him work, each movement measured and deliberate. As he crushed the herbs, he asked gentle questions, listening intently when she answered. In this way, she revealed fragments of how she’d discovered her knack for summoning wind, her near-constant fear of hunters, and her determination to face them anyway.

  Ferlin’s unwavering calm impressed her. He seemed equally fascinated by her raw potential, even as he encouraged her to be mindful of rest. When the tea was ready, he heated it with a small burst of magic, releasing a soothing fragrance. She sipped carefully, each warm gulp easing the tightness in her chest.

  “Thank you,” she managed, feeling color rise to her cheeks. It was the first bit of genuine relief she’d had in what felt like an eternity.

  He simply nodded. “No need for thanks. This is what kindness is for. Knowledge is power, but so is compassion. Both are stronger when they go hand in hand.”

  Moments later, when Ventania felt the edges of her strength return, Ferlin raised the notion of a more formal arrangement—a soul contract to solidify their teacher-student bond. She eyed the polished blue stone he presented with a mixture of wariness and intrigue.

  “I’ve heard of deals and bargains in stories,” she admitted, “but never a soul contract. Isn’t that… dangerous?”

  He explained how, in certain magical traditions, a soul contract established mutual vows between teacher and student—neither would betray the other, neither would demand compensation, and each would strive toward shared growth. Despite her reservations, Ventania recognized the potential security it offered. She needed guidance desperately, but not at the cost of walking blindly into a trap.

  “If either of us breaks the vow,” Ferlin concluded, “the contract shatters, and the one who betrays it faces… consequences. That’s why it’s rarely taken lightly.”

  She weighed her options. She couldn’t save her parents alone, nor could she refine her burgeoning powers by trial and error. Starvation and predators remained real threats in the forest, and she still knew little of the hunters’ location or strategies.

  “All right,” Ventania said softly, heart thumping. “I’ll accept.”

  Ferlin placed the glowing stone on the ground between them. He and Ventania each touched it—his palm, her horn. The air warmed in a gentle surge, and she felt a curious tug within her spirit. He began chanting words she didn’t recognize, each syllable resonating like a musical note. When he finished, a luminous shimmer pulsed once through the clearing and vanished.

  “It’s done,” he murmured, tucking the stone away. “Our bond is sealed.”

  She half-expected some dramatic change, but felt only a sense of inner calm. A step had been taken—risky, yes, but also full of promise. She breathed out slowly, her exhaustion blending with the faint relief of not being utterly alone.

  Ferlin stood, dusting off his cloak. “We’ll rest here for the night,” he said, noting the weariness etched into her features. “Tomorrow, if you’re up to it, I’ll start teaching you basic control techniques—breathing exercises and focusing methods. Believe me, harnessing elemental power is about more than raw force.”

  Ventania looked around, anxiety stirring at the thought of sleeping in the open. But she forced herself to trust this newly forged pact. At least for now. “Okay,” she agreed quietly. “I… appreciate it.”

  His small, genuine smile reassured her. Pulling out a rolled cloth from his satchel, he fashioned a rudimentary shelter against a stand of thick, intertwined roots. “We can improve on this camp if we stay longer,” he remarked. “But this will do for the night.”

  She nodded, feeling a tightness in her chest whenever she imagined how easy it would be for him to betray her. Yet nothing about his manner indicated deceit. Instead, he radiated a stoic kindness—an unhurried, purposeful approach to everything he did.

  Once a tiny campfire crackled between them, Ventania curled up on a patch of soft moss, sipping more of the herb-infused tea. Though her eyelids felt heavy, her mind buzzed with thoughts of her parents, the hunters, and Ferlin’s hint that deeper knowledge might lie in ancient ruins. If we find those ruins, she told herself, maybe I’ll discover a way to rescue Mother and Father without risking everything.

  An unfamiliar sensation settled over her: hope mingled with guarded trust. The forest’s nocturnal sounds filled the silence as Ferlin poked at the fire, watching the sparks dance. Once, he caught Ventania’s eye and gave a small nod, as if to say, I see your resolve, and I will not betray it.

  She tried to smile back, though it came out as more of a tired twitch of her lips. Without meaning to, her thoughts drifted and blurred. The day’s tensions melted into a wave of fatigue she couldn’t hold back. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and she slipped into a restless doze, lulled by the crackle of the flames and the faint presence of the man who had promised to guide her.

  When dawn arrived, golden sunlight filtered through Brocéliande’s boughs, lighting the modest camp in soft, warm hues. Ventania awoke feeling a little better than she had in weeks—a testament to food, rest, and the unspoken promise of a teacher at her side. I’ll get stronger, she reminded herself, eyes briefly shining with determination. And then… I’ll find them.

  Nearby, Ferlin stood near a burbling stream, filling a waterskin and glancing back at her with quiet acknowledgment. Their uneasy alliance was fresh, but it was real. Together, they would delve deeper into the mysteries of the forest—and, if fate allowed, uncover the path that led to her parents’ rescue.

  For now, a new chapter of her life had begun, grounded in a contract formed by mutual need and cautious trust. Though Ventania’s heart still pounded with both worry and longing, she believed that, at last, she had found a guide to help her wield the storm within.