Hexe | The Long Night

I saw her dance so many times,

the girl with chains for wings and blinds,

black robe, a mark pressed between her eyes,

a promise never asked, never disguised.

And yet, there's no other place she'd stray;

could I, silly me, be just like her—

no brave words, just dancing with those swords?

—Berdorf, E. Poems of a Wingless Princess. Unpublished manuscript, Summer.

"Kaela! Are you alright?" Tariq shouted from above.

"Yeah… yeah, I guess so."

But the truth coiled beneath her words. Her knuckles whiten, clasping the hilt, skin stretched tight as the weight of both their bodies dragged against her grip.

The chain dug into her arm, biting deep where it wrapped around her wrist, blood thrumming beneath the metal.

Her jaw clenched as she locked the chain between her teeth, steadying it, the taste of iron blooming on her tongue. Her muscles trembled, each heartbeat sending a dull burn through her shoulders.

She didn't dare look down.

Every inch of her fought gravity, fought the slipping inch by inch, fought the ache climbing up her spine.

"I've got you," she muttered under her breath—whether to Ludo or herself, she wasn't sure.

She didn't know how to get out of this. Not this time. She risked a glance downward. Ludo hung limp beneath her, his head lolling against his shoulder, eyes still closed. Still unconscious. Not moving. Not waking.

She exhaled. "Could be worse," she muttered. "At least he's not panicking."

Her fingers flexed against the hilt, searching for strength she wasn't sure was left.

"What would Master Mediah do?" Her mind scraped through old lessons, snatches of his voice drifting through memory—lectures by the fire, passing words between wooden cabins, half-forgotten advice carried on the wind and ash.

In a perfect world, she thought, she could call the air. Summon a gust beneath her feet. Glide, like he once described, light as ashfall, straight into Tariq's waiting hands. But air had never answered her.

Not like fire did. Not like earth tried.

The wind was still a stranger. And tonight, she had no strength left to coax it closer. Her fingers shifted on the chain, her grip slipping a fraction.

No way forward.

No way back.

Stuck.

The other way.

The only way would be to swing with only one blade and carve her path with small leaps until she reached the stairs. Kaela's eyes calculated the distance. Measured it. She could do it.

But her arm…

The muscles around her wrist burned, trembling beneath the strain. Her grip pulsed weaker with every heartbeat. The hilt slicked beneath sweat-slick fingers. And the abyss below seemed wider now. Hungrier.

Each swing would cost more than the last. And she wasn't sure she had enough left to pay.

"What would Master do?" The question looped in her head, over and over, each repetition a thread she clung to. Kaela closed her eyes. Tried to pull his voice from memory, as if memory itself might offer a rope.

She pictured him—wandering between tents, sleeves rolled up, a stick in one hand, a stone in the other, talking in that half-distracted way he always did.

A stick for fire.

A cup for water.

A sword for earth.

Simple objects, simple shapes. Always something small. Something mundane. Funny, now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember a single time he'd actually used magic.

Every lesson, every problem he posed, he answered with logic. Common sense. A solution anyone could reach if they stopped long enough to think.

No spells. No incantations. Just a coin, flipping between heads and tails.

She opened her eyes. The chain creaked in her hand.

Somehow, she doubted the answer here would be magic, either.

Kaela glanced down again. Ludo hung limp, his head lolled against his chest, still unconscious. "This is crazy…" she murmured, breathless.

Her shoulder burned as she braced. Then, with a twist, she tore the blade free from the stone.

Gravity answered immediately. They plunged.

Wind roared past her ears, her chains whipping wild. Kaela gritted her teeth, hauling Ludo upward with a harsh pull, forcing his body closer until she hooked her legs tightly around his waist.

No time. No room for mistakes.

Her free hand swung the second blade wide, catching the chain's momentum, arcing through open air.

"Now or nothing," she hissed. Kaela hurled the first sword high into the dark. Then the second. Both chains sang through the air, the weight of the blades spinning into the void.

Clang.

Clang.

Steel bit stone. She felt the jolt up both arms as the chains went taut. Without hesitation, she pulled, hauling them both upward, muscle by screaming muscle.

"You're insane!" Tariq's voice rang down from above, disbelieving.

Kaela only smirked, glancing up toward him. The staircase loomed closer now, close enough to taste, yet still meters out of reach.

"One more," she whispered. "One more shot."

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She looked down at Ludo cradled against her, then back to Tariq silhouetted above.

"I need a pull!" she shouted.

Tariq didn't hesitate. He rummaged quickly through his bag, pulling out a coiled rope. With swift hands, he tied a loop, tightening it into a broad sling. "Catch!" he called, swinging it down toward Kaela.

She released one hand from the chain, catching the rope mid-swing. With a practised flick, she slid it over her chest, tightening it beneath her arms.

"When I count to three—pull me up!" she shouted, bracing her grip again.

"You're lucky I'm a dwarf, girl," Tariq called back, planting his feet, both hands gripping the rope.

Kaela's lips curved faintly. "Indeed."

She checked Ludo's weight against her legs, adjusting the wrap of her thighs around him. Her fingers tightened back on the sword hilt.

"One!" she called, drawing a deep breath.

"Two!"

"Three!"

She released both blades.

For a terrifying instant, they dropped free-fall, the void rushing up beneath them. Then, the rope snapped taut, jerking hard under their weight.

Tariq grunted, pulling his hands over fist. The strain in the rope vibrated through Kaela's body, but slowly, steadily, they rose. Bound by chain, rope, and stubborn will.

And for all their weight, Tariq barely faltered. Strength ran deep in dwarven bones—and Tariq was no exception.

Finally, her hand scraped the stairs.

Tariq leaned down, gripping Ludo beneath the arms, hauling the unconscious elf up the last stretch with a grunt. Ludo's body crumpled safely onto the stairs.

Kaela followed, dragging herself over the edge, then collapsed flat on her back, limbs sprawled, chest heaving. She didn't move. Not even a twitch.

Tariq hovered over her, hands on his knees, shaking his head. "You're completely insane," he muttered, his breath still ragged. "I love that!"

Kaela let her eyes flutter shut, lips curling faintly into a worn, satisfied smirk. "I'm a Magi," she murmured. "They expect us to be… peculiar."

Ludo's eyes fluttered open, the dim light sharpening into the outline of wood beneath him. He blinked, the faint creak of the staircase beneath his back registering slowly.

"What… happened?" his voice rasped, confused.

Tariq's low chuckle answered first. The dwarf hoisted his bagpack onto his shoulder with an easy swing. "You took a little nap, Leafbone."

Kaela let out a dry, breathless laugh, brushing dust from her sleeves as she straightened. "You passed out," she added, matter-of-fact. "We almost fell."

Ludo's face flushed hot, the blood rushing to his cheeks. "I… passed out?"

Both of them turned to look at him until Tariq's mouth twitched into a grin.

"Like a damsel in distress," he teased, extending a calloused hand. "It was cute," Tariq added with a smirk as he hauled Ludo to his feet.

Kaela's smirk lingered just a beat longer.

The dwarf tightened the straps on his bagpack with a brisk tug. "Well, now that Sleeping Beauty's awake, let's see where this damned staircase wants to take us next."

The staircase wound endlessly upward, a tight spiral carved through stone. With each step, the air grew thinner, the walls closer, and the ache in their legs deeper.

Ludo rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the stiffness creeping down his spine. "Should we stop?" he asked, breathing a little short.

Tariq snorted without looking back. "What's the matter, princess? Need another nap?"

Kaela pressed a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking faintly with the effort not to laugh.

Ludo's jaw tightened. Since the moment he'd woken, every other word out of the dwarf's mouth had been a jab—light, sure, but enough to annoy.

He kept his head down, focusing on the steps beneath his boots. The muscles in his calves burned, but it wasn't the climb that made his chest feel tight.

It was the heat of shame creeping up his face, again.

Finally, they reached a broad wooden platform, the stone walls opening just enough to let them breathe.

Tariq was the first to break the quiet. He dropped his backpack with a grunt, turning to Kaela. "I think we should stop here. Eat, drink, maybe doze off. What do you say?"

He didn't even glance at Ludo.

Kaela stretched her arms overhead, her chains rattling softly. "I think you're right," she agreed, sinking cross-legged onto the floor. "We can take turns on watch?"

Ludo stayed quiet, adjusting his bow, feeling the weight of his silence like a second pack across his shoulders.

"You like jerky?" Tariq asked, already rummaging through his satchel as he passed her the cantrip of water.

"She's vegan," Ludo mumbled, finally setting down his gear. "Most fae are."

Tariq shot him a wide grin, jerky still clenched in his teeth. "Look at that! He speaks!"

Ludo gave a thin smile, sliding down onto the platform's edge. "You two can sleep. I'll take the first watch."

His voice stayed even, but inside, his chest prickled—half with guilt, half with the stubbornness of needing to prove something back.

Tariq shifted back toward Kaela, jerky in hand. "I've got nothing else to offer you, sweetheart," he said with a shrug. "Didn't know."

"It's fine." Kaela rested her arms lightly on her knees. "I'm used to long fasts."

Tariq raised an eyebrow. "Religious? Like the Leafbones?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Ludo without looking.

Kaela gave a soft huff, not quite a laugh. "It's more… a matter of respect. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a dwarf or an elf or anything like that. I see a fawn, a creature of the forest. And I just… can't imagine eating a piece of myself."

"Heard faeries eat other faeries," Tariq said.

Kaela tilted her head, unbothered. "Never seen it."

"Where there's smoke, there's usually fire." Tariq bit into his jerky, chewing thoughtfully. His gaze flicked toward Ludo. "You? Vegan too?"

"No," Ludo muttered, taking the water Kaela offered. "Just… not hungry."

Tariq tore off another chunk of jerky, speaking around it. "What's the deal with those bite marks, anyway, sweetheart? Somebody tried to eat you?"

Kaela's hand drifted absently over her arm, fingers brushing the faint scars. "Something like that," she said. "There are bad people everywhere, even the ones who smile at you. She was an officer during my first Trial… she was… bad."

"Glad they failed."Tariq paused mid-chew, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you kill them?"

"No…" Kaela's voice dropped low, her fingers absently tracing one of the old bite scars. "I heard she killed herself. Some sort of romance spat. I have a hard time believing she could love someone. But that is what we were told. She jumped from a cliff and turned to foam. She was a mere..."

She drew in a slow breath, eyes fixed on a distant point on the floor. "And I… I had a really hard time coping with what she did to us and her... doing things. So I ran. Not alone, with other girls. Ran from my first Trial, ran from the camp. I left like a coward, a little, stupid girl. And I left when my master needed us most. How ungrateful..."

Her shoulders tensed slightly, the words catching as she forced them out. "And when I finally came back, I had to sweat, bleed, fight just to be accepted again."

She trailed off, fingers curling faintly into her palms.

"But…"

Tariq leaned forward, jerky forgotten in his hand, his brow creasing in quiet curiosity. "But?"

"It eats at me," Kaela murmured, her voice so quiet Tariq almost missed it. Her fingers curled faintly into fists. "That I wasn't the one who killed her."

There was something in the way she said it, low, dark, edged with a bitterness that didn't match her soft voice.

Tariq stilled, his grin fading.

Ludo shifted slightly, catching the change in the air, though neither of them spoke.

Whatever story sat behind Kaela's quiet confession, it was clear: there was far more to it than she'd let slip.

And then—

A sound louder than the bite marks on Kaela's skin.

Click. Click.

That perverted click of a tongue, echoing through the hollow guts of the dead golem.

Kaela froze, her fingers curling instinctively around the chain at her hip.

Tariq's eyes darted up, jerky slipping from his hand, the humour draining from his face.

Ludo's breath caught in his throat. "It's getting closer."

Have I already spoken about Fae? I think I have. But after so many lectures, lexicons, and theses compiled over the decades—it's difficult to recall what I've actually documented and what I've merely meant to.

Which is ironic, really, considering I'm supposed to remember everything.

You know… the eye. My eye. The one that allegedly remembers it all.

Still learning how to use it. Anyway, to the matter:

We use the term halflings when referring to crossbreeds between humans and other blood-lineages. My textbook example is, of course, Magi Mediah and Saint Ulencia. (Yes, that's what they call her now. I'm far too tired to reinvent the wheel.)

By contrast, Fae refers to hybrid creatures born from unions between non-human lineages. Faun, faerie, orc-blooded, centaur-spliced—you name it. Their genealogical trees are less trees and more bramble: tangled, prickly, and entirely capable of drawing blood.

Naturally, we've lost most of the original genetic anchors. There are no clean bloodlines anymore for the old names—no "pure" faeries, orcs, or centaurs. Just scattered remnants and regional anomalies. Entire limbs of origin are cut from the archive without ceremony or footnote.

The most common Fae seen today are what we lazily label as fawns. Humanoid frame, antler nubs, soft noses, and those twitchy, deer-like ears that make academy students write terrible poetry. They usually hail from dense, old-growth forests and live in small, insular communities—fifty heads at most. Communal, ritualistic, and spiritually intimate. A logistical nightmare for census officials.

Over time—like everything—they've been pushed. Pushed from their woods by war, by winter, by policy, and by the slow, smothering greed.

Many assimilated into elven societies. Some converted to formal religion. A few even gave up raw eating in exchange for processed grain and social anxiety.

But despite all of that, I swear, if I live long enough to witness a Fae eating venison...

Well. Just don't. ——The Hexe - Book Three by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer