Unrepentant

Miranda stared at a parchment in her hand, her thoughts whirling as she read the message scrawled across it. The elegant script was almost incongruous with the bizarre events that had just unfolded in her boutique. The adrenaline that had fueled her earlier had subsided, leaving her drained but alert. The parchment crinkled slightly as she gripped it, the only sound in the stillness of the room.

She couldn’t help but replay the sequence of events in her mind before focusing on it.

The two intruders had been dealt with rather swiftly, their threat neutralized. But the real surprise had come from the crow that had appeared in front of her as she stood over the bodies.

He had landed before her with a grace that seemed almost regal, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her pause. He had bowed with great flourish, a gesture so peculiar and refined that it caught her completely off guard. His wing had then risen in a silent command, urging her to stay her hand and wait.

She had watched, baffled, as Nyx reached into one of the pockets on his sash and produced a small vial filled with a clear liquid. With a swift motion, he uncorked it and allowed a few drops to fall onto the remains of the intruders. To her astonishment, the bodies began to dissolve immediately, their forms breaking down into an amber-colored paste that bubbled and frothed before settling into an inert mass.

Before she could fully process what was happening, Nyx had darted behind the counter, his movements quick and strangely showy.

Miranda’s thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and curiosity, but she remained still, intrigued by this strange creature that seemed to be helping her. In a flash, Nyx reappeared, dragging a stool behind him. He positioned it directly behind her, his actions conveying a level of concern that seemed oddly out of place for a crow.

"A familiar!?" the thought had screamed through her mind. The idea seemed absurd, yet as she observed Nyx's behavior, it was the only conclusion that made any sense.

He was silent, his actions speaking louder than words as he brought his wings together, creating a shadowy web between them.

Nyx began to circle her, his wings moving in fluid motions that left trails of shadow in their wake. To her amazement, the shadows coalesced into something resembling fabric, forming a robe that wrapped around her with a perfect fit.

The robe was neither too tight nor too loose, covering her torn dress with a modesty that was both comforting and disconcerting. The transformation was seamless, her once disheveled appearance now concealed by a garment that seemed even more luxurious then her previous one.

Nyx’s touch was gentle as he guided her onto the stool, his wings pressing lightly against her shoulders as he urged her to sit.

She complied, her body moving almost on instinct as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The crow then landed in her lap, his beady eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment before he dropped the parchment into her hands and hopped off, returning to his work with an air of practiced efficiency.

Miranda’s attention was drawn to the parchment, bringing her back from her recollection and she began to read, her eyes scanning the neatly written text.

The first line instructed her to drink a small healing potion that had been placed on her shoulder. Bewildered, she reached up and found the vial, the cool glass pressing against her fingers. How had it gotten there without her noticing?

The thought was fleeting as she uncorked the vial and drank its contents, feeling an immediate wave of relief wash over her as the potion healed her nearly severed tongue.

A warm trickle of blood pooled in her mouth, the last remnants of her injury, and she wiped it away absently as it spilled down her neckline. The crimson streak stood out starkly against her skin, tracing a path down her chest.

Nyx, who had been busy cleaning up the remains of the intruders, paused in his work as he noticed. A visible shudder ran through his tail feathers, a reaction that was as subtle as it was telling.

As she continued reading, Miranda was taken aback by what she saw next. The crow, this curious and charming creature, introduced himself as Nyx in the following lines. The introduction was followed by a surprisingly formal apology, expressing his regret for intruding on her evening and hinting at a sense of obligation to make amends for a most unbecoming robbery. The words were elegant, almost playful, and conveyed a charm that was completely unexpected from a… bird.

Miranda’s lips twitched into a faint smile as she considered the absurdity of the situation.

Silas took the parchment from Selen and carefully examined the drawing of the tree on a river, its intricate lines and details catching his attention. His first thought was ''She is wasting time when she could be studying…''.

The image was striking, with the tree's roots reaching deep into the flowing water, almost as if it was alive in its own right. Without a word, he picked up a quill and, with deliberate care to his penmanship, wrote the word for tree in Korr'av-el beneath the drawing. His script was smooth, the characters fluid and precise.

Selen’s response was less appreciative. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed his writing, and with a subtle roll of her eyes, she turned back to her desk. She resumed studying the alphabet he had painstakingly drawn for her earlier, her fingers tracing the symbols as she tried to commit them to memory.

Silas couldn’t help but feel a flicker of irritation at her dismissive reaction.

Zinnia, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her spot beside the bed, broke the silence with a burst of laughter. "Serves your secret-keeping ass right," she quipped, her voice laced with amusement. "How's it feel being asked random questions and getting nothing in return?"

Silas’s expression hardened slightly as he stood up from the bed. His movement was sudden, causing Zinnia to flinch.

The smirk that had been playing on her lips quickly vanished, replaced by a look of uncertainty. "It was just a joke, come on," she added hastily, backtracking in an attempt to defuse the tension.

Ignoring her attempt at reconciliation, Silas crossed the room to where Selen sat, his presence overwhelming to Zinnia's eyes.

He moved in closer, his hand reaching for the ink and quill beside her, startling Selen slightly with his proximity. She hesitated, her hand pausing over the parchment as she glanced up at him. Without a word, he began writing once more, his expression carefully neutral, perhaps masking the irritation still simmering beneath the surface.

He wrote the symbols for the word "explain," then looked down at Selen with a smile that was meant to seem good-natured, though it didn’t entirely reach his eyes. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence thick as Selen stared at the symbols, her mind working to process his request.

After a moment of contemplation, Selen nodded. She took the quill from him and began writing, her strokes measured and deliberate.

Several paragraphs in Korr'av-el appeared on the parchment, each line conveying a fragment of the memory she was trying to share. She detailed that this tree was the last thing she remembered seeing before waking up in this place. Her hand moved steadily as she described the scene, her words forming a vivid picture of the tree standing tall by the river, its roots intertwined with the water, as if it had saved her from something sinister.

When she finished, Selen looked up at Silas, her eyes wide and innocent. She waved him away, a gesture that seemed almost dismissive, but Silas knew it was because she understood it would take him some time to fully decipher her meaning. He took the parchment from her and turned away, his mind already focused on the task at hand.

Zinnia, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smirk, couldn’t resist making a comment. "She's about to have a bad time annoying him like that," she muttered, her tone laced with amusement.

He returned to the bed, sitting down beside Zinnia, his attention already shifting to the letters on the parchment. His focus was intense, the rest of the room fading into the background as he began to decipher the writing.

Zinnia’s smirk slowly faded as she observed him, replaced by a frown that reflected her growing frustration. "What's with the difference in treatment?!" she asked, her voice tinged with bitterness.

It wasn’t like Silas to be so gentle with someone from her experience, and the contrast in his behavior towards Selen irked her.

Silas didn’t look up from the parchment as he replied, his tone calm and measured. "Selen has something I need. You only have something you need from me." His words were blunt, cutting through the air with an unspoken finality.

Zinnia bristled at his response, her hands curling into fists as she made a series of rude gestures in his direction. "It's not my fault," she retorted, her voice rising slightly. "You're the one making me tag along!"

Silas didn’t bother responding to her quips, his focus entirely on the task before him. The symbols on the parchment began to take shape in his mind, the headache that had been forming at the back of his skull growing more intense with each passing moment. But he pushed through it, determined to understand the message Selen had written.

As he worked through the text, the meaning slowly became clear. The drawing of the tree on the river—it was from a dream. The last thing she remembered seeing before waking up in this place was the tree, standing tall by the river.

She had written that she fell asleep in her bed, only to experience a nightmare that felt disturbingly real.

In the dream, something had been chasing her, something that filled her with a sense of impending doom. At the last moment, the tree had appeared, saving her from whatever was pursuing her.

She had eaten one of its fruits, and then she woke up here, in this strange place, with no explanation of how she had arrived.

Silas felt a deep sense of intrigue as he pieced together her account. The connection between her dream and the ancient language of Korr'av-el was more than likely connected, and it raised more questions than answers.

As he mulled over the implications, Zinnia shifted beside him, her earlier irritation giving way to curiosity.

Silas finally looked up from the parchment, stabbing a needle into Zinnia's jaw, causing her to tumble to the ground paralyzed.

The concept of overkill was lost on him.