The old lady at the market had smiled so kindly, her wrinkled hands pressing an extra apple into Maera’s palm. “For the little one, Ms. Feld” she’d said.

  “Just call me Maera,” she’d replied, feeling a rare lightness in her chest.

  Maera pictured Noctis waiting by the oven, flour dusting his nose, eyes bright with impatience.

  She hummed softly as she walked the winding path home, the basket swinging lightly from her arm. The fruits inside—plump apples and berries still warm from the sun—bounced with each step, their sweet smell mixing with the earthy scent of the forest.

  The trees whispered around her, leaves rustling like gentle secrets. For a moment, the world felt soft, safe—like it could stay this way forever.

  Then the bell rang—deep, urgent—hammering through the branches.

  Maera froze, her hum dying in her throat. The basket slipped a little in her grip.

  People rushed past—adults clutching children’s hands, faces tight and pale. A woman hurried by, her skirt whipping in the wind, a boy stumbling to keep up.

  “What’s happening?” Maera called, her voice thin against the growing clamor.

  The woman glanced back, eyes wide. “Rounded ears! Normals!”

  The word hit. The basket slipped from numb fingers.

  Her breath caught as the basket tumbled from her hands. Apples rolled into the dirt, forgotten.

  Noctis.

  She ran.

  Her feet pounded the path, heart slamming in her chest. Branches scratched her arms, but she didn’t feel them.

  The house—get to the house.

  But then, on her right, through the trees: Noctis. Standing alone in the field, clutching his ball, hat crooked on his head. His small face looked up, confused, as villagers hurried away in the distance.

  Maera veered toward him, lungs burning. “Noctis!”

  She scooped him up, arms wrapping tight around his wriggling body. The ball thumped to the ground.

  “Mum, what is happening?” His voice was small, scared, his hands clutching her shirt.

  She didn’t answer—couldn’t. She just ran, carrying him toward the house, his weight heavy but so precious. The bell kept tolling, louder now, like it was chasing them.

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  Inside, she slammed the door, leaning against it as her breath came in gasps. Through the window, shadows moved—soldiers, far off but closing in. Their Veyrhounds snarled, tusks glinting, thick chests heaving as they sniffed the ground. More soldiers combed the woods on the other side, boots crunching leaves.

  Maera’s mind spun, thoughts crashing like waves. Her gaze flicked to the treeline—then to the shadows moving between trunks. Too many. Too close. The door—lock it. She slid the bolt home with shaking hands.

  Noctis stood there, eyes wide, ball forgotten outside. “Mum?”

  She knelt, pulling him close. His rounded ears peeked from under the hat, so innocent. Her heart twisted, a sob building in her throat.

  “Remember,” she whispered, cupping his face, “I love you so much. More than anything.”

  Noctis blinked, his lip trembling. “I love you too, Mum.”

  Tears blurred her vision, hot and stinging.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked, his small hand reaching up.

  She couldn’t say.

  Instead, she placed her hands on his ears—gentle, then firmer, as if afraid he might pull away.

  Her Essence stirred.

  Blue. Shaking. Unsteady.

  Noctis gasped as heat bloomed beneath her palms, sharp and sudden. “Mum—it hurts!”

  “I know,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear it over his own cry.

  The Essence surged.

  Warmth turned to fire.

  She felt it tear free from her—like blood drawn too fast from a wound—and her knees buckled as the light drained from her chest.

  At the same time, a deeper ache spread through her head. Her ears tingled. Burned. The pointed tips softened, rounding beneath the spell.

  Noctis’s pain faded first.

  He touched his ears, breath hitching. They felt wrong. Different.

  When he looked up, she was already sinking, her Essence dim and flickering, her ears no longer her own.

  “Noctis,” she said, voice breaking, “promise me. Say you don’t know me.”

  Her hands hovered over his ears for a heartbeat.

  He shook his head, tears starting.

  “I would never—”

  “Please!” Her hands gripped his shoulders. “If they think you’re mine… they’ll look closer. Say I took you. Say anything but the truth.”

  His face crumpled. “Promise…”

  The door exploded inward.

  Soldiers burst through, boots thudding on the floor.

  Maera grabbed Noctis, bolting for the window. Glass shattered as she leaped, but hands seized her mid-air, yanking her back. She hit the ground hard, pain exploding in her side.

  Noctis tumbled free, scrambling away.

  A soldier pinned her down, rough hands yanking her head to the side, checking her ears—now rounded, like a Normal’s. “Yup, she’s the one.”

  Another loomed over Noctis, shoving his hat off, fingers grabbing his chin to inspect him.

  “Pointed,” he grunted. “Clean.”

  Maera struggled, eyes locked on her boy. The soldier above her sneered, fist slamming into her stomach. Pain bloomed, breath vanishing. “Normal,” he spat, the glob landing warm on her cheek.

  Her vision swam, but she saw Noctis—crying, frozen, his new pointed ears catching the firelight—before darkness pulled her under.

  “Burn it,” the head soldier barked.

  Blue flames ignited in their palms, hurled at the walls. The house crackled, heat blooming fast.

  “What about the boy?”

  “Not our problem. Let him rot.”

  They dragged Maera away, her body limp.

  Noctis stood there, world blurring through tears. The house roared with fire, smoke stinging his eyes.

  Voices rose behind him—too many, too close.

  Noctis’s breath caught.

  For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move.

  He turned and ran—into the woods, sobs choking him. Branches whipped his face, snagged his clothes, and once he fell hard, hands scraping dirt, but he scrambled up and kept going. Alone. Lost. The world closing in dark and endless.

  His chest felt hollow where something should have been.

  Behind him, unseen in the shadows, a pair of eyes watched.