The Herbalist

Shadows of the past

-Kaelith-

I felt… altered, as I wandered through the ancient forest of my youth. Each step stirred memories long buried, yet the weight of Iaraelyn’s words clung to me like a shadow, a poison I could neither purge nor ignore. My destined was weak, yet still, she was mine. If only I could find another Elf, someone who might illuminate the mysteries of what this bond entails. Alas, the only guidance I carried was that of my father’s, his voice but an echo from over two centuries past.

That thought turned my mind once more to her—my destined. So young, so untainted by the cruelties of this world. Her purity was striking, her innocence almost painful to behold. I seemed an ancient relic beside her, burdened with countless lifetimes of experience. Was it truly possible to forge such a bond between us? Could I anchor myself to one so fleeting, so mortal?

I returned to my quarters—my father’s modest cabin, nestled in the deepest reaches of the Kainuu forest, hidden within what mankind now names Finland. Untouched since his passing, I had preserved it as a sanctuary with an old spellweaver trick I’ve learnt, a retreat for moments of doubt—though such moments were rare for me. And yet, the events of late—the prophecy, the meeting with my destined—were no mere coincidences. I needed this solitude, this time to steady my thoughts.

The forest seemed to breathe around me, its ancient trees murmuring secrets I could not grasp. I had always felt a connection to forests, but this one… This one was different. It was home, and its roots ran as deep within me as my own bloodline. Perhaps, within its embrace, I might find some remnant of my mother—a trace of her wisdom to guide me. Could it be possible to bond with the fragile human, fulfill the prophecy, and then let her go?

“Kaelith? By the stars, is that truly you?” a voice called from behind me, sharp and laced with disbelief. “I cannot believe my eyes! You’ve not aged a day, you dirty scoundrel!”

I turned to face him, my lips curving into a faint smile. “Nor can I say the same of you, old rascal. It has, after all, been… what? Half a century since I last visited?”

The fae before me laughed heartily, his grizzled face weathered yet brimming with life. “Far too long! You must tell me of your wanderings and exploits. The world must have changed greatly since last we spoke. As for us, we do what we can to protect the forest, though mankind’s greed grows ever more insatiable.”

I grunted, my mood souring at the mention of humans. They were a plague upon this earth, a vermin I had spent lifetimes avoiding—and yet my destined was one of them. The thought alone was enough to embitter my spirit. This forest had been my refuge, but it was also a bitter reminder of my isolation, of my difference. I had outlived nearly three generations of faes—friends who had come and gone like the seasons. Would it be the same with her? Could I endure watching her wither and die?

I lingered with Eldrin, exchanging pleasantries before retreating into the cabin. To my surprise, the surroundings of the cabin had been kept in fair condition—likely thanks to the local faes, who revered its presence. I silently made a note to thank them.

Inside, I dug through my father’s belongings, hoping that, in all these years, I had overlooked some vital piece of knowledge. Yet, I found nothing of value. Frustrated, I turned to my own writings—records I had kept as a younger, more naïve version of myself. Flipping through the pages, I felt a bittersweet pang of nostalgia.

There, amongst my sketches, were my notes on the fae beasts—verdant stags, lichen foxes, and whispermane lynels. Creatures that once roamed the forests in abundance, their very existence tied to the magic of the land. I smiled faintly, recalling a time when the forests were denser, untouched by mankind’s hunger. But those times were long gone.

As I turned another page, my breath caught, and bitterness surged through me. It was a sketch of him—the source of my hatred for mankind. The man I once called a friend. The one who betrayed me. Sebastian.

His name tasted like ash on my tongue. Sebastian Morrel had not always been my enemy. Over a century and a half ago, he was a human—a brilliant, if cynical, scholar. We had bonded over a shared passion for rare herbs and the magical properties of plants. I had even believed him to be one of the few humans worthy of trust.

I first encountered him in the forest, studying the trail of a verdant stag. Those majestic creatures, with their moss-covered antlers and healing leaves, were sacred to our kind. At the time, I thought him merely curious, eager to learn. But as the seasons passed, his thirst for knowledge turned darker. He began questioning me incessantly about my lifespan, my connection to the beasts. He even consumed the stag’s leaves as a tonic, not for healing, but to prolong his own vitality.

I distanced myself from him, assuming his mortal years would pass and that would be the end of it. But I underestimated his greed—and his cunning. Unbeknownst to me, Sebastian had crossed paths with a vampire clan. His hunger for immortality led him to strike a bargain: my blood in exchange for eternal life.

The next time we met, Sebastian claimed he had urgent information to share. Foolishly, I trusted him. But it was an ambush. I found myself surrounded by vampires—an entire coven, their leader watching from the shadows with Sebastian by his side. Outnumbered five to one and stunned by this betrayal, I fought as best I could, managing to slay two before escaping through a portal.

I bore wounds from that battle—scars both physical and unseen. The betrayal was a deep and festering wound, and from that day forward, I swore never to trust another human. Sebastian, now a vampire, had abandoned his humanity in exchange for immortality, and in doing so, he had shattered what little faith I had in his kind. Vampires, too, earned my loathing—a loathing that burned as fiercely as the memory of that cursed name.

But, fortunately, I had come to understand that no vampire could ever take me unawares. I could sense the plume of their magic, a telltale sign of their teleportation, a sensation that seemed uniquely mine. None among the fae shared this ability; thus, I could only conclude it stemmed from my Elven lineage. It was a strange comfort to know that no creature of shadow could surprise me. And yet, it often reminded me of the gulf between myself and others of my kind.

Magic, as I’d observed over centuries, was a gift rare even among the supernatural. Among those who wielded it were only three: Elves, Vampires, and Witches. Fae such as Eldrin could never dream of such powers, though their connection to the natural world was unparalleled in its own way.

As for vampires, their ilk had largely abandoned these forests. Nowadays, they skulked in cities and towns, prowling dim alleys and preying upon human revelers too lost in their nocturnal pursuits to notice death in their midst. The cleverest among them knew to keep to the shadows, lest they rouse human suspicion.

The last vampire I encountered was some sixty years ago—a newborn, drenched in self-loathing and unable to reconcile his new existence. I pitied the poor creature. For mercy’s sake, I cast a deep slumber over him and opened a portal to the frigid waters of the Antarctic. He would sleep an eternal sleep beneath those icy depths, and if perchance that did not take his life, then the bitter cold would preserve him until the end of days.

I had lost myself in these memories, poring over the old texts and notes until the deepening shadows marked the passage of time. It was only when Eldrin’s voice carried through the evening air that I realized several hours had passed.

“Oi, old rascal! Quit hiding in that cabin of yours and come to supper like a proper friend. I’ve got some of that special brew left over from the last Moondance Festival, and it’s about time you met Astrid!” Eldrin called with a hearty laugh.

Eldrin, ever the jovial guardian of this forest, was a fae of good heart and sturdy spirit. He was trusted by all the nearby clans, his name whispered with respect by those who passed through these woods. If anyone had heard of any unusual happenings at the last festival, it would be him.

With a faint smile, I stepped out of the cabin and nodded. “I accept your invitation, Eldrin. It will be a pleasure to make the acquaintance of your better half.”

Astrid was a warm and capable woman, with an easy grace that bespoke her deep bond with the forest. Over a simple but hearty meal, we shared tales of our respective adventures. I had not realized how much I missed such humble fare during my long sojourn in the Amazonian wilds.

It was during this exchange that Astrid mentioned something that caught my attention. She spoke of troubling news whispered among their kin—news that a timekeeper had been appointed.

The timekeepers were rare indeed, their role granted only by the Goddess to fae of impeccable wisdom and unwavering dedication to the greater good. Such an appointment was, in itself, a marvel, for no new timekeeper had been named in centuries. But it was what the timekeeper foretold that gave me pause.

“She spoke of an ancient prophecy,” Astrid explained, her voice low, as though reluctant to give the words more weight than they deserved. “A prophecy of a great evil rising, one that comes but once in a thousand years. And he claimed that this evil could only be defeated by three witches, chosen by the Goddesses herself.”

Astrid shook her head, dismissing the notion as fanciful. “It cannot be true, of course. No witch has been seen in centuries, not since the Cull. To speak of three is folly. The timekeeper must have been mistaken, or the Goddesses have chosen poorly.”

But her words lingered in my mind long after the meal had ended. My destined was a witch—I knew it in the very core of my being. Her awakening had begun during our encounter, though she had not yet realized the depths of her power.

And yet, as I thought of her, I could not help but feel doubt. How could such a fragile, untested creature stand against a great evil? I would need to train her—harden her in body and spirit. If this prophecy were true, then the girl would need to become something far greater than she was now. And I would see to it that she did.