Chapter six
1531 Words
By the time Emily had regained herself once more to process the vial she had just taken.
The vial burned on the way down.
Not in the sharp, violent way Emily had expected, but in a slow, spreading warmth that settled deep in her stomach and then radiated outward, like heat seeping into frozen ground.
She barely had time to hand the empty glass back to Eleanor before her legs weakened slightly, not enough to make her fall, but enough that Arthur instinctively stepped closer.
Eleanor noticed. She noticed everything.
“That’s normal,” she said calmly, already turning away. “She’ll feel lightheaded, restless, maybe nauseous. No physical training tonight. She should rest, the potion is going to drain a lot of her energy, and she needs it, tonight is for her to make a connection with her kind. She will rest here.”
Arthur frowned. “Here?”
“Yes, you heard me right.” Eleanor replied without slowing. “Here.”
Arthur followed her a few steps, irritation surfacing despite his attempt to keep his voice respectful.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to spend the night out here. She’s not familiar with this place. She’s already been through…”
Eleanor stopped walking.
She turned slowly, fixing him with a look that carried no anger but also no patience.
“You brought her to me because you trust my judgment,” she said. “If you start questioning it now, then this arrangement ends tonight.”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. Emily watched the exchange silently, her fingers still tingling from the vial, her body humming in a way that felt unfamiliar, she felt as though she wanted to reap her skin off.
“She’s vulnerable,” Arthur tried again, softer. “Whatever that vial did to her, she doesn’t understand it yet.”
“That’s why she would be staying,” Eleanor said. “If something goes wrong, I’ll be here. If she leaves and collapses halfway back to your pack house, you won’t forgive yourself.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Fine. One night.”
He turned to Emily then, his expression gentler, steadying. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he said.
“Before training starts. I promise.”
Emily managed a small smile. “I know.”
He hesitated, then added, “And this doesn’t change where you belong. You’ll still be staying at the pack house. We’ll come here daily. You’re not moving out here permanently.”
Eleanor lifted a brow. “I didn’t say she was.”
Arthur looked at her pointedly. “I’m saying it anyway.”
After a moment, Eleanor inclined her head. “That’s acceptable.”
Arthur exhaled, relief flickering briefly across his face before he turned back to Emily. He squeezed her hand once, grounding her, then stepped away, leaving her alone with the woman who would soon become one of the most difficult parts of her life.
That night, rest did not come easily.
Emily lay on the narrow bed Eleanor had prepared, staring at the ceiling beams that caught faint moonlight through a small window.
Her body felt heavy, but her mind refused to slow down. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the visions she encountered when she first drank the potion and she felt that warmth again, spreading, pulsing, as though something inside her had been woken and was impatient.
She shifted, then sat up with a sigh.
“You won’t sleep, at least not easily.” Eleanor said from across the room.
Emily startled slightly. Eleanor sat at a small table, grinding dried herbs with precision. She hadn’t even looked up.
“No,” Emily admitted. “I don’t think I will.”
“That’s expected.” Eleanor continued working. “Your body is adjusting. Fighting it won’t help.”
Emily hesitated, then swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Did it ever feel like this for you?”
Eleanor paused. Just briefly.
“Not exactly, because I am not from your kind, but when I was taken in as a witch, yes,” she said. “Once.”
Emily took that as permission to speak. “When I was growing up, people used to look at me like I was dangerous even before they had a reason,” she said quietly. “Kids avoided me. Adults whispered. They didn’t know why they were afraid. They just were.”
Eleanor resumed grinding, listening.
“They’d say things,” Emily continued. “That I was cursed and that something was wrong with me. I learned early how to stay invisible despite my father being the Alpha of the pack. I had to make myself less noticeable.” Her voice wavered.
“I don’t want to scare my people. I want them to understand that what I can do could protect them. Help them. I just… I don’t know how to prove that yet.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t wipe the tears when they came. She didn’t want to pretend she wasn’t affected anymore.
Eleanor finally set the herbs aside. She turned fully toward Emily, studying her with an expression that had softened in a way few ever saw.
“Fear comes from ignorance my dear,” Eleanor said. “And ignorance doesn’t disappear overnight. Neither does power.”
Emily let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I wonder if they truly would be safer without me. Because I don't think I was doing anything.”
“They wouldn’t,” Eleanor replied firmly. “And neither would you.”
Emily swallowed hard, nodding. “I just want to learn properly. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Eleanor stood then, crossing the room and placing a hand briefly on Emily’s shoulder. It was an unfamiliar gesture, slightly awkward, but sincere.
“You will,” she said. “And when you do, they’ll see there was never anything to fear.”
Emily wiped her eyes, surprised by the warmth in Eleanor’s voice.
Later that night, Eleanor attempted a small lesson, nothing physical. She instructed Emily to sit, to breathe, to focus inward without reaching.
“Don’t grab at it,” Eleanor said. “Magic isn’t something you seize. It’s something you listen to, with subtlety.”
Emily closed her eyes, trying. The warmth stirred, restless, slipping through her awareness whenever she focused too hard.
“I can feel it when I push,” Emily said, frustration creeping in. “But when I stop, it’s like it disappears.”
“That’s because you’re used to surviving by force,” Eleanor replied. “You don’t trust stillness yet.”
Emily sighed, opening her eyes. “I don’t know how to not force things.”
“You’ll learn,” Eleanor said. “Or it will learn you.”
The morning came quietly.
Emily had slept only a couple of hours, her dreams tangled and vivid, but she rose when Eleanor did, her body sore in a way that suggested something deeper than muscle fatigue.
By the time the sun reached its peak, Arthur arrived, exactly as promised.
He looked relieved to see her standing.
“You alright?” he asked.
Emily nodded. “Yea I'm good, I'm a little tired, but overall I'm good.”
Eleanor wasted no time. “Then we begin.”
The training was nothing like Emily expected. No flames nor dramatic displays. Eleanor made her stand in the clearing, feet planted, hands open.
“Feel,” Eleanor instructed.
Emily closed her eyes again, brow furrowed.
Hours passed.
Arthur watched from a distance, concern growing as Emily’s frustration mounted. She tried again and again, reaching, restraining, breathing, failing.
Eleanor corrected her posture, her focus, her impatience, never softening her tone.
Arthur wanted to step in, perhaps to encourage her. To remind her to rest. But Eleanor’s warning glance kept him exactly where he was.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Eleanor snapped at one point. “Quiet yourself.”
“I’m trying,” Emily said through clenched teeth.
“Trying isn’t the same as listening.”
By midday, Emily was sweating profusely, panting even. She could no longer feel her legs and her vision began blurring at the edges.
Arthur called out, “Maybe she should take a break.”
Eleanor didn’t even look at him. “She stops when she learns something.”
Emily swayed, catching herself at the last second.
“I can do this,” she muttered, stubbornness flaring.
She reached again, harder this time, and pain lanced through her chest, sharp and immediate.
Her knees buckled.
Arthur moved instantly, but Eleanor was faster, gripping Emily’s arm and steadying her.
“That’s enough,” Eleanor said sharply.
Emily tried to laugh, breathless and dizzy. “Guess I pushed too hard.”
She collapsed fully then, consciousness slipping as the world tilted.
As Eleanor eased her to the ground, Arthur hovered, fear evident on his face.
Eleanor let out a weak chuckle, eyes half-closed.
“Power taken too fast will kill you,” she murmured, echoing her own earlier warning.
Eleanor’s expression was grim, but there was no surprise there. Only confirmation.
- Writer
