Tangled in Magic

🕯️ 2 – THE LEGEND, OZRA

Aren awoke with a sharp gasp—panicked and incomplete, as if his lungs had only just remembered how to breathe after drowning.

His eyes flew open. His chest heaved upward, as if his body was rejecting the truth that he was still alive.

Dim light from the window reflected in his dark brown irises. He blinked. His skin was pale, as if drained of blood, and his facial features looked sharper than usual.

He sat up abruptly, cold sweat soaking his body.

"I'm... still alive?"

His right hand instinctively touched his chest. It had burned before, as though pierced by a fiery spear. But now, there was no wound.

Only smooth skin—no stab marks, no blood.

Just a faint warmth beneath the surface, as if something inside him was alive and breathing.

The sensation made his skin crawl. He stared at his hand, as if he could see through it.

His brow furrowed. “Was... it all just a dream?”

The door creaked open. A middle-aged healer entered, carrying a bowl of water and a warm cloth.

"Ah, you’re finally awake," he said. "You’ve been asleep for three full days, Aren. We thought you’d never wake up."

Aren stared at the man, his voice still hoarse. “Three days?!”

The healer nodded, checking his pulse. “Strangely, there’s not a single wound on your body. No bruises, no scratches, nothing. But your breath... it was barely there. As if your soul had wandered far away.” He looked closely at Aren. “What really happened to you in that forest?”

Aren paused. Vague images flashed across his mind: mist, an ancient altar, a statue of a woman with glowing eyes, and a blinding violet light. But it all felt distant, like a nightmare hovering at the edge of memory.

“I... I’m not sure,” he replied softly.

The healer sighed and stood. “Get some rest. Your body may be fine, but sometimes it’s the mind and soul that need healing.”

Once alone, Aren sat silently on the bed. The sound of birds outside the window felt unfamiliar. Everything felt... different.

He touched his chest again—and this time, he felt a faint pulse that didn’t belong to his heart. Like a spark of something asleep within him.

He stood. His legs were shaky, but something inside urged him to move. To find answers.

As his feet touched the village soil, the morning light greeted him. The air felt colder than usual.

A group of witch hunters he knew were chatting on the western square. One of them—a broad-shouldered man in a reddish-brown cloak—grinned at him.

"Aren! Heard you caught a witch the other day!" He slapped Aren’s shoulder hard. "Didn’t know you had it in you!" His laugh carried a mocking tone.

Aren turned to him, confused. "Caught... a witch?"

"Yeah, they said you were found at the old altar with an unconscious witch beside you. She’s in the royal dungeon now."

Aren stiffened. His voice caught in his throat. "She’s... alive?"

"Yup. Still breathing, though weak. Odd thing is, she hasn’t said a single word since being captured. You scared her mute, huh?" He laughed again, but Aren didn’t respond.

Something stirred inside Aren. A restless pull. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the statue’s glowing face appeared again—eyes alight, lips curled in a faint smile.

"The dungeon..." he whispered.

The sky above Velmira had turned gray when Aren entered the towering stone gate on the village’s western side.

He didn’t need a permit. The witch hunter emblem on his cloak was enough for the guards to bow and open the path.

Ancient stone steps led down into a damp corridor, heavy with the scent of iron, earth, and old magic lingering in the air. Torchlight flickered along the walls, casting long, solitary shadows.

Each step echoed, as if even time itself feared to move in this place.

The dungeon guard merely nodded as Aren passed. “Last cell,” he muttered.

Aren walked down the narrowing corridor, his heart beating steadily. Beyond the final bars, he saw her.

A woman hung limply, bound by enchanted chains suspending her hands above her head.

Her tattered clothes were ripped in places, and her long black hair spilled wildly over her face.

A gash marked her forehead, dried blood crusting her temple. Her wrists were red, nearly purple—too long in that position. Her feet barely touched the floor, as if her body no longer had the strength to support itself.

Yet despite her broken state, her face held an almost unreal beauty—sharp, closed eyes, a defined jawline, and an aura that defied words. Cold, yet captivating. Frightening, yet fragile.

Aren held his breath.

This... this wasn’t the witch he’d fought that night. The one who cast spells at him in the forest wasn’t her.

But he recognized her face.

The same face is carved into the glowing statue at the altar. The one that had stared at him like a deity awakened from an eternal slumber.

He stood motionless. The world felt silent. Slowly, he stepped closer, as if drawn by something unseen.

He reached out toward the bars, wanting to touch her, to prove this wasn’t a dream.

“Aargh!”

A jolt ran through him. Burning pain shot from his palm up his arm. Not a normal wound, but something responding—flaring from within.

He stared at his reddened hand. His chest pounded. His breath came faster as a strange force inside urged him to step back.

He knew the prison was sealed with a magic-suppressing sigil—an old enchantment from ancient Velmira meant to prevent anyone with magic from escaping.

But... should such a sigil react to a regular human with no magic?

He looked down at his pulsing palm. Then, a flash of violet light crossed his mind—

The glowing altar floor. The awakened statue.

For a moment, his chest throbbed with that same burning rhythm.

Then footsteps echoed nearby. Aren quickly masked his panic.

“Master Sio,” he greeted awkwardly.

A tall, broad-shouldered man approached, eyes sharp, cloak perfectly draped with the witch hunter insignia on his chest.

His gaze scanned Aren from head to toe.

“You wake up and come straight here?” he said flatly.

Aren nodded. “I needed to confirm something.” He glanced at the cell. “Is she really the witch I was hunting that night?”

“I should be asking you that. Don’t you remember? She was found next to you, unconscious. We assumed she was a witch, but after inspection, no trace of magic was found in her.”

Aren stared at the woman, his heart storming with confusion, fear, and a strange pity he couldn’t explain.

“She hasn’t said anything?”

Sio shook his head. “Not a single word. And that place... the old altar isn’t somewhere ordinary people stumble upon. Why were you even there, Aren? I’m just glad you made it back.”

Aren bit his lip. He still remembered the statue’s glowing eyes and the light creeping from the floor.

He looked down briefly at his trembling hand before speaking, soft but sharp,

“Master Sio... do you remember the legend of a witch named Ozra?”

The teacher raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. “Of course. The traitor witch from the Velmira era who vanished after the Great Magic War five centuries ago.”

“When I was a kid, I heard stories. Some say she was burned alive. Others say she drowned in the northern sea. Some even claim... she was cursed into stone.”

Master Sio chuckled dryly. “Children’s tales. That legend is over five hundred years old. No evidence, just myths passed down to scare the new generation.”

Aren turned back toward the cell, staring at the unconscious woman behind the bars.

Her face—so nearly identical to the statue at the altar.

“If... if that witch really existed, Master—” Aren whispered, “and if she really was turned to stone... could there be a way she could return to human form?”

Master Sio stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly and shook his head. “Impossible. You were unconscious for three days—your mind’s probably still clouded. Don’t get lost in old hallucinations.”

But even as Master Sio spoke, Aren felt a deep unease growing inside him.

He looked again at his reddened hand... and then at the woman behind the bars.

She wasn’t the witch he had chased that night.

But she was not an ordinary woman, either.

“Master... may I take her to the healer?” he asked quietly, but firmly. “She didn’t attack me. I don’t think she’s the witch I was meant to capture.”