– ZORA, THE CAT WHO HUNTS HER OWN POWER
1163 Words
Their footsteps halted in front of a tiny house, swallowed by the shadow of dusk.
Its paint had peeled away, the windows tightly shut, and moss clung to the crevices of its walls. Wild grass had grown tall in the yard, as if even time itself refused to disturb the place.
Ozra crossed her arms, raising a brow as she surveyed the old building.
“You’re joking, right?”
Aren gave a faint, awkward smile. “For now ... yeah. You’ll stay here.”
Ozra turned her head with a protesting look. “Why can’t I just stay with you? You have a place, don’t you?”
Aren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look. “I live in the hunters’ dormitory now. All men. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be there.”
Ozra scoffed but kept her eyes on the shadowy house. “Why is it so far from the village? You are trying to hide me from everyone?”
That question wiped the smile off Aren’s face. His eyes grew distant, as if seeing something not present before them.
But he quickly turned away, gripping the wooden door that groaned under his hand as he pushed it open.
“This used to be my home before I moved to the hunters’ dorm,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Come on in.”
The moment they stepped inside, the scent of dust and old wood filled the air. Aren grabbed an old lantern from the wall, filled it with oil, and lit it.
A soft yellow glow warmed the empty room. Strangely, while the outside looked abandoned, the inside was clean—almost as if someone had been quietly taking care of it.
On the wooden table stood a nearly burned-out candle. Someone had once sat there, waiting for something—or someone—that never came.
“There’s a foldable mattress in this cabinet,” he said, pulling a thick roll of cloth from behind a creaky door. “Bathroom’s in the back. The water’s cold. Hope you can handle it.”
“Please. I used to bathe in freezing water at four in the morning. This is nothing.”
“Good, then.”
Ozra stayed silent, glaring at him as Aren walked to the door, ready to leave.
“I have to head back to HQ now. But don’t worry, I’ll come back first thing in the morning.”
She stepped forward and grabbed his arm.
“Wait. How am I supposed to monitor my power if we’re apart? What if you’re attacked or something happens—”
“I’ll be fine,” Aren cut her off gently but firmly. “I’ll start training harder. I know you probably don’t like staying here, but please hang in there until we find a way to restore your magic.”
Ozra fell silent, breathing out slowly. Then, reluctantly, she released his arm.
Aren looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “I forgot something. We need a new name for you.”
“What for?” Ozra raised a brow.
“The name Ozra is a dark legend. Everyone in this village knows the story. Do you really want to scare them all with the name of a traitor witch who destroyed a village five hundred years ago?”
Hearing that, Ozra’s expression darkened. “You’re right. No parent would want to name their child after someone who killed so many.”
Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper. But her fists clenched, and a flicker of old wounds passed through her eyes before she hid it again.
Of course, Aren couldn’t see the subtle shift in her gaze or the storm behind her mask.
Thinking for a moment, he began suggesting names for the woman before him.
“How about Amira? Sounds normal, but sweet.”
“No. I want something bolder. More mysterious.”
Aren chuckled softly. “Okay, how about Liora?”
Ozra made a fake gagging sound. “Too delicate. I’m no noble princess.”
“Then maybe Nara? Short and safe.”
“Why not Zora? At least it sounds close to my original name,” she said, eyes gleaming mischievously.
“Zora sounds like a cat’s name.”
“In that case, from now on, you can call me ... ‘Zora, the cat who hunts her own power.’”
Aren laughed and finally gave in to her choice.
“All right, Zora. But don’t blame me if someone shows up with a bowl of milk.”
Ozra shot him a sharp look, but couldn’t hold back a small laugh.
As Aren opened the door to leave, moonlight bathed his face.
He glanced at Ozra—Zora—and said, “Good night. Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Zora folded her arms, leaning against the doorway. “Don’t fall off your iron bed at HQ. Or my powers might spill out.”
They exchanged a long, silent look—then Aren left, leaving Ozra, now Zora, alone in a house that slowly began to feel alive again.
-=-
The dream came.
In the dim room, Zora twisted restlessly in her sleep.
Her breathing was uneven, body twitching as if running from something.
Sweat beaded her brow and temples, though the air was cold. The blanket barely clung to her, as if she had been tossing all night.
Her face was tense. Fingers clenched into the folds of the fabric beneath her.
From deep within her mind, the raw fragments assaulted her.
The sound of hurried footsteps behind her.
The ragged breaths of someone panicking.
Fire lit up the horizon, swallowing the silhouettes of trees.
Then, a hand reached toward her—but she never managed to grasp it.
["You are no savior! You are a symbol of ruin!"]
Somewhere else—far from the hard, cold mattress—in a quiet place abandoned by time...
The soil beneath the old altar where Zora had once been frozen began to tremble softly.
Dry grass stood upright as if stirred by an underground breeze.
A faint light shimmered. Then, it ignited—forming a circular golden sigil.
As if something within it had begun to awaken.
“No ... don’t ...” Zora murmured in her sleep.
With a sharp intake of breath, she awoke.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes were wide and glistening.
There was no scream—only a long exhale, like the sigh of someone holding back tears.
The real world had returned, but not completely.
The lantern, which had nearly gone out, now flickered gently—as if responding to something unseen.
She sat still, clutching the edge of the blanket.
The room was quiet, but not silent.
There was a strange feeling inside her—not just from the nightmare, but a kind of resonance.
“Something’s changed … and it’s not just from the dream,” she whispered.
- Writer
