The old woman sat down slowly on the wooden stool beside me. She didn’t speak for a long time. The only sound in the hut was the fire crackling outside and the faint whistle of wind through the cracks in the wall. I could feel her eyes on me, heavy and knowing. I swallowed, waiting.
Finally, she cleared her throat softly.
"I suppose," she said, "I should introduce myself first."
I tilted my head, watching her carefully. Her voice had changed; it was softer now, almost sad.
"My name is Lira," she said, her gaze steady.
I repeated it in my mind. Lira. It sounded old, like a name from the stories my father used to tell before bedtime.
"Lira," I said out loud, testing it on my tongue. "That’s... a nice name, I guess."
She smiled faintly, but there was no joy in it. "Thank you, child. It is an old name. Older than this forest, older than the stones we walk on."
I frowned, not knowing what to say. "So, Lira... Tell me about my parents."
"Yes," she said simply.
She looked at me again, and I noticed her eyes were wet. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled instead.
"You look exactly like her," she whispered.
My heart skipped. I blinked fast, unsure I’d heard her right. "Like who?" I asked quickly.
"Your mother," she said softly, her voice breaking as the words left her lips. "Every line of your face, every curve of your smile... It’s as if she’s sitting right here before me again."
I froze. The world seemed to go still. Even the wind outside the hut stopped howling, as though it wanted to listen too. "My... mother?" I repeated in a whisper the word strange and heavy on my tongue.
Lira nodded slowly. Her hands trembled as she set her wooden spoon down, and for a long moment, she just stared at me. I could see her eyes glistening in the dim light of the fire. "Her name was Silva," she said finally, her voice thin and fragile like cracked glass.
The name struck me like thunder. Silva.
I had never heard it before. Not once.
"Silva?" I whispered, the sound barely leaving my lips. I tried again, my voice a little steadier. "Silva."
I said it once more, louder this time. "Silva."
The name rolled off my tongue like a melody I didn’t remember learning. It felt both new and old at the same time, like it belonged to me in a way I couldn’t explain. My chest tightened, and I felt warmth sting my eyes.
"That’s..." I swallowed hard. "That’s really a nice name."
Lira smiled weakly, brushing away a tear with the back of her hand. "I gave her that name," she said.
My eyes widened. "You what?"
"I gave her that name," she repeated, her gaze distant now as if she were staring into a memory. "Your mother was born in this forest. Right here, in this very hut. She was the brightest child I had ever seen. Her laughter could call birds from the trees. Everyone loved her."
I felt a lump in my throat. "You knew her?"
"Knew her?" Lira laughed softly, a sad sound. "Child, I raised her. I was her teacher, her guardian, her guide."
I stared at her, speechless. "You mean... she lived here? In this place?"
Lira nodded slowly. "For many years."
I looked around the small hut again. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so strange anymore. My hands brushed against the old wooden table beside me. "So she sat here?" I asked quietly. "She... slept here?"
"Yes," Lira said, smiling faintly. "This was her home before the world outside us took her away."
I bit my lip, a strange ache rising in my chest. Her home? I looked around again at the hut, the rough walls, the small table, and the smell of herbs and smoke. It didn’t look like any place someone would want to stay. But the way Lira said it... It sounded sacred, broken hut once held something precious.
"She left?" I asked quietly.
Lira’s eyes softened, but her smile faded. "She died," she said softly.
The words hit me like a slap. I blinked fast, hoping I had heard her wrong. "She... what?"
"She died, child," Lira repeated, her voice low and heavy with sorrow.
I felt my heart drop. "No," I whispered. "You can’t be serious. I never even knew her... I never..." My words broke, and I looked away, biting hard on my lower lip.
Lira nodded slowly, her gaze distant, like she was seeing something far away. "Your mother was special, Lisa. She carried a power unlike any I had ever seen. Even as a child, she could move the wind with her hands and heal the sick with a touch."
I stared at her, frozen. "What are you talking about? That’s not possible."
Lira smiled sadly. "It frightened people," she went on. "But it also drew many who wanted to use her, Alphas in armor, healers who called her a curse, and witches who saw her as a gift."
I shook my head, confused. "Power? What kind of power are you talking about?"
Lira looked at me then, her eyes shining like dark glass. "You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?" Googlᴇ search NoveI(F)ire.net
My heart skipped. "Felt what?"
"The warmth in your palms when you’re angry," she said softly. "The way things move when you lose control. The wind that bends around you when you’re frightened. And that pendant on your wrist, it glows when your heart stirs, doesn’t it? And the crescent tattoo on your chest says it all."
My mouth fell open. She was describing me exactly.
"I..." My voice trembled. "I thought something was wrong with me. I thought I was cursed."
Lira chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Not cursed, child," she said. "Blessed."
"Blessed?" I repeated in disbelief.
"Yes," she said with quiet pride. "You are one of us."
I stared at her, confused and afraid. "One of... you?"
She nodded, leaning closer. Her eyes glimmered with a strange kind of light. "Yes, Lisa. You are a witch."
For a moment, everything inside me stopped. The fire crackled outside, the air seemed to thicken, and all I could hear was the pounding of my heart.
"A... witch?" I said slowly. The word felt strange in my mouth. "No. No, that can’t be true."
"It is," Lira said simply, watching me closely.
I shook my head quickly. "No. Witches aren’t real. They’re stories. Old lies to scare people."