Silence stretched again in Makeh’s hut, thick and uneasy. The fire crackled softly behind her, light dancing across the walls, catching on strange symbols etched into the old stone.
Darius sat stiffly on one of the chairs, posture too formal for a place that slled of herbs and simring broth. But he was the one who finally broke the quiet.
"The ones outside," he said slowly, nodding toward the entrance. "The small ones. Who—or what—are they?"
Ah. The quafars.
Makeh glanced toward the entrance as if she could see through the walls. Her lips curved into sothing not quite a smile.
"I told Sage this once," she said. "But perhaps it’s ti soone else knew."
At least she deigned to call Sage. Maybe not to ruffle my feathers any more than was necessary?
She rose and stirred the pot with a long wooden ladle, movents steady and slow, like she wasn’t about to unravel so secret.
And why was she stirring the pot? It was just soup that was there! But then, one can never know with Makeh. Maybe she was just nervous... maybe she just needed to move her hands.
I laughed at the thought in the sa vein. Makeh? Nervous? As if!
"I found them during one of my wanderings," she began. "Long after the massacre of the ancients. I had fled into lands even humans did not touch. Wild lands, places where magic pooled like stagnant water. That was where I found the quafars."
She hadn’t told that. What place did magic pool like stagnant water? I scoffed inwardly. So much for eternity being a curse. There were many places to explore!
"Found?" Darius echoed. "You make them sound abandoned."
"They were," Makeh said softly. "Lost. Scattered. Forgotten."
I frowned. This was new too.
She continued, "They are not born like other beings. Not truly. They erge where magic fractures. Where worlds brush against one another. Their bodies are small, yes—but their souls are old."
Darius leaned forward now, attention fully caught.
"They grew attached to ," Makeh said quietly. "Or maybe I grew attached to them. When I took them in, when I protected them, found purpose with them... the goddess returned."
Her voice dropped. "She had abandoned after I ran from my destiny. But caring for the quafars... that act of rcy earned hers."
My lips twitched. Of course. Useless until found useful again. The goddess was a shrewd business woman through and through.
"The quafars are her eyes in the mortal realm," Makeh continued, ignorant of my thoughts. "ssengers. Witnesses. And soldiers, when need be."
My head snapped up then. "Soldiers?"
Makeh nodded. "They do not outgrow certain forms, but they can change shapes. Blend in. Appear human when necessary. Invisible when not."
That didn’t comfort . At all.
She went on like she was listing weather patterns instead of divine war tactics.
"In the war of black sand," she murmured, "they walked as dics. In the ash uprising, they were spies. In the burning crown rebellion, they were the ones who smuggled children out of siege zones through sewer tunnels."
Darius inhaled sharply.
I just stared at her.
"You’re saying," I said slowly, "those little... things have been in human wars?"
Makeh’s eyes t mine. "Every major war has unseen participants, Sage. The quafars have stood where armies fell."
My stomach churned. "For centuries?"
"Yes."
Darius ran a hand down his face. "That is... impossible."
Makeh tilted her head at him. "Is it?"
He had no answer to that.
Neither did I.
Goddess-assigned operatives in children-sized bodies.
I didn’t know whether to laugh, or be sober.
Instead, I asked the question that had been gnawing at since the mont he walked out.
"The boy," I said sharply. "The one who pretends I don’t exist."
Makeh stilled.
The ladle paused above the pot.
"You know who I an," I pressed. "He smiles at everyone. Even you. But not . Not once."
Darius glanced at . "I noticed."
Makeh sighed.
And in that mont, I knew the answer would not be sothing I liked.
"He resents you," she said quietly.
I laughed in disbelief. "Resents ? For what? Existing?"
Makeh turned to face fully. "For refusing to be what you were born to be."
My blood ran cold.
"He knows," she continued, "that you could change everything. That you could open the path that would spare lives... like his."
I froze. "His?"
"He is not human," she said gently. "At least, not purely."
What?
Makeh t my eyes. "He was born with old magic. A fractured kind. Dark. Untad. Dangerous if left unchecked."
"You an like mine?"
She shook her head. "No. His is not like yours. Yours is chosen. His is... cursed."
That single word sat heavier than anything else she’d said.
"He cannot grow into it safely," she went on. "The world does not understand power like his. If he stays on the surface unchecked, they will destroy him. Either out of fear... or fascination."
I swallowed.
Makeh looked at carefully. "If you walk the path you were made for, the world changes. Even for soone like him..."
I didn’t like where this was going.
"The world learns to accept magic that doesn’t fit its boxes," she continued. "Children like him are no longer hunted. Power is no longer feared simply because it is unfamiliar."
I clenched my fists. "I didn’t ask to carry the world."
"I know," she said softly.
"I didn’t ask to be chosen. Or cursed. Or assigned a cosmic mission like so god’s favorite mistake."
Her eyes softened. That infuriated more.
"I just want," I continued, voice tightening, "to finish one thing. Just one."
Makeh studied . "And your ’one thing is revenge."
I didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.
"Steer clear of the vampires," she said plainly. "Stop working with them."
I kept silent.
But she wouldn’t stop.
"Sage, there are paths that lead out of darkness," she said, "and there are paths that feed it."
Her voice dropped. "You are feeding it."
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