Excellent news, everyone! My test results came back, and they were negative. I am COVID free! My doctor believes it was a very bad chest cold, which, given that I have severe asthma, would put me out of commission for awhile.

I'm back to work now, and that means that I finally have enough energy to get back to posting this fic and my other ones! I'm excited to post the next chapters of this fic, and I hope that you all enjoy it!


CHAPTER THREE


The sun had risen to the middle of the sky by the time Shion returned to his cabin.

Dirt sat beneath his nails, a testament to the success of his harvest. His chest buzzed with a mixture of warmth and excitement as he thought about the bounty of charms he could weave with the flowers and moss he'd gathered.

The world around him bled with bright greens and pale browns as Shion stepped into the protective comfort of his garden and closed the tiny gate behind him. He didn't bother to latch it; it didn't matter. He never worried about intruders; his charms warded off greedy fingers and mouths, and the rumors about his witchcraft kept the villagers of Kronos away.

Shion swept into his cabin and clicked the heavy door shut behind him. It was like striding into a new world—the air beyond the security of his cabin was crisp and cool with the approach of winter, but in the charm-infused comfort of Shion's home, the scents of spring lingered eternally. He smiled up at the little bees that flitted away from the delicate blossoms and into their hive.

He removed his cloak and hung it from the small hook on the back of his door. Shion clapped his hands together, eager to get started on his charms.

When winter came, the world beyond would be blanketed in thick snow, and Shion would have to keep his windows blocked with massive curtains. The several villagers brave enough to venture outside in the frigid cold were a risk to his way of life; if the wrong set of eyes happened to peer through his window and spot the spring flowers and warmth beyond, Shion's reputation as a witch would gain validity.

He'd survived several winters in Kronos without getting caught. Even so, Shion knew better than to let his guard down. He'd been dragged to the church too many times to feel completely safe.

A single slip-up could cost him his life.

He took a calming breath. There would be plenty of time to worry about the other villagers and their possible punishments later. For now, he had a hefty amount of work ahead of him.

Shion set to work weaving the flower stalks and moss into charms to keep the warmth within his home. His fingers worked swiftly, shaping the smooth, delicate stalks into loops that interlocked. The tiny buds added splashes of color—blues and dark purples and whites—among the sea of green and brown, and the soft blossoms would add tiny snippets of spring warmth to the air within his cabin once he hung them on the walls and suspended them in the windows.

It was easy work, in a sense, but time-consuming. Each charm held only a small amount of power. To warm his cabin for the duration of winter, without needing to light a fire for anything other than cooking, Shion would need to weave enough charms to completely decorate the walls of the cabin. The stray sunlight that hit the blossoms would react to the combination of natural elements, touched with hints of Shion's magic, and release their energy.

For a couple of the charms, Shion would add an additional touch of magic to grant them luminescence. When the sun went down and the world plunged into darkness, a peppering of the blossoms would light up, lighting Shion's cabin up enough for him to see comfortably.

The gentle lights made it easy enough to sleep. As if they sensed when Shion slept and relaxed, the lights would dim just enough to cast a pretty glow of whites and blues across the wooden furniture. He supposed it made sense—Shion's magic wove into the flowers, therefore connecting him to their light.

The charms would survive through winter, and then Shion would have to let them go. The energy sources weren't eternal. Shion could only suspend the decaying process, but not halt it entirely. During the first days of spring, Shion gathered the weakened charms, brought them to the middle of the forest, and unwound them, whispering his thanks and releasing the magic as he did so. He chose not to drop the clumps in the middle of the forests still bound, worried that someone would find the charms and recognize them for what they were.

Shion pressed his lips together as he worked.

The Mao might have recognized the charms for what they were. Shion had been fortunate enough not to cross paths with any of the Mao. He'd heard the rumors and the stories from the villagers whenever he ventured into Kronos to attend church; he didn't know if he should believe them, since the villagers enjoyed their gossip, but he couldn't deny that the stories frightened him.

Shion had a bit of magical knowledge—enough to work charms, protect his crops, and warm his cottage—but it was nothing compared to what the Mao could do. In the tales, the Mao were connected to the old gods in strange ways. Some said that the Mao had originated from the old gods, brought into the world with divine and wicked blood in their veins. While Shion could manipulate magic, the Mao could produce it. The stories claimed the Mao breathed magic; it coursed through their veins as surely as blood.

If the stories were true, then Shion was fortunate he'd never crossed paths with one.

He set aside a charm—a pile had steadily formed beside him, the work mechanic and second-nature to him by this point—and swallowed a swell of guilt. He felt bad for his fear of the Mao. Shion had never met one, so he had no proof that they were dangerous.

Fearing them was no different than the villagers of Kronos assuming he was evil because they believed he dabbled with witchcraft. He did utilize magic, but Shion had never dreamed of harming someone with it. He didn't even know how he could accomplish it if he wanted to! He'd never bothered to investigate blood magic, and the thought of cursing someone made him sick to his stomach.

Shion closed his eyes and shoved the thoughts aside. It bothered him, and he had work to do.

He didn't need to worry about it now.

By the time Shion finished weaving the charms, the sun had made a deep swing across the sky. Not quite twilight, but sometime shortly before. The darkness would come sooner than anticipated—the approach of winter always caught Shion off guard, when the sky darkened earlier than he'd believed it might.

He exhaled, pleased with his work, and rose from the ground. His spine popped as he stretched; Shion groaned, his limbs stiff and sore. He extended his fingers, working out the tension that came from hours of weaving charms.

Shion strode across the room, over to the windows. When winter fell and the charms were hung, Shion would hang the thick black drapes up and completely block out any views into his cottage. It had never caused him any issues. The villagers from Kronos didn't like venturing out in the blistering cold, aside to attend church, but in the rare event someone did wander toward Shion's cabin, seeing the black drapes over the windows didn't raise any alarms. Most of them assumed the curtains were to keep the warmth inside.

His stomach growled, and Shion realized it was time for some dinner.

He'd made himself a quick breakfast before the sun rose that morning, before he'd bundled up and headed out into the forests. Shion gathered some of the herbs he'd plucked from the forest floor and set to work cleaning them. He had a bucket of water near the front door that he'd gathered earlier. Once he used it, he'd pour the contents onto his crops.

For Shion, today was just like every other.

Until it wasn't.

As he turned with the bucket of water, silty from cleaning the herbs and vegetables he'd set aside for soup, Shion spotted someone standing outside his fence.

His throat went dry.

He couldn't tell if the person standing just beyond his fence was a man or a woman—or if they were even human. They stood, shadowed against the glow of the lowering sun, dressed in a dark cloak with a heavy hood that concealed their face from view. Slung over their shoulder was a large wooden bow, delicately etched with symbols Shion only vaguely recognized. Alongside the bow was a quiver packed with arrows; Shion didn't need to see the tips to know they were crafted of stone, and likely poisoned.

Shion stood by the curtains, his blood chilling.

He'd never encountered a member of the Mao tribe before.

He didn't know how he knew this stranger belonged to the Mao tribe—but it seemed to click the moment Shion laid eyes on them. Shion stared out the window, the bucket of water growing heavier in his hands.

And then the stranger lifted their head, and a pair of silver eyes flashed out from the darkness.


To Be Continued...