Isabella opened her eyes slowly as she lowered her arms from her face. She blinked, her eyes wide as she searched for Alaric. But instead, they found Samael.
He lay still. Too still. The healers' frantic movements around him seemed distant, muffled, as though the world had been wrapped in cotton. Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She didn't understand—she couldn't understand. Just moments ago, Samael had been towering over her, his shadow swallowing her tiny frame, his blade raised. And now…
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She pressed her hands to her chest, feeling the thrum of her own heartbeat, wild and terrified. "I… I didn't mean…" The words were whispers, fragile as glass.
Alaric struggled to his feet; his eyes filled with both awe and horror. He reached for her, but Isabella stumbled back, shaking her head violently. "No! I didn't want this!" Her voice cracked, high and broken, the cry of a child who had never known the weight of death.
The healers' faces told her the truth before their words did. Samael was gone.
Isabella's knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the ground, her tiny frame wracked with sobs. She buried her face in her hands, as though hiding could undo what had happened. "I didn't want to hurt him… I just wanted him to stop…" Her cries echoed, raw and piercing, carrying the sorrow of a child who had unleashed a power she didn't understand.
Alaric knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her, but how could he? She was only five years old, and yet she had carried out an act that would haunt her forever.
The air was heavy with grief. Isabella's tears fell onto the earth, mingling with the dust stirred by the fight. She looked at Samael's lifeless body one last time, her eyes wide with disbelief, her heart crushed beneath the weight of what she had done.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered again, her voice fading into the silence. "I didn't mean to…"
A movement caught Alaric's eye from above, and when he looked up, he stared into Malric's red eyes. Malric's face was grim as he turned away from the window.
Alaric helped Isabella up from the ground. "I think that's enough for today, you need a break."
But instead of taking her back to her room, he led her into the main building.
Alaric guided Isabella through the heavy wooden doors of the main house. The warmth of the hearth washed over them, a stark contrast to the chill of the days air and the cold silence that clung to Isabella's heart. Her small hand clutched at Alaric's sleeve, her steps hesitant, as though each one carried the weight of what she had done.
Malric sat in front of the roaring fire, his broad frame casting long shadows across the stone floor. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked up as the door closed behind them. Without a word, he gestured to the chair opposite his own.
Isabella froze. The chair seemed impossibly large, its carved arms rising like walls around her. She looked up at Alaric, her eyes wide and pleading, but his gentle nod urged her forward.
Slowly, she shuffled across the room. She climbed into the chair, her small body dwarfed by its size. The firelight painted her tear-streaked face in gold and crimson, and for a moment she looked less like a child and more like a fragile figure carved from glass.
Malric leaned forward, his hands steepled beneath his chin. He studied her in silence, the crackle of the fire filling the room. Isabella squirmed under his gaze, clutching her knees to her chest.
"I… I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't want him to die."
The words hung in the air, fragile and broken. Malric's expression softened, though his eyes remained heavy with thought. He did not speak immediately, and the silence pressed down on Isabella until she buried her face against her knees, muffling her sobs.
Alaric placed a hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring. "She defended herself," he said firmly, his voice carrying both protection and defiance. "She's only five years old."
Malric's gaze shifted to the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "And yet," he murmured, "she carries a power that men twice her age could not control."
Isabella lifted her head, her cheeks wet, her lips trembling. "I don't want it," she cried softly. "I don't want this power."
Malric's sigh was deep, heavy with centuries of knowledge. He leaned back in his chair, the firelight flickering across his face. "Whether you want it or not, child, it is yours. And now… it is ours to protect."
The fire crackled, its flames dancing like restless spirits. Malric's gaze lingered on Isabella, his expression grave yet softened by something almost paternal. He leaned forward, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of truths long hidden.
"Isabella," he began, "what happened tonight was not your fault."
Her tear-streaked face lifted, eyes wide and uncertain. "But… Samael… he's gone because of me."
Malric shook his head firmly. "No. Samael was sent here to kill you. He came with darkness in his heart, and his fate was sealed the moment he raised his blade against you. You defended yourself, child. You did what you had to."
Isabella's lips trembled, but she said nothing. Her small hands clutched the arms of the chair, knuckles white.
Malric's voice deepened, carrying the weight of prophecy. "You are not just any child, Isabella. You are the child of the prophecy. The one foretold to save this world from the darkness that is coming. A darkness far worse than the Hollow, far worse than anything you can imagine. It will consume everything if left unchecked."
The words struck her like thunder. Her eyes darted to Alaric, searching for reassurance, but he only nodded solemnly.
Malric continued, his tone unwavering. "There will be more like Samael. More who will come to hurt you, to stop you before you can fulfill your destiny. That is why we must begin now. It is time to teach you how to control your magic, to wield it with purpose rather than fear."
Isabella's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath shallow. "But… I don't want it," she whispered. "I don't want this power."
Malric leaned closer, his eyes burning with conviction. "Power is not something you choose child. It is something you carry. And yours is meant to save us all. You must learn to master it, or it will master you."
The fire roared louder, as though echoing his words. Isabella's small frame seemed to shrink into the chair, but deep within her, a spark flickered—a fragile ember of courage.
Alaric placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "We'll be with you, Isabella. You won't face this alone."
Malric nodded, his gaze steady. "Tomorrow, your new training begins."