The forest was strange, yet it was home. Wolves walked between the trees, snakes curled in the grass, and stags watched with glowing eyes. But none of them attacked the people. It was as if the forest itself had accepted them.
These people were not here by choice. They were banished from Velmoria, the great kingdom ruled by the God‑King. Long ago, they had spoken against him, and for that crime they were sent away. The forest became their prison, but also their shelter.
Among them lived Aelira, a seventeen‑year‑old girl. She had lost her parents when she was thirteen. Since then, she lived alone in a small hut made of wood and leaves. Her only companion was her horse, a pale Cremello mare named Pony, a gift from her parents before they died.
Aelira was quiet and kind. She helped the sick, shared food when she could, and spoke gently to everyone. People respected her, but they also whispered. She was different—too bold, too independent. Some feared she would bring trouble.
The forest gave them a special fruit. It was small, green, and tasted sweet like mint. This fruit was rare, and the God‑King demanded more than half of it every season. The villagers were forced to send baskets of fruit to Velmoria. They were not allowed to enjoy it themselves. The King called it a "gift," but everyone knew it was theft.
One evening, Aelira sat beside an old woman. The woman was weak and ill, but she loved Aelira like her own daughter.
"This life is yours, child. Do not hide forever. You are like a bird with golden feathers. One day, you must fly where your soul wants to go."
Aelira listened, but her heart was heavy. She remembered her mother's last words before she died:
"Promise me you will never leave this forest."
Why had her said that? Why were they cast out of Velmoria? What secret had her died protecting?
These questions lived inside Aelira every day. She did not yet know that the answers were waiting for her—hidden in the shadows of the forest, and in the dream that was soon to come.
She walked slowly through the village. Children played with sticks in the dust, their laughter thin but bright, echoing against the huts. Men carried baskets of fruit toward the storehouse, their shoulders bent under the weight. Women sat outside, weaving mats from reeds, their hands moving quickly though their eyes looked tired.
The forest surrounded them all. Its tall trees stood like guardians, their branches heavy with shadows. Sometimes Aelira felt the forest was alive, watching her, listening to her thoughts.
That evening, she sat near the fire. The flames rose and fell, sparks flying into the dark sky. As she stared deeper, she thought she saw something inside the fire—a faint shadow of a woman, her hand resting on something unseen. For a moment, Aelira felt hope, as if the fire itself was trying to speak to her. A sudden wind brushed against her skin, raising goosebumps.
Then came the sound of boots. Soldiers from Velmoria entered the village, their armor dull but heavy, their faces hard. One of them stepped forward and demanded, "Water."
The villagers hesitated. Finally, one man answered, "There is no water."
The soldier's eyes narrowed. He walked closer, slow and deliberate, then struck the man across the face with a sharp slap. The sound cracked through the silence. "Go and bring it," he shouted. The crowd froze. The air grew colder, though inside many hearts still burned with sorrow, remembering all the pain Velmoria had given them. Aelira tried to slip away quietly, but one soldier noticed her. He blocked her path, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He grabbed her wrist roughly and sneered.
"No ring. Not married. A virgin," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. His laugh was cheap and cruel, echoing in the silence of the village.
He leaned closer, his breath hot against her face. "Velmoria doesn't like wasted fruit," he whispered. "Maybe you should be given as a gift. A pure girl, untouched. The King's men would enjoy that."
The words cut into her like knives. He twisted them further, making ugly jokes. "What's the use of a virgin in exile? Better to break her, better to teach her what men are for."
The villagers stood frozen, their eyes lowered. No one spoke. No one moved. Their silence was heavy, almost like agreement.
Aelira's heart pounded. She wanted to pull away, but his grip was strong. His eyes glimmered with cruelty, enjoying her fear.
Another soldier called from behind, "Enough. Time is over. We must leave."
Reluctantly, the man released her wrist, but his gaze lingered. His eyes were dark, hungry, almost demonic. He smirked as if promising he would return.
As the soldiers turned to leave, one woman shouted angrily, her voice sharp and accusing: "He will come tomorrow, and it will be your fault!"
Aelira's chest tightened with fear. She wanted to speak, to defend herself, but no words came.
Later, the old woman spoke to her, her tone heavy with hesitation. "You should marry, child. As long as you remain like this… you understand what I mean."
Aelira shook her head. "Nobody will marry me. And in this forest, people are not allowed to marry two women. I don't want it. I feel happy as I am."
The old woman pressed on. "There is Jim. His wife is dead. You could marry him."
But Aelira cut her words sharply. "His wife is not dead. He murdered her. He is dangerous. I have seen him take things even from children. He is forty‑five years old, and I am only a child. Why can't they leave me alone?"
The old woman's face hardened. "You girl, you must marry. You cannot marry outside. If you refuse, they will call you a witch. Now it is up to you."
Aelira sat in silence, shocked. The woman who had always spoken kindly now sounded harsh, almost cruel. Sweet words, she realized, do not always mean kindness.
That night, Aelira slept beside Pony. The mare's steady breath was the only comfort she had. But her sleep was not peaceful.
At first, there was only darkness. It was so deep that she could not see her own hands. She felt herself calling out, her voice echoing in the void: "Is anyone there? Please, someone hear me!" But no answer came. Her cries seemed to vanish into the endless black.
Suddenly, in the distance, a purple‑white flame appeared. It flickered faintly, like a star trembling in the night. Aelira's heart leapt. She ran toward it, desperate for light, desperate for hope.
But as she ran, her foot slipped. The ground gave way beneath her, and she fell into a deep pit. The air rushed past her, cold and heavy. She landed hard, yet strangely she felt herself rising again, as if the pit itself had no bottom.
In that strange rising, she heard a woman's murmuring voice. The words were soft, broken, almost like a prayer, but she could not understand them. They filled her ears, yet their meaning escaped her. Aelira's chest tightened. Was this a dream? Was she trapped inside her own mind?
She wanted to fly, to escape, to break free from the pit. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not move beyond it. Her body felt heavy, bound by invisible chains.
Then, from the shadows, figures appeared. They carried torches in their hands. The flames lit up the darkness, and in their glow Aelira saw the forest—the same forest she knew, Fuego Oscura, but twisted, strange, almost alive.
The purple‑white flame returned. This time it did not wait for her to chase it. It moved on its own, drifting closer, slow at first, then faster.
Aelira stood frozen, her body trembling. She wanted to run, but her feet would not move. She could only watch as the light came nearer.
It rushed forward suddenly, with a force that made the air crackle. The flame struck her chest, piercing straight through her heart.
Everything went blank.
She woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat. Her breath came fast, her hands shaking. The night was still dark—it was midnight. The forest outside was silent, but inside her, the dream still burned.
Aelira pressed her hand against her chest, where the flame had entered. The skin was cold, yet she felt as if something had been left behind inside her—a mark, a secret, a warning.
She looked at Pony, who stirred softly in her sleep. The mare's calmness was a sharp contrast to the storm raging in Aelira's heart.
She whispered to herself, "It was only a dream… but why does it feel so real?"
The darkness around her gave no answer.