12.1 | The Work of Man |

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There are legends that the Silverend Coven passes down to young witchlings in order to instill fear

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There are legends that the Silverend Coven passes down to young witchlings in order to instill fear. Many of them involve the tales of Shai'rune and they're handler, the half breed with no soul. The attacks would come at the moon's peak when no one was awake, the bloodshed massive and the loss brutal.

The Coven calls them legends purely because no one lived to share the story.

Only Shai'rune and Meika, who was banished many months before the Coven developed into the large empire it'd grow to become.

The unwitting heir to the Coven was cast out long enough for her niece to take power and rule over a legion.

Shai'rune was imprisoned to the best of her knowledge or so she'd explained to me while the others slept. On the road for several days, we'd been pushing through the heat and working our way into the heart of Africa.

Careful to skirt around the edges of tiny tribes trying to rebuild from the ashes.

Somewhere between Twilight and Dawn, I hear stirring. Through the dark of night, I see nothing, but I can tell that whoever took watch fell asleep. The shuffling grows closer, hushed whispers sounding over the flat land.

My fingers stretch out, spreading a ring of charcoal around camp. It is only for potential protection. Pushing my weight off of the ground, the footsteps stop and the rustling and crunches cease. Eyes focusing in on two silhouettes in the dim light, a flame comes to life in my hand. Hidden behind my back, I toss a portion onto the ground in the pit where our burnt out fire used to be.

Just enough light to make out male faces with weapons.

"You should leave," I say in a hushed tone, creeping forward with lethal calm. "We don't mean you any harm and we'll be gone by sunrise."

"And if we mean you harm?" A thick accent asks in return. A wicked grin is brazenly displayed on his lips, an almost joyful tone dripping into his words.

A small sniff tells me what I need to know. Strong, healthy males, free of illness. They stand in front of a young, seemingly harmless woman who doesn't appear to have a way to defend herself. The sickening hormones pollute the air.

I let the flames consume my hands from the wrists down, burning brighter than the sun and flickering different colors. A hesitant step back makes me smile. "We are five against two, do you like those odds?"

The more muscular man spits something about witchcraft in another language.

In reply, the slender one who spoke before turns his back and throws a dismissive snarl at me. "You best hope you are not bluffing"

"Oh?"

"Worse things come for liars."

I let the fire dance up my arms and consume my body in a thin veil of flame. "Surely you would know."

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