Page 8 of Starlit Bargains

“The witch stirs something in you,” Elder Willow continued. “We see it, even if you deny it. The light you turned away from calls to you again. Will you ignore it?”

“I must,” Eliar whispered. “For everyone's safety. Whatever is waking in Mistwood, whatever is stirring in me—it cannot be allowed to fully rise. The consequences?—”

Elder Willow's expression softened slightly, the stone features rearranging into something almost kind. “He will seek answers tonight. The village remembers more than you think, Fallen One. Stories have been passed down, distorted by time but preserving kernels of truth.”

A cold dread settled in Eliar's stomach. “What will they tell him?”

“Enough to endanger him,” Elder Willow replied. “For there are those who look upon the stirring with fear rather than wonder. Those who would snuff out a flame before it can become a fire, regardless of whether that fire brings warmth or destruction.”

Eliar clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. “You're saying he's in danger. Because of me. Because of what my presence here has kept dormant.”

“Yes.”

The simple confirmation hit Eliar like a physical blow. He had spent centuries avoiding entanglements, refusing to form connections that would only end in loss and pain. And now, a stranger he had spoken to once—a bright-eyed troublemaker with untrained magic and an irritating smile—was in danger because of him.

The right course of action was clear: let nature take its course. Let the village deal with the interloper as it saw fit. Maintain the isolation that had protected him for so long.

Eliar stopped at the edge of the tree line, the village of Mistwood spread out before him. Night had fallen properly now, the streets illuminated by hanging lanterns that cast pools of golden light at regular intervals. Most of the villagers had retreated to their homes, windows glowing with the soft, warmlight of hearth fires. From this distance, it all looked so peaceful—so normal—as if the gathering storm of ancient energies wasn't building beneath the mundane surface.

He could leave. Right now. Pack the few possessions he actually cared about and be gone before morning. He'd done it before, after all. When Covendale became too dangerous two centuries ago. When Brackenhollow started asking too many questions about the man who never seemed to age. When the witch hunts in Easthaven threatened to expose him.

Moving on was a familiar pain. At least it was a pain he understood, not this strange, new ache that thoughts of Kai provoked.

“This is madness,” he whispered to the darkness, his breath forming a small cloud in the cool night air. “One conversation with a reckless witch and I'm considering upending centuries of caution.”

A fat brown rabbit emerged from the undergrowth nearby, regarding Eliar with unnatural awareness. Animals often sought him out, despite—or perhaps because of—his true nature. The rabbit's nose twitched once, twice, as if asking a question.

“Don't look at me like that,” Eliar muttered. “I have no obligation to him or this village. Self-preservation isn't selfish when you've lived as long as I have.”

The rabbit blinked slowly, unimpressed by his reasoning.

“Fine. Judge me, then. You'll be dead in a few years regardless.” The cruelty of the words surprised even him, and Eliar immediately regretted them. “I'm sorry. That was... unkind.”

Great. Now he was apologizing to woodland creatures. Kai Everwood's disruptive influence was clearly affecting his sanity already.

Eliar turned away from the village, facing the deeper forest. There were other hidden places in the world, other forgottencorners where he could rebuild his quiet existence. Leaving now, before he became more entangled, was the only sensible option.

He took three purposeful steps back into the forest before a sound stopped him—not physical, but a reverberation that existed somewhere between hearing and feeling. A distant hum, melodic and strangely familiar, like an old song half-remembered. It pulled at something deep within him, something that had been dormant for centuries.

Kai's magic.

Even from this distance, Eliar could sense it—wild, untrained, but powerful in a way that few mortals ever achieved. The resonance was different now, stronger than it had been in the marketplace. Either Kai was actively working magic, or something in the village was amplifying his natural aura.

Neither possibility boded well.

Eliar closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. The distant hum of Kai's magic felt like... like the first light of dawn after an endless night. Like the whisper of wind through mountain peaks. Like standing at the edge of the cosmos and feeling the universe breathe.

It reminded him of home.

The realization hit him with such force that Eliar actually staggered backward, a hand reaching out to steady himself against the rough bark of an oak tree. A memory surfaced, so ancient he'd thought it lost forever: the singing harmony of countless stars, each with its own voice, each contributing to the grand symphony of creation.

He had been part of that once. Before the fall. Before the doubt. Before the punishment.

The humming grew louder, more insistent, and now Eliar could detect undertones of distress within it. Whatever Kai was doing—or whatever was being done to him—it wasn't entirely voluntary.

“Damn it all,” Eliar growled, pushing away from the tree. “Damn him, and damn my own weakness.”

Even as he cursed his decision, Eliar's feet were already carrying him back toward the village. He moved swiftly, no longer concerned with being seen. The few villagers still about would see only a shadow passing, too quick to register as anything more than a trick of the light.

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