Child of Cinders

Both of their minds simultaneously unveiled the dusty curtain of the past. Beyond the curtain lay a misty swamp, where a wooden hut stood at the water's edge, its light dancing gently.

Within the witch's hut, the atmosphere was heavy with the aroma of herbs and a subtle hint of enchantment. The witch glided through the room with skillful grace, grinding dried roots into a fine powder while softly murmuring incantations. Her red hair, typically secured in a loose braid, tumbled chaotically around her face as she focused on her task.

Ru sat on the edge of the bed, his small hands clutching the flute tightly. His wide eyes followed Vena's every move, a mixture of fear and fascination etched on his face. The burns on his chest and arms had begun to heal, thanks to Vena's ointments and potions, but the scars remained—a constant reminder of the fire that had nearly claimed his life. But unfortunately, his back still hurt, and he couldn't lie down comfortably.