The Witch’s Warning

Aiva awoke with a jolt, her heart racing and her breaths coming in shallow gasps. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon filtering through her curtains, casting shadows on the walls. She sat upright, wiping the sweat from her brow with a trembling hand, trying to shake the vivid dream that had just consumed her mind. It wasn't the first time she'd had strange nightmares, but something about this one was different. It felt too real, too intense.

The cool night air did little to soothe her nerves as she pulled the damp sheets from her legs. Her nightgown clung to her body from the sweat, the thin fabric tracing the curves of her form. Aiva Hathaway was seventeen years old, with striking hazel eyes that were still wide with fear. Her round face, usually calm and bright, was now pale, her auburn hair loose and tangled around her shoulders—a departure from the usual braids she wore. At 5 foot 7, her figure was fuller than most girls her age, her beauty undeniable even in moments like this, but it was her mind that raced now, not her appearance.

Aiva had always been plagued by strange dreams, though they were never more than vague, unsettling images that faded with the morning light. But this one clung to her thoughts like a shadow. It wasn't just a dream; it was something deeper. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, breathing deeply, trying to gather her thoughts as she recalled the vivid details.

Aiva had found herself standing in the middle of a small, dimly lit living room. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone, and the room was filled with modest, handmade furniture. A crackling fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the wooden floor. The air smelled of burning herbs, and the weight of the room was oppressive, as if something terrible was about to happen. It felt like stepping into the past—like she was in another time, another life.

Confused, Aiva looked around, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. A polished metal mirror caught her eye. She approached it slowly, dread creeping up her spine. When she saw the reflection, her stomach dropped. The woman staring back at her wasn't her.

She blinked, touching her face in disbelief, but the reflection remained unchanged. The woman was taller, slimmer, with long, curly dark hair cascading down her back. She was wearing a flowing jade robe that shimmered faintly in the firelight. It clung to her like silk, its intricate patterns suggesting something regal or ancient. But this woman—this version of Aiva—was a stranger to her.

Just as she was trying to comprehend the transformation, the door to the room burst open. Another woman entered, panic etched into every line of her face. She was older, her silver-streaked hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with fear, her hands shaking as she hurried into the room. 

"Martha?" The name slipped from Aiva's lips before she could even think. It felt natural, as though she had known this woman her whole life, though in reality, she had never seen her before.

The older woman—Martha—glanced at her with frantic eyes. "They've passed the law. The king—he's sentenced all sorcerers to death."

Aiva felt a wave of fury rise within her, the anger burning hot in her chest. "He can't do that! That's—he's a monster!" Neither the words nor the emotions were hers. This rage, this fear—it belonged to the woman she had become in this dream.

Martha hurriedly began packing a small satchel with whatever she could grab—books, potions, and trinkets. "It doesn't matter what we think! They're coming, and they know who we are! They'll be here any minute—every witch, wizard, mage, and sorcerer in the kingdom is being hunted."

Aiva, still seething with unfamiliar rage, began helping Martha pack. Her hands moved on instinct, though she barely understood what she was doing. As she grabbed a small vial from the table, Martha's voice cut through the haze of panic. 

"Your daughter… where is she? We have to protect her."

Aiva—no, the woman—paused, her heart clenching. "I sent her away last week, on a whim. I didn't think…" She trailed off, her voice breaking. She hadn't anticipated this, hadn't known the danger would come so soon.

They could hear the sounds of chaos outside—screams, the clang of metal, and the heavy thud of soldiers' boots approaching. Martha's hands trembled as she reached for the door, but before she could open it, two armored knights burst into the room, axes raised.

Martha screamed, and in a flash, one of the knights brought his weapon down on her. Aiva watched in horror as Martha crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her body. The other knight turned his attention to Aiva, advancing with deadly precision.

Aiva stumbled back, heart racing as she fled down a narrow corridor. She could hear the soldiers behind her, their footsteps closing in. Desperate, she raised her hand toward the stone wall at the end of the corridor. "Explaudere!" she cried, the unfamiliar word escaping her lips with power.

The wall exploded outward in a shower of rubble, revealing the open city beyond. Aiva stepped out into the square, her heart hammering in her chest as the medieval city came into view. People gasped and screamed, recoiling from the scene of destruction, but Aiva didn't have time to think about them. She had to run.

The soldiers were right behind her. She sprinted through the city streets, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind a whirl of panic and fear. She could hear the clank of armor, the shouts of soldiers as they closed in on her. She darted into a narrow alley, but there was no way out. The soldiers surrounded her, their weapons drawn.

One of them grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to her knees. Another raised his sword, the gleaming blade catching the light as it swung down toward her neck.

Just before the blade connected, Aiva had jolted awake. 

The dream had left Aiva stunned, sitting in her bed, trying to piece together the meaning behind it. Her heart was still racing as she glanced around her room, taking in the familiar surroundings. The walls were lined with posters of her favorite bands and movies, and a small desk in the corner was cluttered with books, notebooks, and a few trinkets she had collected over the years. Her dresser was scattered with perfume bottles and hair ties, the typical chaos of a teenage girl's room. It was cozy and lived-in, the one place where she could truly relax and be herself.

Her eyes landed on an old, raggedy baby doll sitting on a shelf next to her bed. Its fabric was worn, the stitching barely holding it together. She reached out and took hold of the doll, a flood of memories rushing back to her. The doll had been a gift from a dear friend, one of the first friends she'd ever made back at the orphanage. Gabriella, or Gabi as she liked to call her, had been a light in Aiva's otherwise lonely childhood.

As she held the doll, Aiva found herself slipping into another memory, one that had stayed with her for years. It was the first time she had discovered her powers—the first time she knew she was different. 

***

Aiva was only eight years old at the time, one of many children living in the bustling children's center in New York City. The foster home was a large, aging building filled with the laughter and cries of children, most of whom were still hopeful for a family to come and take them home. Aiva, even back then, had a gentle, pure heart and a kindness that radiated from her, though it was often overshadowed by her shy, introverted nature. She preferred solitude, reading books or playing quietly by herself rather than mingling with the other children.

Despite her sweet demeanor, Aiva was often teased by the older kids, especially a boy named Brandon. He and his group of friends made it their mission to pick on her, mainly because, for some unknown reason, Aiva wasn't getting adopted. Family after family would come to the center, and though they would interview Aiva, they always seemed to choose other children. This became fodder for the bullies, who would mock her for being "unwanted."

But Aiva didn't mind as much as they thought. Deep down, she had convinced herself that since her own parents hadn't wanted her, there must be something wrong with her. She didn't want to burden any kind, hopeful family who might take her in. It was easier to believe she wasn't worthy of adoption than to hope and be disappointed again.

That day, however, was different. Aiva had caught the attention of a young couple a few days earlier. They had seen her sitting quietly in the library, reading a book while the other children played, and they had been intrigued by her calm, introspective nature. Now, they wanted to meet her, and one of the instructors had told her to get dressed and come to the office for the interview.

Sitting on her small bed, Aiva struggled to put on her old pink shoes, the soles worn thin from years of wear. Beside her, Gabi sat, cuddling her favorite rag doll, Lizzy, a little toy she took everywhere. Gabi was only six, with soft brown hair and bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle with warmth and kindness. Aiva adored her, and the two had become close friends, often finding solace in each other's company.

"I'm so happy for you, Aiva!" Gabi chirped, her small voice filled with genuine joy. "You're going to get adopted! I just know it."

Aiva smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe," she replied softly. "I just hope you get adopted soon too, Gabi. You deserve it more than anyone."

Gabi's face lit up with hope. "Maybe after you, it'll be my turn. Then we can both be happy, right?"

Aiva nodded, but her heart was heavy. She would give anything to see Gabi adopted into a loving family, even if it meant staying behind. Before she could say more, the instructor returned to escort her to the interview room. She gave Gabi a final smile and wished her luck, knowing deep down that once a child was adopted, they rarely came back to visit.

The interview room was small and brightly lit, with a couple sitting across the table, smiling warmly as Aiva entered. The woman had kind, soft features and held her husband's hand, while the man looked at Aiva with curiosity, his eyes gentle. 

They asked her questions—about her likes, her hobbies, her dreams—but Aiva deflected every question. Instead, she told them about Gabi. She spoke of how sweet and kind she was, how much she loved her doll, how she was younger and needed this more than Aiva ever could. She wasn't being adopted because she didn't deserve it, she told them. Gabi was the one who truly needed a family.

The couple listened, their smiles fading as they realized what Aiva was doing. By the end of the conversation, Aiva had convinced them. They thanked her, and as Aiva walked gloomily back to her room, Gabi was called to meet the couple.

Aiva wished her friend good luck, trying to smile through the sadness. "Come visit sometimes, okay?" she said, knowing in her heart that Gabi wouldn't come back. No one ever did.

Gabi, in her excitement, left her rag doll, Lizzy, behind. It was her parting gift to Aiva. As the door closed behind her, Aiva sat on her bed, holding the doll, her heart heavy with loneliness. But before she could fully sink into her thoughts, the sound of laughter echoed from the hallway.

Brandon and his gang of older kids were back, and this time, they were coming for her.

***

The orphanage was a large, sprawling building with high ceilings and narrow hallways. The children's rooms were small, each one with a single bed, a small dresser, and a shelf for personal belongings. The walls were painted in faded pastel colors, meant to feel cheerful, though the atmosphere was often anything but. 

Brandon and his crew had made it a point to terrorize Aiva, and today was no different. As they cornered her in the room, Brandon sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "You're never getting adopted, you know that? No one wants a freak like you."

Aiva clenched her fists, feeling the sting of his words, They had bullied her may times before, she thought she had grown used to it, but not this time. They had crossed the line or rather, she was at the end of hers.

But before she could say anything, something strange happened. The air around her seemed to thrum with energy, and she felt a surge of power rise within her. She didn't understand it—didn't know what it was—but before she could stop herself, she lashed out.

Without even touching them, the older kids were thrown backward, crashing into the walls and furniture with a force that left them stunned. The room was in chaos, and Aiva stood in the center of it, trembling, unsure of what she had just done.

When the adults rushed in to check on the commotion, Brandon pointed at Aiva, his face pale with fear. "She's a witch!" he screamed. "A witch!"

Aiva froze, the word echoing in her mind. A witch? Was that what she was? She didn't know what it meant, but from the looks on everyone's faces, it wasn't something good.

Not long after that, Aiva was adopted by the Hathaway family, a kind couple who took her in despite the strange rumors that followed her. At first, she was skeptical, keeping her distance and clinging to her shy, reserved nature. But over time, she learned to trust them, opening her heart to the love they offered her. Life had been good ever since.

***

Aiva snapped back to reality, her grip tightening on the old doll. The memories still weighed heavy on her, but she felt a little more at peace. She stood up from her bed, suddenly desperate for a glass of water. As she walked toward the door, she glanced around her room again—the posters, the clutter, the mess of a typical teenage girl.

But something was gnawing at the back of her mind. The dreams, the memories—they weren't just random. They felt like warnings. And as she reached for the door handle, a chilling thought crossed her mind.

It must be the artifact, she thought. Or at least something to do with it.

Aiva opened the door to the dark hallway, her fingers brushing against the wood as it creaked softly. The light switch was on the other side, but she didn't bother with it. Instead, she held out her right palm, and with a quiet whisper, a small yellow flame flickered to life, hovering above her hand. The warm light cast eerie shadows along the walls, revealing framed pictures of her and her parents that lined the corridor.

She paused at one particular photo, a large family portrait hanging proudly in the center of the upstairs hallway. In it, her mother stood gracefully beside her father, their smiles bright and full of love. Aiva's mother had a slender, elegant frame, her sharp cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes hinting at her Asian heritage. Her long, dark hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and she wore a serene expression that Aiva had always admired. She had a quiet strength about her, an unshakable calm that could steady any storm.

Her father, on the other hand, was a man of solid build, with broad shoulders and warm brown eyes that seemed to radiate kindness. His light brown hair was always slightly disheveled, giving him a laid-back, approachable appearance. He had a comforting presence, the kind of man who always had time for a hug or a laugh. Aiva smiled softly as she looked at the picture, feeling a surge of gratitude. For all the confusion and mystery in her life, she knew she had been loved.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Aiva made her way downstairs, the flame still dancing in her palm. She crossed the dimly lit living room, the flicker of the fireball casting fleeting shadows on the furniture, before reaching the kitchen. She opened the fridge, its cool light spilling onto the floor, but before she could grab the glass of water she craved, she heard a rustling sound from the backyard.

Her senses sharpened instantly, her body tensing as she stepped toward the back door. She wasn't afraid—not after everything she had been through. If she could handle the events of last Saturday under the full moon, when she and her friends had been attacked in the cave, she could handle whatever was waiting for her outside. She remembered the power coursing through her that night, the spells she had cast with ease—levitating enemies, conjuring fireballs, even manipulating minds. 

She was strong, though she didn't often feel it. But in moments like this, her strength was undeniable.

Aiva slowly opened the back door and stepped into the cool night air, her eyes scanning the backyard. The moonlight bathed the space in a silvery glow, casting long shadows across the lawn. Her gaze quickly landed on a figure sitting by the fire pit, the soft glow of the flames illuminating the familiar face.

It was her mother.

Aiva's breath caught in her throat for a moment. Her mother looked different tonight, more worn than usual. She was seated on one of the outdoor couches, her posture relaxed but with an air of melancholy hanging around her. Her dark hair was slightly tousled, and her cheeks were flushed in a way that made Aiva suspect she had been drinking. She had a glass of wine in one hand, and the light from the campfire danced in her eyes.

Her mother's features, with their distinct Asian background, always seemed in contrast to Aiva's own, a constant reminder of how different they were. Aiva's auburn hair and hazel eyes often drew comments, but tonight, it was her mother's eyes that seemed to hold a secret.

Aiva approached cautiously, the fireball in her hand fading away as she came closer. "Mom?" she asked softly. "What are you doing out here?"

Her mother glanced up, her lips curving into a soft, wistful smile. "Just thinking about you," she said, her voice a little slurred, but full of emotion. "I needed to talk to you, Aiva. There's something important I've been meaning to tell you."

Aiva's heart raced. She stepped closer and sat down on the couch opposite her mother, her curiosity piqued. The campfire crackled between them, sending sparks into the night air, the sound of crickets filling the silence. The stars above were scattered across the sky like diamonds, and the moon hung low, casting everything in a pale, ghostly light.

Her mother sighed, taking another sip of her wine before setting the glass down on the small table beside her. She looked at Aiva with a mixture of sadness and determination, as if she had been preparing for this conversation for a long time. "It's fate, you know. That you came out here tonight. I've been trying to find the right moment, and… well, I guess this is it."

Aiva leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing in concern. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

Her mother hesitated for a moment, then reached into the bag that sat beside her chair. She pulled out a book, large and old, its leather cover worn from age and use. The spine was cracked, and it was bound with a thick, frayed string, sealing its secrets inside. The book looked ancient, like something from another era entirely.

Aiva's eyes widened as her mother held the book out to her. "Do you know what this is?" she asked, her voice low and serious.

Aiva stared at the book, her mind racing. She had never seen it before, but there was something about it that felt familiar, something that sent a shiver down her spine. How did her mother know about this? She was certain that none of her parents knew about her being a witch—it was a secret she had kept hidden, a burden she had carried alone. But now, looking into her mother's eyes, she realized that Emma knew far more than she had ever let on.