Ashe_world

The night Elira was born, the sky wept with a storm so fierce it drowned the village’s crops and sent the river surging through the streets. The elders whispered that it was an omen—a cursed child had entered the world.

Her mother, Lirien, barely survived the birth. She had screamed through the labor, clutching the straw bedding as if the pain itself was trying to steal her soul. When she finally held her newborn daughter, she gasped—not out of love, but fear.

Elira’s eyes were too sharp, too knowing for a child who had only just entered the world. The midwife, an old woman with trembling hands, hesitated before cutting the umbilical cord. A chill passed through the room, the flickering oil lamp nearly snuffing out. The air felt… wrong.

The village healer arrived soon after, summoned in desperation. She pressed her palm to the newborn’s tiny chest, feeling the thrum of something unnatural beneath her skin. “She is touched by the old magic,” the healer murmured. “A witch, from birth.”

Lirien sobbed, clutching her baby to her chest. “No, please. My daughter is innocent.”

The healer gave her a sorrowful look. “You must keep her hidden. If the village learns the truth, they will fear her.”

And so, Elira grew up in the shadows.

Her childhood was not one of warmth, but of caution. Her mother, though loving in her own way, kept her at arm’s length, afraid of what she might become. Her father, a bitter man worn down by poverty, looked at her as if she were the reason for all his misfortunes.

But magic cannot be contained forever.

At the age of five, Elira made a dead flower bloom in her hands. At seven, she whispered to the wind, and it answered. At ten, she healed a wound on her mother’s arm simply by touching it.

Her family’s fear grew with each passing year. They did not see a daughter, a sister. They saw a curse.

Then, when Elira was thirteen, something happened that changed everything.

A boy from the village—one who had tormented her for years, throwing stones and calling her “witchspawn”—fell from a tree and broke his leg. The bone jutted through his skin, his screams echoing through the hills.

Elira, acting on instinct, ran to him. She laid her hands on his leg, her power surging like a wave. The bone snapped back into place. The wound closed.

He was healed.

But instead of gratitude, there was terror. The boy’s mother shrieked. Villagers came running. They saw what she had done, what she was.

“Witch,” they whispered. “Monster.”

By nightfall, her family had packed their belongings and fled the village, leaving behind the only home they had ever known.

They wandered from town to town, never staying in one place too long. Her parents blamed her for their misfortune, for their suffering. They cursed her magic, wished it had never been born within her.

But when Elira turned eighteen, everything changed again.

A wealthy businessman came to their town, looking for a wife. He was powerful, rich beyond imagination—a man who could lift them from poverty.

And he wanted a woman who was pure, untouched, innocent.

Elira’s parents saw an opportunity.

“She is a blessing,” her mother told him, forcing a smile. “A gift from the heavens.”

Elira said nothing. She had learned long ago that the world would never see her for what she truly was.

And so, she was given away to a man who believed he had married a saint—when in truth, he had married a witch.

The Witch’s Vow

Damien's world slowed as he watched the impossible unfold before him.

Elira stood in front of him, her dark hair whipping around her as if caught in an invisible storm. The Hunter's power pressed down on them, crushing the air, but she stood unfazed—her eyes locked on their intruder with a cold, terrifying intensity.

And then it happened.

She raised a hand, and the room shifted.

The weight pressing on them vanished, replaced by a force Damien couldn't describe. The marble floors trembled, the chandeliers above rattled violently, and the very air around Elira crackled with raw, electric power.

The Hunter's confident smirk faltered.

"You were supposed to be weak," he murmured.

Elira's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile—it was something far more dangerous. "Then you were misinformed."

With a flick of her fingers, the Hunter was lifted off the ground, an unseen force wrapping around his throat. He clawed at his neck, his glowing eyes widening in shock.

Damien staggered back, his mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

His wife—his sweet, innocent wife—was holding a man in the air without touching him.

The guards who had survived the first attack stood frozen, guns forgotten in their hands.

The Hunter struggled, his hands crackling with his own magic, but Elira's grip on him didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened.

"I should kill you," she said softly. "I should end you for threatening my family."

Her fingers twitched, and the Hunter let out a strangled gasp, his body convulsing as her power crushed him further.

"Elira," Damien's voice cut through the charged air. His voice—the one that always grounded her.

She turned, and for the first time, he saw her fully—not just as his wife, not just as the mother of his children, but as something far more powerful.

Far more dangerous.

"Elira…" he said again, this time softer, his voice laced with something raw.

Something close to fear.

Her expression flickered. And in that small hesitation, the Hunter acted.

A burst of dark energy exploded from him, shattering Elira's hold.

He landed on the floor in a crouch, his breaths ragged, his hands gripping the ground. His glowing eyes burned with renewed fury. "You have no idea what's coming for you, witch."

Damien didn't hesitate. He moved, grabbing Elira's arm and pulling her behind him—as if he could shield her. As if she were still the fragile woman he had married.

But the way she stepped forward—protecting him instead—made his stomach twist.

"I'm not the one who should be afraid," Elira said.

The Hunter chuckled darkly. "No? Then why are you shaking?"

Elira wasn't shaking.

Not from fear of the Hunter. From the weight of what he had just seen.

His wife—his Elira—was a witch.

And she had been hiding it from him this entire time.

The Hunter vanished in a swirl of dark mist, his retreat swift, but his words lingered in the cold night air.

Damien's breathing was uneven. The guards looked stunned, terrified, confused.

She turned to face him slowly. "Damien—"

"Don't," he cut her off. His voice was hoarse, his mind still reeling. "Don't say my name like nothing just happened."

Her lips parted, but she didn't speak.

He took a slow step back. "I need you to tell me the truth."

She swallowed hard. "I was going to—"

"No." His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Tell me everything. Now."

Elira closed her eyes for a brief moment, then exhaled. When she opened them again, they weren't the same.

The soft, warm gaze he had fallen in love with was gone.

Instead, her eyes glowed with something otherworldly—something ancient and untamed.

And Damien realized in that moment…

He had never truly known the woman he had married.

Chapter 16 The Unveiling