Hunted To The Heavens

The village smelled of smoke, wet earth, and unease. Its narrow paths wound between huts patched with clay and reeds, each leaning like a tired old man. The air was damp, heavy with mist that crawled in from the hills. Elynn kept Ivyra close as they walked, the child's small hand cold in hers, silent as always.

Villagers watched them from doorways. Not openly hostile, but wary—like one watches a stray animal that might bite if cornered. Some muttered under their breath. Others quickly turned away.

The elder midwife, a stooped woman with a milky eye, led them through the main path without glancing back. "Keep to the edge," she said. "Work where we tell you. Speak when spoken to. That's how you last here."

Elynn nodded, too exhausted to argue. Her lips were pale. Ivyra felt her mother's fingers tighten briefly, as if holding herself upright by will alone.

They were given a corner hut—barely more than a storage shed, smelling of dried herbs and old straw. Elynn thanked the elder. No one else did.

Days passed. Elynn earned their place by tending wounds and fevers, coaxing weak crops back to life with careful, hushed incantations. The villagers accepted her, but they did not soften. They left food outside the hut, never entering. Children dared each other to run past Ivyra, throwing pebbles when they thought she wasn't looking.

She always was.

At night, Ivyra lay awake listening to the village breathe—the creak of wood, distant coughs, the soft whistle of wind through gaps in the walls. Sometimes she heard whispers about them.

"Cursed blood."

"Why keep them?"

"We need her. Until we don't."

Elynn pretended not to hear. She hummed lullabies until her voice cracked, fingers brushing over the glowing seal on Ivyra's chest when it pulsed too brightly.

The danger came on a fog-thick night.

It began with the dogs. Their barking shattered the usual quiet, sharp and panicked. Then came the distant thud of hooves—or something heavier—moving fast along the outer fields.

Elynn froze, bowl of crushed herbs in hand. Ivyra, now nearly eleven, stepped to the door, instincts prickling like sparks. She pushed the wood aside just enough to see.

Shapes moved in the mist. Tall. Wrong. They didn't walk; they glided, their edges blurred like heat-haze. Their faint glow reminded Ivyra of lightning trapped in flesh.

Watchers.

Not gods. Not human. But their presence reeked of the same power that had burned the skies.

Villagers shouted. A bell clanged—rusty and desperate. Men grabbed old spears, women dragged children inside. The elder midwife's voice rang out, sharp despite her age: "To the lower cellars! Move!"

Elynn grabbed Ivyra's wrist. "Stay close. Don't use—" She caught herself, then whispered, "Don't let them see you."

They ran with the others toward the storage pits beneath the village hall. People shoved past them, panic stripping away what little tolerance they'd had. Someone muttered, "They followed them here," and a hard elbow knocked Ivyra sideways.

Elynn caught her before she hit the ground. "Ignore them," she said, though her own face was white with fear. "Just run."

The Watchers reached the outer fence. Light flared. Wood exploded like dry tinder. Screams followed.

In the crush of bodies squeezing into the underground cellar, Ivyra glanced back. Through the fog she saw one of the glowing beings pause, its head turning—not toward the fleeing villagers, but toward her.

The seal under her skin burned.

And the Watcher moved faster blurred forward—silent but unstoppable. Villagers shoved and screamed, tripping over one another in their desperation to reach the cellar. Elynn pulled Ivyra hard, but the child's feet hesitated, caught between fear and something hotter. Something that thrummed beneath her skin like a drum.

The seal burned.

The Watcher reached the outermost hut, its body shedding pale heat that warped the fog. A spear struck it—splintered on contact. A man yelled. His scream cut short as light swept through him, leaving only a blackened outline in the mist.

Elynn dragged Ivyra down the cellar steps, slamming the wooden door shut behind them. The air below was damp, packed with sweating bodies. Children whimpered. Someone sobbed into their hands.

Above, the bell stopped.

Only the distant crackle of fire remained.

---

"Stay here," Elynn whispered. Her voice trembled, but her hands were steady as they cupped Ivyra's face. "No matter what you feel, no matter what you see—don't touch it. Do you understand?"

Ivyra nodded, but her chest ached with a strange, furious heat. "They're coming," she whispered.

Elynn's eyes widened. "How do you know—?"

The cellar ceiling exploded inward.

Wood shattered. Screams filled the dark as light poured down like a blade. The Watcher descended—not climbing, but falling as though the air itself carried it. Villagers scrambled back. A man threw himself forward with a knife. He didn't make it halfway.

The Watcher's faceless head turned. It was searching. Not for them all.

For her.

---

Elynn stepped in front of Ivyra. "No!" She thrust both hands forward. Old, worn magic flared—a weak but desperate barrier, a circle of faint blue light that cracked almost as soon as it formed.

The Watcher hit it once. Twice. The barrier shattered.

Elynn staggered, blood dripping from her nose. "Run!"

But Ivyra didn't move. Her body vibrated with energy she couldn't contain. The seal on her chest glowed so brightly it lit the cellar like dawn.

The Watcher lunged.

Ivyra raised her hand without thinking.

A pulse of golden fire erupted, throwing the creature backward into the ceiling. Stone and dust rained down. Villagers gasped, scrambling even further from her now—not just from the Watcher.

From her.

---

The Watcher rose, edges flickering violently. Its formless voice hissed like metal scraping glass:

> "The mark lives."

It attacked again, faster.

Ivyra's second blast missed—too wild, too untrained. The creature closed the distance, heat scalding her skin. Elynn grabbed Ivyra's arm, yanking her toward a side tunnel. "We can't fight it! MOVE!"

They ran, deeper into the earth while chaos filled the cellar behind them. Ivyra's heart pounded so hard it hurt. The tunnel was narrow, forcing them single file. Elynn stumbled but kept going, one hand trailing the wall, the other gripping Ivyra's wrist.

Behind them, the Watcher followed. Not running. Gliding. Relentless.

---

The tunnel ended in an old stone grate that opened into the forest's lower ravine. Elynn shoved it with her shoulder until it cracked loose. Cold night air rushed in, full of pine and smoke. She pushed Ivyra out first, then climbed after.

They tumbled into the mud. Above, flames rose from the village roofs. Screams echoed. The bell never rang again.

Elynn grabbed Ivyra's face. "Listen to me. We run. We don't stop. You don't use that power again unless there's no other choice. Do you hear me?"

Ivyra swallowed hard. "It will keep coming."

"I know." Elynn's gaze flicked to the burning sky. "But so will we."

---

The Watcher burst from the tunnel mouth, its glow cutting through the trees like a blade. Elynn yanked Ivyra upright and sprinted, her breath ragged. The forest floor was uneven—roots like claws, stones slick with moss—but she didn't slow.

The thing didn't need to run. It floated, weaving through trunks as though the earth itself bowed to let it pass.

"Left," Elynn hissed. "Downhill—go!"

Ivyra obeyed, but the seal burned hotter with every step, begging to be unleashed. Her small body shook from the strain of holding it back. It wants me to fight. It wants me to burn.

Another bolt of white fire struck a tree beside them. The trunk exploded, shards whistling past Ivyra's cheek. Warm blood trickled where bark cut her skin.

Elynn shoved her harder. "Faster!"

They stumbled into a dry riverbed, stones clattering underfoot. Elynn stopped suddenly, listening. The Watcher's glow grew brighter behind them, but a new sound threaded through the night—low, rushing, distant but strong.

Water.

"Upstream," Elynn gasped. "Now!"

They followed the riverbed until the forest narrowed into a ravine. Above, cliffs rose like walls. The rushing grew louder—waterfall, Ivyra realized. The air turned cooler, damper. Mist gathered in the dark.

The Watcher gained on them anyway. Each step made Ivyra's vision shake. She turned once, unable to stop herself. Its faceless head tilted, and in that soundless stare she felt a truth:

It knows me.

---

They reached the falls. Moonlight glinted on a torrent of white water pouring into the ravine. There was nowhere else to run.

Elynn grabbed Ivyra's hand. "Hold your breath."

Before Ivyra could protest, Elynn leapt. They plunged into the freezing current. Water swallowed the world—deafening, violent, dragging them under rocks and foam. Ivyra's lungs burned. Her mother's grip stayed iron-strong.

Behind them, light pierced the water—the Watcher diving after.

---

Elynn's lips moved underwater, forming a spell Ivyra couldn't hear but felt. The river answered, a sudden surge pulling them sideways into a narrow underwater crevice. They slammed through jagged stone, scraped and breathless, until the current spat them into still, black water.

They surfaced, gasping in a cavern lit faintly by phosphorescent moss. Above them, the roar of the falls drowned out the world. There was no glow. No Watcher.

For now.

Elynn pressed her forehead to Ivyra's, trembling. "We're alive."

Ivyra's chest still burned with unspent fire. "It's not gone."

"No," Elynn whispered. "But we bought time."

She looked toward a tunnel at the far end of the cavern, where faint night air drifted through. "We follow this. We find higher ground. There's a village I've heard of, beyond the eastern ridge. They don't trust outsiders—but they need healers. They may take us in."

"And if they don't?"

Elynn's mouth tightened. "Then we keep moving."

---

The cavern trembled faintly, as though something outside had pressed against the walls of the world.

Far away, in the burning village, the Watcher hovered above the ruins. Its faceless head tilted toward the falls.

> "The mark has awakened. She will rise."

Then it turned, vanishing into the smoke like a ghost obeying orders.

---