The crow called three times. Liora counted each sound with the beat of her heart, loud in her chest. The candle in the upper room window flickered, like someone had blown on it, but it wasn't her. Her skin tingled like something she couldn't see was near.
She didn't tell her grandmother, Ysolde, about the light; rather, she spent the morning quiet, doing her chores like she was only a shadow of herself. The cottage, which used to feel warm with the smell of thyme and firewood, now felt cold and like it was watching her. Even the walls seemed to know something had changed.
By midday, the village path seemed to call her. She didn't know why. Maybe it was to remind herself that the world was still the same. The butcher still cut meat. Children still kicked stones down the dusty road. Or maybe it was something else.
As soon as she stepped past the crooked fence, people stared. Whispers followed her like another shadow.
"That's her, Ysolde's girl."
"She talks to crows now," they said.
"Her grandmother cursed my brother's crops once."
She kept walking, holding her head up. But every word felt like it sank into her skin.
She saw Tomas near the baker's stall. He was helping the old man carry flour sacks. Tomas was tall, had freckles, and used to make her feel calm with his crooked smile. But today, his smile disappeared as soon as he saw her.
"Liora," he said carefully.
"Are they really saying all that?" she asked before he could pretend he didn't know.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"They've always been scared of your family. But now? They say the windmill glows at night. That the crows follow you. That your grandmother keeps bones buried in the herb garden."
Liora flinched. "It's not true."
Tomas didn't argue. But he didn't say it was false either.
"They think I'm dangerous," she whispered.
"They don't understand what they're scared of."
Liora sat by the creek. She tucked her skirt under her legs and watched the water move over the stones like silver thread. The forest whispered around her, but today she wasn't listening. Her thoughts were too loud.
When Tomas came back, he had a bundle of wildflowers in one hand and a serious look in his eyes. He crouched beside her and gently placed the flowers between them.
"Your grandmother sent me to check on you," he said softly.
"I'm fine," she said, not looking at him.
"That's not true," Tomas said, but kindly. "You've been shaking since we left the windmill. And you haven't said anything about her."
Liora held her arms close to her chest. "I don't want this, Tomas. I don't want to be a witch. I want to give it back."
He looked confused. "Give it back?"
She turned to him, her face full of fear and frustration. "The gift. The power. The burden. Whatever it is. Can't it go to someone else? Someone who wants it? I never asked for this. I don't want to be the Blessed Witch."
Tomas paused, then slowly shook his head. "I don't think it works like that. Magic it's not something you give away like a necklace. It's in you. It is you."
"But it shouldn't be," she said, her voice shaking. "Why me? Why not someone stronger or braver?"
He didn't answer right away. The only sound was the water and one bird calling from the trees.
"Liora," he said at last, "do you know what the villagers are saying?"
She froze. "No, I don't care."
"You should."
She looked at him quickly, her breath catching. Tomas looked like he was unsure if he should say more.
"They say you're cursed," he said quietly. "They say your grandmother's magic brought death to Elderwood. That your mother bewitched your father, and that's why he vanished. Some say you were born under a bad moon, and the fire will return because of you."
Liora's chest tightened. She dug her nails into her palm so she wouldn't cry.
"They say Ysolde kept secrets," Tomas continued. "That she let the woods twist again. Some even say she killed her own sister for power."
"That's a lie!" Liora said, her voice shaking. "Ysolde loved Alwen. She told me everything. Alwen died saving Elderwood."
"I know that," Tomas said quickly. "I believe her. I believe you. But fear doesn't need truth. It only needs something to blame."
Liora stood suddenly and walked a few steps away. She wrapped her arms around herself like a shield.
"I didn't choose this," she whispered. "I was just a child when they started hiding things from me. They said it was to protect me. But now I'm supposed to save everyone."
Tomas stood too. "Maybe not save them. Maybe just remind them of the truth. Show them what real strength is."
Liora didn't answer. Her eyes drifted to the trees across the creek, the same place she had seen the strange woman.
She stepped forward slowly.
"Tomas," she said, her voice quiet. "That woman, the one who stepped from the tree. She didn't feel human."
Tomas looked toward the trees, his brow tight. "What did she feel like?"
"Like the forest itself," Liora whispered. "Like something old watching. She didn't blink. And she knew my name."
"Did she say anything else?"
"She said, 'You will not be hidden anymore.'"
"Do you think she meant your powers?"
Liora shook her head. "No. I think she meant me. My blood. My name. Maybe even my family."
They stood in silence, thinking about her words.
"She stepped out of the tree," Liora said again. "I don't mean from behind it. I mean through it. Like the tree opened for her."
Tomas looked worried. "There are stories about spirits that walk through trees. Forest guardians or worse."
"She wasn't evil," Liora said quickly. "But she wasn't good either. She left something behind."
"What do you mean?"
Liora bent down and picked up a single silver feather from the moss. It shimmered in the light. "This."
Tomas stared. "That's not from any bird around here."
"No," Liora said, "It's not."
She turned the feather in her fingers. The light on it changed as she moved it. A soft sound rose in her ears, a gentle tune, like a song from a dream.
Tomas leaned closer. "Liora, maybe your gift isn't just about fire or seeing the future. Maybe it also lets you see what others can't. The forest. The people. Even things that are hidden."
She looked at him, her eyes full of wonder and fear.
"If I accept this," she said, "if I really accept it, then everything changes."
Tomas nodded. "It already has."
Liora stared at the feather and whispered, "Maybe it's time I change with it."
She leaned closer. "If I gave it up this power if I could give it to someone else, could I be free?"
Tomas looked surprised. "Is that possible?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But what if it is?"
Before he could answer, the air changed. The wind stopped. The leaves trembled. A woman stepped from the shadows of the old elm tree.
She didn't walk she stepped through the tree, like she came from inside it. Her robes sparkled like moonlight on water. Her silver eyes locked onto Liora's.
Tomas stepped back. "Is she real?"
Liora couldn't speak.
The woman raised her hand, palm out. "Blessed child," she said, though her lips didn't move. "You want to escape. But the gift is not something to throw away. It is fire. It chooses. It binds."
Liora's voice shook. "I didn't ask for this."
"No one does," the woman said. "But the forest remembers. The wind listens. You were not made by accident."
Tomas grabbed Liora's arm. "What does she mean?"
The woman looked at him. "The curse you fear is your salvation. The silence in the village, the hate it was born because they forgot who saved them.
Liora's knees felt weak, but she stayed standing. "My aunt Alwen. The stories. They forgot her."
"They forgot because remembering is harder. But Alwen's blood is in you. Her light is in your bones."
The woman stepped back. With each step, she faded into the leaves, the bark, the wind.
"The Hollow Moon returns soon," she said. "You must be ready."
Then she was gone.
The silence that followed was louder than a scream.
Tomas turned to Liora, pale. "What in the saints' name was that?"
"I don't know," Liora said. But inside her chest, the fire moved again. It wasn't quiet now. It wasn't asleep.
That night, she told Ysolde everything.
The candle in the upper room. The Seer's words. The question she had asked Tomas.
"I want to give it away, Nana! The power. I don't want it anymore."
Ysolde sat in her old chair and looked more tired than Liora had ever seen. "Oh, my sweet girl," she said. "If I could have given it away, it would've left me long ago. Do you think I wanted to be feared? To live behind potions and herbs so people would call me wise instead of a witch?"
"Then why didn't you leave?"
"Because I remembered what they forgot. We don't protect them for praise. We protect them even when they hate us."
Liora looked down. "I'm not strong like you."
Ysolde took her hand. "Yes, you are. And you'll grow even stronger.
Not because you want this. But because you must."
Lightning flashed in the sky. Thunder followed like a warning.
The storm was coming.
And this time, it would not pass quietly.