The wooden cabin stood at the heart of an endless sea of trees, where the wind whispered through twisted branches, as if the forest itself were revealing forgotten secrets. Inside, the warmth of the fireplace fought against the chill of the night, and shadows danced on the walls, stretching like living figures. The scent of burning wood mingled with a faint trace of lavender, filling the air with a comforting nostalgia.
Lyra, a seven-year-old girl, was wrapped in a thick blanket, the rough fabric brushing against her skin as she nestled into her bed. Her emerald-green eyes, gleaming in the flickering firelight, remained fixed on the man sitting beside her.
Her father, Garrick, was tall and broad-shouldered, his features etched with the weight of years and battles he never spoke of. His calloused hands cradled a cup of steaming tea, the rising tendrils of vapor swirling like ghosts in the dim light. Despite his imposing presence, something about him was different tonight—there was a heaviness in his gaze, a sorrow he couldn't hide.
Lyra pulled the blanket up to her chin, inhaling the familiar scent of earth woven into the fabric.
— Father… — Her voice was small, barely a whisper. — Will you tell me a story?
Garrick lifted his eyes from the cup, studying his daughter as if deciding whether to share the weight of the truth he carried. He sighed.
— Of course, my little one. But this is no ordinary story… — He paused, his eyes reflecting the fire's glow. — This is a legend. The legend of Aelara, the most powerful witch who ever lived.
Lyra stirred, intrigued. She loved her father's stories, but tonight felt different. The air was thick, charged with something unseen, as though a great truth was about to be revealed.
Garrick wetted his lips and began, his voice deep and solemn:
— Long ago, before the world became what we know, elves and humans lived side by side. The elves were ancient, as old as the trees that reached toward the heavens, their bodies humming with the magic of the earth itself. They could hear the whispers of the wind and see the threads of fate weaving through time. Their cities, made of light and crystal, were hidden deep in the forests, where even the bravest hunters dared not tread. They lived in Elyndor, the lost kingdom.
He paused, his gaze fixed on the fire, as if seeing another world within the flames.
— But where there is light, there is always shadow. The humans, hungry for power, coveted what they could never possess. They envied the elves—their magic, their wisdom, their immortal grace. And what begins as envy… soon turns to hatred.
Lyra gripped the blanket tighter, a strange chill running down her spine.
— And so, the war began.
Her eyes widened.
— A war?
— A long, cruel, and merciless war. The land was drenched in blood, and the elves' magic set entire forests ablaze in a desperate attempt to hold back the human armies. It was during this dark time that Aelara was born—the most powerful elf of her generation. But she was different. While the other elves saw humans as enemies… she saw them as equals.
— Was she… good? — Lyra asked softly.
Garrick smiled, though it was tinged with sadness.
— She was strong. Strong enough to defy her own people. And then… she did something unforgivable. She fell in love.
A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire.
— She loved a human — he continued. — And not just any human. Kael was a paladin, a warrior of the human kingdom, trained to fight magic, to destroy elves. But despite everything, they fell in love. They hid their love for as long as they could… but secrets never stay hidden forever.
Lyra's chest tightened.
— What happened to them?
— When the elves found out, they branded her a traitor. They banished her from their lands, severed her ties, and erased her name from their history. To the elves… Aelara ceased to exist. But to the humans, she was something worse—she never should have existed at all. Soldiers hunted her. Kael was condemned as well.
— But… did they escape? — She clung to the hope that they did.
Garrick hesitated before answering.
— For a time. They fled beyond the mountains, where no one dared follow. It was there that Aelara discovered she was with child.
Lyra's heartbeat quickened.
— And then…?
— Then, the night came when her daughter was born. But something happened. Something no one could explain. As the moon hung high in the sky, and Aelara took her last breath… her hands released a deck of cards.
— A deck?
— Yes. Seventy-eight cards, each infused with a fragment of her soul, each carrying a piece of her power. They say the cards were enchanted—capable of bending reality, shaping destiny itself. But with her death, they were lost. Some were taken by kings and sorcerers, others vanished, scattered by the winds, hidden in ruins and forgotten places. And Kael… he took the child in his arms and fled to the only place he could protect her.
Lyra realized she had been holding her breath.
— Where?
Garrick looked away, his voice lowering.
— To a land where no one would know who she truly was. And so, the witch's bloodline was carried into the world.
A heavy silence filled the room. Lyra's skin prickled with an uneasy shiver. It was just a story… but something deep inside her whispered that it was more than that.
She lifted her gaze to her father.
— Father… that child…
He smiled, but there was a bitter edge to his expression.
— That child had children. And their children had children. Until, hundreds of years later… you were born.
Lyra's heart pounded.
— Me…?
Her father nodded, and for the first time, Lyra saw something beyond the weight of worry in his eyes—pride, mixed with a quiet sorrow. His gaze was distant, as if seeing something no one else could.
— We may be poor, Lyra. We may have no titles, no lands to call our own. But listen carefully to what I say—his voice was firm, filled with restrained emotion. — Our family is the direct bloodline of the witch and the paladin. We are the descendants of Aelara. And no matter how much hatred the world casts upon you… never be ashamed of who you are. Because the blood of the legendary witch flows through your veins. And that, my daughter… is your greatest strength.
He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
— Now sleep, my little one. Tomorrow is a new day.
He stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. But Lyra could not sleep. Her mind echoed with her father's words.
She stared at the ceiling, watching the dying embers flicker. The fire was fading… but something inside her had awakened.
And in that moment, though she did not yet understand why…
Lyra knew.
The legend was far from over.
It was only just beginning.