Cherreads

Aeren: The Silence After Spells

Kryen
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
--
NOT RATINGS
698
Views
Synopsis
Long after the golden age of magic has faded, silence reigns. The great spellcasters are gone. Their names, their legacies, even their incantations — lost to ivy-covered ruins and time’s slow erasure. Aeren, once apprentice to a forgotten archmage, now walks a world that no longer fears or remembers magic. She does not seek glory. She gathers fragments. Spells written on crumbling stone. Sigils etched in broken walls. Stories traded in whispers over dying campfires. But when she arrives in a quiet village where everyone dreams of the same impossible forest — a forest burning in silence, untouched by time — Aeren is drawn into a mystery that feels too familiar. She doesn't remember dying. But something remembers her. In the silence after spells, echoes remain… and Aeren listens.
VIEW MORE

Chapter 1 - Chapter 1 — Ash Beneath Her Feet

The wind carried the scent of old fire.

Not the kind that still burned — but the kind that had long gone out. The kind that lingered in stone and soil for years, even after the flames had faded. Aeren knew it well. The world was full of such places now.

She stepped lightly over a cracked rune-stone half-buried in moss, its inscription eroded to nothing but a gentle curl of lines. A spell once lived there. It was gone now, like most things.

Ahead, the village slouched against the edge of the hills — wooden houses dulled gray by time, the roofs bowed with age. No guards. No glyph wards. No sign of magic.

They wouldn't recognize her. No one did anymore.

Aeren adjusted her cloak and entered without a word.

---

The town was quiet. Too quiet.

She passed a well. A woman drawing water looked up, paused, and shivered slightly — as if Aeren had brought a cold breeze with her. Then the woman looked away, pretending not to see her at all.

It wasn't fear.

It was forgetting.

---

The innkeeper was the first to speak to her.

He blinked slowly as she stepped in, eyes catching on the silver thread woven into her cloak.

"You... a pilgrim?" he asked.

Aeren thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Of sorts."

He gave her a room key. Didn't ask for coin.

---

That night, it rained — soft and steady, as if the sky itself was exhausted.

Aeren sat by the window, notebook open on her lap. She turned to a blank page and pressed her fingers gently to it.

A soft pulse of old magic flickered beneath her skin, barely there — like trying to light a candle in a world where the wicks were wet.

Nothing came.

She closed the book.

---

In her dreams, the forest burned.

Not like a wildfire — more like a memory being erased. Trees dissolved into ash without heat. The sky flickered. Shadows whispered her name.

And when she stood at the forest's edge, there was something waiting within.

Not a beast.

Not a god.

Something older.

---

She woke before dawn. Eyes open. Breath still. A single word on her tongue:

"Again."

She had never seen that forest before.

And yet… she had.