The lands of the Anesens were exactly as the tales proclaimed. Wondrous meadows bursting with light and flowers, small wooden homes in scattered towns, and the dense forest, home to the royal families and the most powerful of the Anesen people. Soren emerged first from the portal of golden light, followed by her Valian counterpart. 

Faelar inhaled deeply, basking in the freshness of the magical lands as it caressed his entire body in a soothing warmth. 

“This is nothing like Jestra.” He exclaimed to Soren as the two of them stopped at the edge of a village just on the outskirts of the forest. As they stood in the shade of a few low trees, he could feel Soren’s power as she masked it away into nothingness. He loosed a sigh; not having to feel that constant demonic presence next to him was a weight off his shoudlers. 

“Jestra? You mean that wasteland you hail from?” Soren questioned in a plain uninterested voice. Her earrings emitted a low glow, dancing happily on the soft breeze.

“My home is not a wasteland,” Faelar bristled. “Just because you’ve been locked away for a thousand years doesn’t mean you—” His anger subsided quickly as Soren wrapped an invisible hand of magic around his throat.

“I do not care.” She said in the same lazy tone. Her grasp relaxed, but Faelar did not stand down.

“I helped free you from your prison. I did everything you asked of me with no question. Is it wrong of me to ask for some respect when speaking about my kingdom?”

Soren turned to face him, blinking in curiosity. “Yes. You only asked me to help you rule your kingdom, right?” 

Faelar shook his head, his wolf ears flapping about. “No, I asked you to give me the power to rule over as many kingdoms as I want,” he let loose a low laugh. “Why would I ask you to assist me with ruling a kingdom I have already been crowned in?”

He followed Soren’s gaze as she scoped out the small village before them, then to the large archway of trees that marked the entrance to the forest, their destination. 

“The people respect you, but you are no king.” Silence ensued. He watched Soren release her magic briefly, standing still as ice as the black swirls enveloped her body, changing her form until she was a tawny skinned Anesen woman with a thick mane of black hair and bright amber eyes that glowed like sunlight. “This forest will also be part of the sacrifices to return my power.” She said slowly, admiring her new form, and the change of clothes the magic had granted her. “And after we’re done here. You will take me to that….academy you spoke so highly of in the past.”

Soren rounded to face Faelar, who simply marveled at the new gorgeous face before him. “If you are king of those lands, you can shift, no?” Faelar nodded slowly. “Then change to your wolven form. The people of this forest need not know who you really are.”

Faelar understood, closing his eyes and letting soft bands of golden magic envelop his muscled body, changing his form from human to animal. Soren gazed upon the wolf before her. Faelar’s wolven form was of the north, with thick brown fur and calculating yellow eyes. The wolf form was rather large, stopping just above Soren’s waistline. 

“Good. Let us enter.”

The magical forest of Fafe Nalore differed greatly from the outside world. The beauty of the forest floor was rather lonely. Apart from the lush grass and flicking shadows cast from the canopy far above their heads, there was nothing. No animals grazed or roamed about. There was no breeze, but it was cool nonetheless. And it was quiet. There wasn’t a single Anesen to be found. Faelar and Soren explored deeper, keeping in mind their new forms; Faelar as his wolven majesty and Soren as her last victim, Nylaathria. 

Scrying eyes watched as they delved further into the magical forest. Soren’s presence had naturally thrown the balance off, but as she masked her own magical essence to match Nylaathria’s, the forest returned to normal. But the eyes continued to watch. High in the trees, far above the floor masked in magic was a maze of wooden homes and walkways that formed a large city. That was where the people of the forest roamed. Soren smiled. Faelar cocked his head at the sound of running water. A nearby river. Then he too noticed the peering eyes from above.

“We’re being watched.” He growled in anticipation.

“Wolves don’t talk, Faelar.” Soren murmured, stopping at the base of a huge tree with a golden crest engraved on its trunk. “We’re here, wait until my return. Howl if you need me.”

Faelar scoffed, lying down next to the tree as Soren placed a small hand over the crest, infusing it with magic. “Howl if you need me.” He growled under his breath as gleaming green and yellow magic engulfed Soren’s body. The base of the tree served as a portal leading to the upper level, to the city in the trees where Nylaathria’s family and friends dwelled.

 

The tree’s portal stood atop a winding staircase, burrowed into a large tree trunk. Soren emerged from the yellow-green bursts, gazing at the wondrous town before her. The elven Anasen people bustled about just like any big city. Kids ran and played on the bridges and in front of stores that were either attached to trees or built into the trunks themselves. Bright voices and magical aura filled the air. Soren inhaled deeply, swallowing a sudden feeling of remorse for those she would soon slaughter like pigs. 

People began to notice her, watching as she descended the steps. Their eyes were locked on the same plain face and black hair they’d know their whole lives. Soren raised a hand, waving to the ones she wouldn’t pass on her route. As she walked deeper into the city, she greeted more people, hugged a few kids, and kissed the cheeks of a few elderly women who’s pointed ears dropped with their lightened hearts. The only thing on Soren’s mind was how much Nylaathria had been loved by these people. She knew that Nylaathria had told of her plans to sacrifice herself to save those bedridden in her city in the trees, those whose breaths could no longer form words, those whose muscles could no longer lift them from bed. Nylaathria had been loved and cherished by everyone there. Soren could see the memories as they flowed through her mind. A piece of Nylaathria now lived inside her.

“Nyla….Nyla?” Soren turned to see a tall male standing amongst a group of Anesen men, all staring in awe. Through Nylaathria’s memories, she knew that face. That sharp jawline, those thin quivering lips, those deep brown eyes that now had remnants of dark circles under them, and that creamy skin that reminded her of the setting sun. 

“Ailluin.” Soren said, her voice saturated in fake joy as she jumped into the man’s arms. The two held each other for a long while. He weeped softly, resting his chin atop Soren’s now black hair. This man was Nylaathria’s fiancé. “Ailluin.” Soren gazed into those brown eyes before planting a fake loving kiss upon his lips. 

Drawing away from the crowd, Ailluin carried Soren like a princess away toward his home, bursting through the door of a tree trunk and leading her into an all too familiar living room, stopping at the stairway that led up to his bed. He gazed down at the woman who now took on the form of his beloved, none the wiser that the woman he’d fallen in love with was no longer alive. “Nyla, you came back! You said—“

“I know,” Soren purred, grabbing his soft hands and holding them together in her own. “There’s so much I have to tell you. So much has happened!” Soren’s impression of Nylaathria was spot on. The angst in her voice, the excitement at seeing her fiancé after being gone for months, and the anticipation of standing between him and his bed; it was all perfect. 

“So…tell me.” Ailluin said finally. Soren could sense his energy calming itself. 

“No. Tonight. I have to let my family know I’ve returned.”

Ailluin was taken aback, not trying to hide the disappointment on his face. “Yes. Of course. I am happy to see you, Love. Really.”

Soren smiled, planting a slightly longer kiss upon his lips before heading for the door. “Come to dinner tonight, Ailluin. You are technically family now.”

Ailluin let loose a soft exhale. “See you tonight.”

Soren admired the intricacy of the city as she headed toward Nylaathria’s home. Every wood board, every store front, every home had been built with wonderful precision. It truly was a city the ancient elves could have lived in. Perhaps the Anesen weren't so different after all, save for their difference in magical energy.

Soren’s chest tightened as more and more people began to acknowledge and reach out to her. The love that they showed for Nylaathria was overwhelming. Their greetings, their gifts to celebrate her return, all of it was so much. By the time she reached the home that had been carved into the side of an enormous oak, her hands and arms had been laden with straw baskets and bags containing all sorts of items. Voices could be heard from within, and before Soren could prepare herself, the front door burst open.

Standing in the doorway with her mouth agape was a bewitching Anesen woman, perhaps the most beautiful woman Soren had gazed upon in decades. Her taupe skin was flawless and youthful, and her high cheekbones sat beneath two glittering spring green eyes. Her deep brown hair had been braided into a neat circlet around her head, similar to a crown. “Sipha!” A man’s voice called from inside the house followed by a quick succession of footsteps. “Why did you run to the door? Who is it?”

The man stepped into the vast entryway, his charcoal eyes widening in disbelief. “Nylaathria?” Soren’s heart twinged at the tone in his voice. She stood still as stone as Nylaathria’s mother reached out a hand, resting it on her cheek before pulling her into a tight embrace.

“Oh, Nyla! You’ve come back to us! Nyla!” The woman wept. The man wrapped both of them in his own arms, cupping Soren’s head against his chest, weeping silently along with his wife. Soren found that her tears came easily, perhaps it was due to the bit of Nylaathria that remained inside her, and the piece that was wrapped around her neck, not visible to any outsiders if she didn’t want it. She grasped at the spot where Nylaathria’s eye hung around her neck, burying her face in the man's trained chest. It didn’t take Soren half a second to know these two gorgeous people were Sipha and Ivaren, Nylaathria’s mother and father.

After the session of tears and “I love you”s ended, Soren was ushered to bathe and help her mother prepare dinner. Her being home would be a surprise to her twin sisters Shaerra and Salihn, who would be returning from their routine training soon.

During the preparations, Soren told of Nylaathria’s journey away from home. She wove together truth and lie, telling them about how she’d found the ancient shrine in a cave on the far outskirts of the continent. She told of nearly dying in that cave as the tide came in and threatened to dash her against the rocks. And she told a lie of a wondrous shrine at the center of a large cavern. Despite being neglected for so long, the shrine had retained its beauty. During her prayer, Soren exclaimed to a wide-eyed Sipha who clutched a head of lettuce to her breasts, that the goddess had spoken to her, exactly as described in the tomes she’d translated. According to Soren, the goddess professed that she needn’t give up her own life to save her people, to save the nonhuman races; but instead, she should worship the goddess with her entire being, and that everything would naturally return to its normal healthy state.

“So…our people. The others, they will be okay?” Sipha questioned slowly. Soren could sense the disbelief in her voice, so she placed a hand on Sipha’s thin shoulder.

“Yes,” Soren breathed softly. She’d planned for this conversation and how she would use it to benefit her in the future. “I was granted some of her power.” Soren felt a wave of firm invisible magic wash over her body. Sipha was examining her aura for any abnormalities. 

“Mom!” Soren said quickly, wrapping the woman in a tight hug. “I’m fine, really. Let us have dinner tonight, and tomorrow I will go to those who are sick and bedridden, and we will test these powers granted to me by the goddess.”

Sipha only gazed at the face of her daughter, at last relenting and returning to dinner preparations. Soren had almost been caught. She was certain that Nylaathria’s mother would have been able to sense the changes of her own daughter's aura, no matter how careful Soren had been with the transformation. Necessary magic wards went up around her as she helped Sipha prepare dinner. There were kitchen knives, glass plates that could be used as weapons, flames flickering along the walls to grant light; there were a plethora of ways Soren could destroy this household, but none of them seemed quite right. Or rather, the aching in her chest told her that these people need not be sacrificed. After all, this was the only surviving Anesen settlement; was it really right to bring about the extinction of her distant relatives?

“That damned brat!” Soren thought to herself, squeezing the then invisible eye that hung around her neck. The piece of Nylaathria living in her was the only reason she was feeling this way about bringing an end to Fafe Nalore. This was necessary, she told herself over and over again. In order to deal with that school, with those weapons that Andromeda surely had prepared for any enemy that dared set foot on that campus, to deal with the armies that would surely stand in her way of total domination over the four kingdoms, this was all necessary. The deaths of hundreds of thousands of people she didn’t even know meant nothing to her. The lives in Fafe Nalore were forfeited the moment Nylaathria had found Soren’s grimoire all those hundreds of years ago. Their fates were sealed the second Soren stepped foot in that forest disguised as the one who’d sought their salvation. Soren’s mind operated like a million watches, ticking with engineered precision. All of her targets had been set, and the order they would die fell into place one after the other. 

The front door opened slowly, and in walked a pair of bright faced twins. Their gorgeous faces and spring green eyes, almost exactly like their mother’s, turned to face the woman standing before them wearing their elder sister’s skin. Soren beamed, just as Nylaathria would have, at the sight of those two sisters.

“Who the hell are you?” One of the twins asked quickly, drawing a dazzling red wand from her pocket and aiming it at Soren’s chest. Soren didn’t move a muscle, but her smile slowly disappeared, and her face twisted into confusion.

“Oh Salihn, I haven’t been gone that long, have I?”

Salihn was the more outgoing of the two twins. Her fiery personality was often spoken about amongst the city. The way she spoke to her elders and her teachers, so informal, and perhaps with a tone of condescension, made many see her as a cocky brat; she was the true problem child of the city chief Ivaren. And to go along with her harshly extroverted, borderline obnoxious personality was her wand that she’d—against her mother’s caution—given the nickname Bloodbath. Her heroic scene of defending one of the outer villages children from a pack of wolves, brutalizing them with a flurry of magic that left the furred bodies bloodied and mangled, had made her decide on that name.

And standing next to Salihn was her shy shadow, the academically inclined Shaerra who barely spoke a word unless it was to her twin. Her bright eyes darted frantically between Soren, who was disguised as Nylaathria, and her twin sister who seemed eager to blast a hole through their elder sister’s body. “Salihn…” She whispered softly. “What’s the matter?”

Salihn ignored her, keeping her wand trained on Soren, who was thinking of a way to kill the three women standing before her if things took a turn for the worse.

“What happened to you?” was all Salihn could say. Soren felt her face soften, as did the atmosphere in the room. She turned to Sipha who was staring daggers at Salihn, and placed a calming hand on her back.

“Oh, you must have sensed the power of the goddess within me. Go wash up! I’ll tell you all about it at dinner!”

Sipha quickly apologized to Soren after the twins left for their rooms, to which she brushed off lightly. “It’s okay. She will soon realize that we have been granted a new strength, and those who are sick will be granted new lives! As the goddess proclaimed.”

Ailluin arrived just as dinner was being served, planting a kiss on the lips of his fiance, kissing the cheeks of Sipha, and shaking Ivaren’s hand with a firm pat on the back. He greeted Shaerra and Salihn in that order, as he always did, and took his spot next to Soren, or Nylaathria, at the large wooden table.

The family dug into a new dish that Soren had decided to show Sipha how to make. It was a meal of seasoned fish, boiled to the point of being well done, covered with a thick, red, delicious, secret Anesen sauce made of sweet and sour insect meat and shelled fruit. And it was covered in a small layer of flavorful poached poultry, all served steaming hot. Shaerra shared Sipha’s appetite, so the two of them began eating almost simultaneously, ignoring Ivaren’s call for prayer to the goddess who delivered his daughter back to him safely. Soren held back a twisted smile, eating as well, and praising herself for the delicious first meal she’d cooked in over a thousand years.

After dinner was finished and the table was cleared, they all sat around the living area, the twins held a seat, Ivaren and Sipha lay curled up with one another on a larger sofa, and Soren—in the body of Nylaathria—sat under Ailluin’s arm as she recounted her tale of leaving the forest and venturing to the cave where the goddess’s shrine lay untouched. She told again of almost dying, and finding the shrine, and receiving the goddess’s blessing and powers to rejuvenate those who’d fallen ill and remained bedridden under the spreading calamity. 

Shaerra wept silently on Salihn’s lap, unbelieving that they’d come so close to losing Nylaathria, even though they’d already lost her to this self proclaimed goddess. Ailluin and Ivaren held something like pride deep in their chests for the daughter and fiance who’d made it back from a journey they’d expected to lose her on. And Sipha—she couldn’t stop her finger from tapping on the armrest. She was anxious about her daughter's supposed newfound powers, and wanted to test them right away on the sickly.

“Perhaps,” she started, “perhaps we could go to the shelters now?” 

Soren gazed into Sipha’s eyes, sensing her anxiety and her longing for…something, or someone. She began to rake through Nylaathria’s memories, looking for anything that would clue her in as to why this woman Sipha wanted to test these powers so urgently. There was nothing. So Soren could only guess that someone very close to Nylaathria’s mother had fallen ill, and that she wanted to have them healed as quickly as possible. But before she could say anything, Ivaren cut in. “Let her rest, darling. That scribe is a tough old bat. No matter how sick she gets, she’ll stick around to hear Nylaathria’s tale. Let the girl rest; she’s already done so much for our people. We owe her that much at least.” Everyone in the room agreed, even Salihn who curtly apologized for her earlier outburst before retiring to her room with Shaerra in tow. Perhaps Salihn also had someone close who’d fallen ill, Soren thought to herself as she bid Ivaren and Sipha goodnight, before leaving out into the night of the city with Ailluin.

The night air in Fafe Nalore was pure, it was clean, it hid every ounce of sickness that plagued more and more people each day. Incedis lights burned brightly throughout the city. The flickering flames lit the boardwalks, illuminated the store fronts and cast dancing shadows about the many trees that helped form the city. Ailluin and Soren walked in silence, and he watched as Soren in Nylaathria’s body gazed around wondrously.

“Is this your first time here?” He asked jokingly. Soren perked up, realizing she’d been ogling the wondrous city.

“No. It’s just nice to be back. I thought I’d never—” She trailed off, and Ailluin gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, drawing her in closer as tiny drops of rain began to fall around them, dropping from above the high canopy.

What a scene it was. The light of the flames bouncing off the drops of rain, casting a shimmering glare about the bright city. The rain fell softly, a steady stream of light precipitation. “I know.” Ailluin said gently. “We’re all glad you made it back. And I’m sure that if those powers the goddess gave you are real, that our family and friends who’ve fallen sick will be even more happy to see you than we are.”

“If they’re real.” Soren repeated silently. She did have the power to heal. There had been no other choice but to advance her healing spells as far as she could. For the many battles she fought, healing was detrimental. She would heal those who were sickly, but she would taint the spell so that they’d fall ill again and die within one day. That would give her enough time to deal with Nylaathria’s family, Ailluin, and any other powerful beings who would stand in her way. She would sacrifice them all; women, children, the elderly—they would all perish.

Soren found herself back in Ailluin’s home. The hollowed out tree was extremely roomy, and everything inside was neat and clean. The Anesen didn’t believe in technology, so there were no tv screens or smartphones anywhere for miles and miles. Wonderful leather furniture had been placed in the living room, and ancient bottles of champagne sat in a clear cupboard in the kitchen. AIlluin snapped his fingers, and to Soren’s surprise, tiny Incedis lights began to burst to life, illuminating the interior, and dazzling upwards around the staircase railing towards his quarters. Soren smiled up at him, tracing a hand down his rippled chest, and stopping just above his belt.

“Shall we wash up first, or—” Before she could finish her sentence, Ailluin had her in the air—holding her buttocks firmly in his hands—and was heading for the staircase. She let out a joyous laugh, thinking that it would be fine to enjoy this pleasure before she claimed his life. And so she did. Ailluin had a calm gentlemanly aura about him, but Soren noticed that once she was in his bed, he became a different beast entirely. She knew this from Nylaathria’s memories, and knew exactly what to expect. Or so she thought.

But as Ailluin tasted her flesh, Soren realized that despite wearing Nylaathria’s skin, she herself had not experienced such worldly pleasures in thousands of years; and as she exhaled heavily, trying desperately to calm her shaking body, Ailluin let loose a low, seductive laugh.

“Nyla,” he cooed, “you’re awfully sensitive tonight, aren’t you?”

Soren covered her eyes with a forearm, she couldn't look that man in his face after she’d come twice. “Don’t be so cocky!” She breathed, letting a bit of her own personality slip out. Ailluin grabbed her waist, pulling her to him as he sat up. And she smiled as she gazed up into those deep brown eyes, and that messy golden hair that hung into his face. He really was a beautiful man. What a shame his death would be.

“I think I like it when you talk back to me.” Ailluin whispered. He’d moved his legs under him, and brought Soren up to his lap. She could feel him pulsing beneath her, and knew that her night was just beginning. Her arms draped draped over his shoulders as she hugged him lazily. And the bite to her neck before thrusting his way deep into her was enough to make her cry out in ecstasy, digging her nails deep into his back as he shifted her up and down, gripping her waist. He was in full control; he’d always been that way with Nylaathria, and she didn’t mind. And Soren understood exactly why as she began to shake, that uncontrollable feeling building in her pelvis and in her stomach. Again and again and again she came. She felt as if she’d died and gone to heaven before Ailluin finally pulled out, falling backwards onto the sheets while still hugging Soren, releasing himself all over her butt and back. 

The two of them lay still for a while. She remained in his warm embrace as she lay atop his chest. “I’m glad you came back to me.” He whispered after a while. Soren only trailed a finger up and down his arm, crossing over his shoulder before stopping just above his heart.

“What if…I didn’t come back?” Soren asked slowly, innocently, just as Nylaathria would have done.

“Then we would miss you. We were actually gonna set up a shrine to honor you, for so selflessly helping our sick. Ivaren told me that your mother cried for weeks before finally accepting that you wouldn’t be coming back.”

Soren was silent as Ailluin continued. “And when you saw me the other day, I was going out to have a drink with some buddies. A pity drink, but then…” Soren looked up, brushing aside her black hair to see tears forming at the corners of Ailluin’s eyes. “Then…then, there you were, looking even more gorgeous than when you left, then when I first met you.” He wiped his tears. Soren pressed her palm to his chest, the thumping of his heart beating into her hand and reverberating through her entire body.

“And what if I didn’t…what if I’m not truly back.”

Ailluin laughed gently, stroking her hair and asking what exactly she meant.

“Well, the goddess gave me a piece of her power, but what if she took something from me as well?” Her face was solemn as she gazed upon the handsome man. Ailluin moved to a sitting position, and Soren remained atop his lap, her hand still resting over his heart.

“Well, she didn’t take your beauty,” Ailluin said, kissing one breast and then the other; “or your loveliness,” he moved to her neck, bringing her closer to him with a tight hug; “or your love for your people.” He planted a final, lengthy kiss on her lips, and as he pulled away, he gazed upon the twisted look on his fiance’s face.

Soren didn’t bother to hide it as she pushed Ailluin down onto the bed, immobilizing him with a breath of her magic. “Hey, Nyla, what’s wrong?” He asked quickly.

“Well, Ailluin,” Soren started as she ever so slowly began to close the hand she had on his chest. “You were wrong, the goddess took everything from me. She even took my soul!” Soren almost writhed in euphoria at the sickened, pained, betrayed look on AIlluin’s face as her hand closed more and more. And he convulsed as a pain in his chest fired throughout his body. Soren covered his mouth with her free hand, drowning out his pained screams. “In fact, dear Ailluin, I took so much from your beloved Nylaathria that this is all that I have left of her!”

Soren dispersed the magic she’d used to hide the silver chain around her neck. And staring down at Ailluin dripping profuse tears was the pained, bloodshot, tear streaked eye of Nylaathria, the true Nylaathria. Soren let out a shrill laugh as the man beneath her trembled in pain and anger.

“Oh I wonder how exactly she felt, watching you ravish another woman like a wild animal, whispering those sweet words to me like I was actually her! But I will say,” Soren shot a gaze behind her at Ailluin’s manhood, “It was certainly worth it. I couldn’t decide when I wanted to claim your soul and your powers for myself. I am very glad I waited!”

Soren continued to smother Ailluin with her free hand as he began to cough up blood. It oozed between her fingers and sprayed from his nose onto her naked body. She inhaled deeply, feeling his heartbeat as if it were actually inside her hand, before closing it into a fist; she loved that power, not many could use it, and she was certain that those who could had never used it like she had . The male beneath her convulsed for several seconds before his lifeless body was finally calm.

“Oh, Nylaathria!” Soren erupted in malignant joy. She lifted the necklace, turning the eyeball so that she could gaze upon it. The fury, the perfidy, the grief, the fear was all there, flowing through the veins of Nylaathria’s eye, the final piece of her living body that now entrapped her soul. “THIS is what you have brought upon your people, the plague that you have unleashed upon these lands! I will slaughter your mother, your father, those dear twins, especially that fiery one, and then everyone you’ve ever known will be killed. Slaughtered. Like the filthy animals they are.”

Nylaathria’s eye strained with rage; and Soren was sure that if she still had her body, she would have tried with every fiber of her being to kill the goddess who had betrayed her trust and now threatened her family, her people. But she no longer had her body, and with her soul now trapped in her own eye, she would be forced to sit back and watch the horrors that she had unleashed from their rightful prison.