Low-Fantasy Occultist

The wooden latch on the farmhouse window clicked softly, having been properly oiled for the occasion.

Rose slipped through the gap, landing softly on the damp grass. Dawn was still an hour away, the sky a riot of colors above the growing silhouette of Floria’s southern district.

She paused, listening to her grandfather’s snore echo from his bedroom. He had mentioned a long patrol along the southern plains, hunting a pack of feral hounds that had been harassing the sheep. He would be out as soon as possible and wouldn’t return until twilight.

Admittedly, she was taking a risk by leaving before him, but she’d made a point of going out to buy fresh bread and produce at the market over the past week, so he shouldn’t be too suspicious.

She still nervously checked the straps of her leather armor, running a thumb along the hilt of the steel longsword at her hip. The metal was warm in her grip, reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.

Rose moved quickly through the tall grass, taking pains to avoid any beaten path lest she be seen by the other farmers already out and about.

The air was crisp, and soon the boundary of the Green Ocean loomed ahead, an impenetrable wall of mighty trees and creeping vines that seemed to swallow the morning light.

As promised, Devon and Sonya waited near a stone marker at the edge of the woods.

Devon leaned against the stone, idly tossing a small pebble into the air and catching it. He wore a simple padded gambeson that might have belonged to a watchman rather than the Heir of the Barony, and a bastard sword was strapped to his back, yet he held himself with loose grace she often envied.

Sonya stood beside him, wearing a dark wool dress that looked out of place in the wild, especially given the tiny pearls embroidered on the neck and sleeves. It was, however, reinforced with alchemically hardened leather patches, and her apron pockets bulged with glass vials.

She might not be a martial artist, but she knows how to fight well enough. Not that I expected anything less from the adoptive granddaughter of the Grandmaster of the sword.

"We were beginning to think Arthur had caught you,” Devon noted, tossing the pebble away.

"Grandfather sleeps like a stone," Rose whispered, stepping into the clearing they’d so often used for training. Today, it would be their meeting place. They had other, more intriguing things in mind.

“Try to keep talk of him on the down low," Sonya advised, though a faint smile touched her lips. "The canopy muffles sound, but I’ve often heard of people lingering around to listen in.”

Once they’d all finished their checks and been lectured enough about the safety measures they’d agreed on to recite them in their sleep, Sonya finally fell silent, though not without one last reminder. “No matter what we find, we should go no deeper than five miles. The inner woods are too unpredictable, especially after the almost-wave of a few weeks ago.”

Rose nodded, barely containing her excitement as she drew her sword.

Finally, finally, they stepped past the tree line. The temperature began to drop, and the feeling of being watched grew.

The Green Ocean, Rose had been told far too often, was not merely a forest but a living, breathing entity that resented intruders.

She’d never felt it as much as she did now.

It wasn’t long before their walk was interrupted by the rustling of the underbrush.

A pack of Forest Wolves burst from a thicket of thorn bushes. They were lesser predators in the grand scheme of things, but their eyes gleamed with malicious intent, and the froth gathering at their mouths boded ill for what would happen should one of them get a bite in.

The fur was muddy, thickened with earth mana to give them greater resilience, yet Rose knew they wouldn’t last against her blade.

“The three on the left are mine; the two on the right are yours!" Devon called out. He glided forward, intercepting the first beast with a sweeping cut that severed its front legs.

Sonya reached into her apron, pulled out a small vial filled with volatile orange liquid, and hurled it at the two stalkers trying to flank them.

The glass shattered against a tree trunk, and alchemical fire erupted in a blinding flash, igniting the dry mud covering the beasts.

They shrieked, thrashing wildly as the flames consumed their natural armor, giving Devon a chance to chop off their heads.

On the other side, a large wolf lunged, snapping its jaws at her throat. Rose sidestepped, letting the beast's momentum carry it past her, then brought her longsword up in a rising sweep.

As she swung, a warm energy surged from her heart into her arms. The steel blade glowed with golden light, momentarily burning away the canopy's shadows, and sheared through the armored hide, severing its spine in a clean motion.

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Giddiness bubbled within her, as it did every time she dared summon the power of her bloodline. It wasn’t something she’d ever dared to do before, not with her grandfather’s worried eyes watching over her, but it felt freeing like nothing else. Even now, it begged to be used, to turn her enemies to ash at her command.

The remaining beasts hesitated before the golden light and the alchemical fire, but Rose pressed her advantage.

She lunged forward before it could retreat, her sword shimmering like gold in the gloom, then spun around, thrusting the blade's tip through the skull of the final beast and pinning it to the mossy ground.

The fight, if it could be called that, was over in less than a minute.

Satisfied, Rose stepped back, freeing her sword with a squelch. The golden light faded, retreating into her core, and she breathed through the sudden emptiness, focusing on the familiar, satisfying rush of combat settling into her bones.

A soft chime rang in her mind.