The golden light of the sun rolled over the hills like melted honey, painting spackled red shingles in glittering amber and casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets of the homely village. Morning fog infiltrated down the mountains and clung to the valley floor, wrapping around the village like the soft embrace of Orie, and the first stirrings of daily life began to emerge from behind painted shutters and wooden doors, in the smoke from shops and the crowing of roosters.

  Nyssa stretched her arms toward the brightening sky, breathing in the crisp cold air as she made her way down from her cottage situated on Maple Borough.

  Her short auburn hair was transformed in the gaze of the sun, bright brunette and beautiful as she danced through the winding streets. Her worn leather boots clicked softly against the stones. The village was waking up around her.

  She intended to enjoy every moment she could afford.

  "Morning, Nyssa!" Baker Hanvaro called out as he hefted a sack of flour into his shop, grinning at the young woman. Steam was already rising from his chimneys. No doubt his baking ovens were primed and ready to create morning bread and sweet treats for his neighbors.

  "Morning, Master Han! Need any help with the morning loaves?" Nyssa chirped back, beaming at the first soul of the day.

  She approached him, already rolling up her sleeves before he could answer. He opened the door for her like a gentleman, letting her slip into his inviting kitchen.

  Expert hands, hers and his, worked the dough with ease. The pair’s pleasant conversation during work devolved into a fit of laughter as flour dusted her green dress and got caught in her hair.

  She hummed an old folk tune while setting the prepared dough on a wooden surface.

  “You know Raven in the Kitchen? That’s impressive, my dear. It’s good to see that young’ns are still appreciating the classics!”

  Nyssa smiled brightly, “Why, thank you, Master Han! I’ve always been partial to the Golden Age songs that Meewah sang to me.”

  The baker nodded without a second thought, finishing up the last of the dough. He’d long since stopped trying to give the young woman money, for she always refused. It was the way that things had been since she first arrived, and she was not going to let him change anything. However, she would take a warm piece of bread to go when it was offered.

  Waving each other goodbye, Nyssa bid her farewells and continued her morning journey down the village.

  Munch, munch, munch.

  Amidst the yawning villagers on the sleepy residential streets, the village cats watched Nyssa upon windowsills and sidewalks with their narrowed yellow eyes, tails twitching with unease as she looked at them. A tabby tomcat hissed softly when she waved at him. Despite the breadcrumbs she scattered, a flock of sparrows took flight when she sniffled at the lingering scent of cat hair that tickled her nose. An old terrier whimpered and retreated behind a barrel when she bent down to pet him.

  "Silly animals," she laughed to herself, though her smile faltered just slightly.

  Her next stop was the washing wells, where Martha, the goodwife of her family, was already elbow-deep in bubbles and soapy water, a mountain of laundry piled beside her.

  "Nine children," Martha groaned as Nyssa approached, gesturing helplessly at the endless pile of small shirts and cloth buckles and pants. "Nine! And every one of them seeks out the muddiest puddles in the entire Hold!”

  "Let me help," Nyssa offered, grabbing a spare washboard and settling beside the frazzled mother.

  They worked in comfortable chatter. Martha told stories about her youngest boy's latest adventure with a family of very hostile geese while Nyssa scrubbed grass stains and listened with genuine delight. Her hand came up and put a glob of suds on Martha’s nose, earning a giggle from the tired woman, “Stop, Nyssa, or I shall-”

  Martha got her back with a bigger load of soapy bubbles, fashioning Nyssa a terrible hat. The young woman laughed aloud and put on a voice, “Ooh, I hate fun and I want all the cats chased out of this village!”

  The goodwife burst out in laughter, understanding the reference immediately. It was a fine mimicry of their mayor, Ser Freeman, famously and drunkenly announcing during a public town meeting the ridiculous decree that no one followed. It certainly hadn’t helped that he wasn’t wearing any pants.

  With all of the clothes washed and collected, Martha thanked the young woman for her steadfast help. The two hugged warmly before Nyssa took her leave, though she had to be careful not to press too tight on the bump of the goodwife’s belly.

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  As the sun climbed the sky, she wandered through the village square, stopping to admire the bronze statues that stood sentinel in the center. Three heroic figures cast in brilliant bronze, their faces noble and determined while the ends of their shoes were losing patina from repeated gestures of respect, the cast of their weapons raised against some long-vanquished evil.

  The plaque at their feet read, "In honor of The Golden Bells; Ser Hardwick the Bold, Lady Brenna Starweaver, and Brother Thomm, who drove back the darkness and saved Skyfallow Village from the Terror of the Darklands.”

  Nyssa studied the statues with a peculiar expression, her head tilted thoughtfully. She traced the inscription with one finger, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Finally, she murmured, “Well done, you three…”

  The sun sat high when she made her way to Old Man Jin'zaphalo's ranch at the edge of town.

  The elderly farmer was already leading his horses out to pasture, his weathered hands gentle on their bridles. His lined face creased into a warm smile when he spotted the young woman with her basket, “Ah, little missus! Come for another gallop, have ye?”

  "If you don't mind, Master Jin," she said, curtsying playfully, "I promise to take good care of whichever one of these beautiful animals you entrust me with.”

  "Bah! Ye fare better with the horses than me own son Fradden," the old man chuckled, handing her the reins to a spirited white mare. “This one, Hotspur, she's been acting like a grincat all week now. I wager she will be gentle as a lamb for ye.”

  He was right.

  The mare, who had been stomping and snorting moments before, immediately calmed under Nyssa's touch. Her dark eyes grew soft and distant, and she stood perfectly still as the young woman mounted. The other horses in the pasture showed the same strange docility whenever she was near, their wild spirits temporarily subdued by her presence.

  “Thank you, Master Jin,” the young woman bowed her head, rubbing Hotspur’s beautiful white mane and pressing her cheek to the pillowy brushed hair. “I’ll collect you some apples for the trouble.”

  The old elf waved her offer away, “Bonshockle! Ye want to thank me, hm? Marry me boy and make an honest man out the ol’ sore!”

  She laughed at that, blushing lightly, turning away cutely, “Just apples for today, okay? Give Fradden my regards!”

  Nyssa rode through the hills surrounding Skyfallow Village, her hair streaming behind her as the white mare carried her through meadows dotted with wildflowers and frightened critters. She filled her wicker basket with apples from the orchards, humming contentedly as the village spread out below her like the most beautiful stage to the most beautiful of days.

  Nothing could put a blemish on this.

  Everything was perfect. Everything was peaceful.

  The harsh cawing of a raven shattered the moment.

  The black bird perched on a gnarled apple tree, its obsidian eyes fixed directly on her. It cawed again, three sharp shrills, urgent sounds that cut through the early noon air like a blade. Nyssa's cheerful expression vanished, the smile fell to her natural pout and her brow became a straight line that shadowed her face. Her shoulders straightened and violent thoughts stirred behind her warm brown eyes as she looked up at the raven.

  "I see," she said quietly, her voice carrying a darkness that hadn’t been there all day. "How long do I have?"

  The raven tilted its head and gave two short caws.

  "Two hours? More than enough time. Have the others prepare the defenses," she commanded, then turned the mare around with a gentle tug of the reins. "Come along, Hotspur. Work calls.”

  The ride back to the ranch took only minutes on the overexerted mare. She thanked Jin'Zaphalo with the basket of apples and her usual bright smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes now. Nyssa’s happy gait devolved into a hurried jog while making her way back toward the village square, returning to her skip when she saw others walking nearby. These were the last few moments of tranquility.

  Walking briskly toward Maple Borough, where her small cottage waited with its blue-painted shutters and carefully tended garden, the young woman opened the door with her outstretched hand, fingers never touching the wood. She paused at the doorframe, glancing back once at the distant bronze heroes who stood watching over Skyfallow Village with their eternal vigilance.

  "Sixty years. How fast they went by, Golden Bells," she said to herself, shaking her head with amusement. Then she opened the door and stepped inside.

  The cottage was modest and clean, filled with the comfortable clutter of a life well-lived. Dried herb bundled warded off bugs from their spot on the window, books lined the shelves, and a cozy fire suddenly crackled in the hearth where it had not been alight a singular moment prior.

  Locks locked themselves, shutters shuttered themselves, and Nyssa floated to and from several corners, gathering specific items from hidden compartments in her pantry and secret drawers in her dressers.

  She paused before her mirror, studying the reflection of the cheerful village maiden she had been all morning. Auburn hair, beautiful brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a smile that had charmed every villager in Skyfallow Village. One last smile for the road.

  The creases at the sides of her mouth were all the more cracked.

  No.

  It didn’t fit anymore. The illusion was failing her, and not through any fault of her magical abilities. If she gave this smile to any villager here, they would think she came down with the plague.

  Nyssa began to set up the necessary components for her ritual circle: bone-chalk for the binding symbols, blood-candles for the pointy ends, and a small vial of mana that glimmered like the night sky to hurriedly imbibe. It hissed like a snake while traveling down her throat, carefully placing herself within the circle.

  She sighed out in contentment at the taste. Her mana reserves quickly replenished, and she popped her neck with an exhale as her hands weaved together a string of pulsing purple magic that surrounded her without instruction. It webbed her like a cocoon, covering every inch of her body from the outside world, the dark whooshing of its power vibrating the cottage.

  It was time to go home.

  After all, Amithaera the Necromancer had visitors to greet, and it would be terribly rude to keep them waiting.