The old orchard was green and alive, its gnarled trees bowed under the weight of apples—red, ripe, and untouched.

  No matter how many the branches bore, none ever fell. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and overripe fruit, stirring with the last traces of morning fog.

  Two boys, no older than fifteen, crouched behind a crumbling stone wall.

  "Look at 'em, James! So many, and they're ripe for da pickin'," Max whispered, copper hair catching the early light. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he pointed through the gap. "We sneak in, you climb, grab a few, and we're out before anyone knows."

  "I dunno, Max. We ain't supposed to be here; it's forbidden," James felt hot to his ears, wiping sweat from his brow despite the cool morning air. "We could get in a lot of trouble just being here. I don't wanna think what the Master would do if he caught us.

  "Where's ya sense o' adventure, James? Everybody's scared of this place, but nobody ever tells me why." He grinned wide, and James knew exactly what that look meant—Max was ready to get them both into trouble.

  Because they don't have to.

  James knew the stories. The orchard had stood long before Oakwood, before the Imperium, before anyone could remember. And still, the apples that never fell.

  "I'll go first," Max said, already darting toward the gap. "If somethin' doesn't want me here, they’ll turn me back—or strike me down." He squeezed through the narrow opening. This caused a few rocks to shift, sending a slight tremor through the wall. But there was no bolt of lightning, no turning back, just the soft murmur of the morning birds.

  James hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the gap, running after his friend into the orchard, praying nothing would catch them.

  The apple trees were enormous, nearly three times the size of normal apple trees. Oddly, none of the lower branches bore apples. Only the branches near the top held the bright red fruit. The lowest branch was still too far out of reach, but Max signaled he had a plan. He cupped his hands and waved them toward James.

  James nodded with understanding, and with a quick burst of speed, he stepped into Max's hands, who half-lifted, half-threw him upwards. With fingers outstretched, James barely managed to grab the lowest branch, which creaked and swayed slightly beneath his weight.

  "Wahoo!" Max cheered, jumping in circles below. "Get us some of the big ones! Bet dey taste amazing!"

  "Shush! Someone'll hear ya," James hissed, putting a finger to his lips. Sheepishly, Max shrank back.

  "Right, forgot," he muttered, then pointed upward. "Is that apple gold?"

  Sure enough, three branches above James' head, a golden apple the size of a grapefruit hung, its gleam as bright as the noon sun. James thought it odd—it hadn't been there a moment ago.

  As he climbed higher, fixated on the golden apple. He plucked a red one nearly as large as his head and tossed it toward Max. The Cooper-haired boy caught it with a grunt.

  With each careful movement, James' stomach growled with hunger.

  "Just a minute more, and we can eat too," he thought.

  The golden apple came free with the slightest tug. It felt warm in his hand, and the smell of it made his mouth water. Apples were always a treat at the fall festival, and he couldn't wait to take that first crisp, sweet bite. James lowered himself carefully onto the branch, wrapping his legs around it. Trying to keep his balance to enjoy that first crisp bite.

  The apple was better than he imagined; it melted on his tongue, sweet as the best treats from the festival and as crisp as a morning breeze. He savored that first bite as a strange sensation washed over him like a door inside had opened.

  His veins felt on fire, like a thousand tiny bees had stung him all at once. The feeling surged for a heartbeat before fading, leaving him shaken and confused. He felt his legs go slack, and for a moment, he was sitting safely in the tree, and the next, he was falling. For a moment, he thought it odd that his hand still gripped the golden apple so tightly. As he plummeted to the ground.

  Thud!

  "Miss Silvia! Miss Silvia!" The boy's voice rang out, desperate. Each cry was followed by a series of loud bangs against the wood of her cottage door. "Miss Silvia, please! Ya gotta open the door!"

  "What is it, Max? My morning tea has not yet been brewed, and you are banging on my door." Miss Silvia's voice was sharp as she pushed herself up from her chair. The cottage was simple, with a hearth that still smoked faintly. Her hands, slender but firm from years of tending to the village's needs, brushed through her dark hair, which already carried a touch of grey. She yanked the door open. Her hawk-like features were set in an unamused frown. Her heart tightened when her green eyes locked on the copper-haired boy. Blood smeared his hands, and his young face was marked with an expression she had never seen before—one of raw fear. "What has happened?"

  "James, he fell from the tree. He ain't talkin' right, mumblin'... his words ain't makin' sense. I tried to get him here, but he was screaming at me to stop. I dunno what to do. Can ya help him?" Max's words flowed like a river, and tears streaked his dirt-smeared cheeks.

  "Hurry now, lead the way." She tried to project a calm she didn't entirely feel. With practice grace, she grabbed her bag of medical tools, and her eyes flicked to the small fire heating her tea. She sent a brief magical thought to snuff it out, then closed the door behind her. "Do not dawdle, boy. Let us see if we can save your friend."

  As they hurried toward the orchard, the air grew cooler, and the familiar scent of the ancient trees filled her lungs.

  She slowed, slightly as she saw James' body. Sprawled on the ground, twisted in unnatural ways. The lack of blood was a small comfort, but it did not reassure her nerves. Light glinted off a small goldened apple.

  "They should not have been in here, in the temple orchard. The rules were there for a reason." The words left her lips before she could stop them, though she did not expect Max to understand. Her thoughts, however, lingered on the foolishness of the boys. What had they gotten themselves into?

  "Max, go and fetch Ser Edwin. Tell him I need him here at once. Do not let him dawdle. And if he hesitates, tell him I will put a hex on his forge for a month." Her tone had sharpened, the urgency of the moment clear. "Then go to my cottage and fetch me the small silver bottle from my deck, the one that sparkles. You will know it when you see it. Do you understand?"

  Max nodded and was off before she could say another word. She sighed in relief, glad that he had not lingered. Miss Silvia feared seeing his friend like this might scar him in ways she could not undo.

  Turning her attention back to James, she knelt beside him. Slowly, carefully, extending her magic toward him. The boy's breathing was shallow but steady—thankfully, or maybe not so thankfully. He was alive.

  As she reached deeper, her heart sank. James' organs were intact, his spine and brain unharmed, though shaken.

  Yet the magic she sensed told a darker story. His magical pathways had been torn open, his spirit exposed. He had made a terrible, dangerous mistake. The boy had reached too far into the power of the orchard, opening himself to something that mortals should never do.

  "What is so pressing that you threaten a hex on me, old hag?" The rough bark of Ser Edwin's voice interrupted her thoughts. She heard his heavy steps as he approached. "And you drag me out to this cursed place, blessed be her name."

  "Edwin," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of fear and grief brewing inside her. "I will have to heal this boy's spine, put it back into place. But when he wakes... I fear the change will already be irreversible."

  Miss Silvia paused as Edwin's worn leather boots appeared before her. She couldn't help but notice how his presence—solid, reassuring—always steadied her. His grey eyes met hers, a shared understanding between them.

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  "He did not..." he said softly.

  "He did." Her words were a mere whisper. "And the change is already beginning. We must stop it. But I cannot. My oaths bind me."

  "I will do it," Ser Edwin said quietly. His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment before he knelt next to James, his touch steady, his movements precise. "I will put him right. You focus on healing him."

  Miss Silvia nodded, giving him space as she turned her attention back to James. She poured her magic into him, steadying his spine, healing his bruises and a growing infection on his leg. As she worked, James stirred. His blue eyes opened slowly beneath the wild mess of sandy hair.

  "Miss Silvia? Ser Edwin?" His voice was soft and confused. "I don't understand... What are you doing here?"

  "We are here to protect you, James," Miss Silvia said gently, offering a smile she hoped was warm though her heart was heavy. "We are here to make sure you stay who you are."

  James relaxed a little, resting his head back against the grass. But in that moment, Ser Edwin's hand moved with a swift and precise motion. His dagger sank deep into James' chest, piercing his heart.

  Miss Silvia turned away before she could see the light leave his eyes or witness the shift in his expression from trust to betrayal. The boy did not scream, did not cry out.

  Silvia's breath hitched in her throat as her tears fell silently, stinging her eyes and burning her cheeks.

  She could not bring herself to look back.

  Ser Edwin wiped the blade on the grass and stood, his posture sagging with an unspoken weight. He stared at the sky for a long while, the world around them eerily silent.

  "I will fetch Max before he returns," he said quietly. "Good thinking, sending him off to your place. This is not something for a boy to witness."

  Silvia squeezed his hand gently, her fingers trembling, before he walked away. She set out the stones and tools needed to begin the difficult and painful work of bringing James back.

  Only the quiet of the orchard surrounded her, thick with the weight of the task ahead.

  James felt cold. A cold that wasn't the chill of night but the absence of warmth itself. The world around him seemed wrong. The moon hung high and pale in the sky, casting an eerie light over everything, making the ground beneath him feel too hard, too uneven. The air carried a smell—sterile and acrid—that burned in his nose, sharp and stinging his eyes. It was a scent he knew, one that reminded him too much of the place where his grandad had died, a place that had haunted his thoughts for as long as he could remember.

  The orchard stood around him, barren and lifeless. The trees, once full of rich green leaves, were now stripped bare. Their bark was no longer the warm brown he knew but pale, grey, and sickly to the eye.

  Everywhere James looked, the world had taken on a blue hue, as though reality had been twisted as if the world had been turned inside out. His hands were clammy. Sweat ran cold down his spine. Each breath seemed to draw the chill deeper into him as if the cold was coming from within him rather than the world around him.

  He stepped forward, his foot crunching down on something brittle. He was almost afraid to look, his heart thudding in his chest.

  Bones. Bones everywhere—human, animal, and monstrous. The stories he had heard—his mother's warnings, the old tales—came rushing back. Those things he had always believed were just that: stories. Yet they lay scattered across the ground in all their grisly, twisted glory.

  "This is a nightmare," James thought desperately, trying to force his mind to accept it, to make sense of the impossible. "It has to be. I cannot be here."

  A massive skeletal hand slammed down beside him, sending the bones beneath him skittering across the ground. The impact tore deep furrows in the earth, knocking James from his feet. The air seemed to shake with its force, and he lifted his head to see. A skull the size of Miss Silvia's cottage, bull-like in shape but wrong in a way he could not comprehend, loomed over the trees. There was only a red, glowing void where eyes should have been. But there was something in those eyes—hunger. The hunger of a predator. James' stomach turned as his heart raced.

  He scrambled to his feet, his breath quick and shallow, and ducked behind the nearest thing—a fallen apple tree twisted and hollowed by age. The creature's clawed hand shot forward, massive bone fingers like spears, sharp and cruel, drove into the tree trunk. With an explosion of splinters, the trunk shattered. Pain lanced through James as debris hit him; splinters and jagged shards flayed his skin. James yelled in panic, feeling the blood pour from his wounds, thick and dark.

  The creature's maw opened wide, revealing rows of broken teeth, sharp and jagged. A grey tongue flicked over them, tasting the air. Its red eyes locked onto him, and James knew, without a doubt, that he was its prey.

  "By the Light. Blessed Mother. Bring him back!"

  The words reached his ears, distant but familiar—Miss Silvia's voice, clear and unwavering despite the chaos around him.

  Warmth flooded James, and the world burst back into color: greens, reds, yellows, and blues. The pain faded, the sticky black blood vanished from his hands, and his injuries slowly healed as though the earth itself were stitching him together. James blinked, his heart steadying, his breath easing. He met Miss Silvia's tired, weary eyes.

  Her grey-streaked hair clung to her face, damp with sweat. Beads of it dripped down her hooked nose. Her face was pale and unnaturally gaunt from the strain she had endured to bring him back from the brink.

  "Miss Silvia, are you alright?" James jumped to his feet, wrapping his arms around the older woman. "You look sick. Let me help you."

  "I am fine, James. Just a little spent. Are you alright? That was quite the fall you had." Silvia chuckled softly and pushed herself off the ground, leaning slightly on James for support.

  "I feel fine," James said, shaking his head. "I don't even remember falling, to be honest."

  "That is normal after a fall like this," she replied, the color slowly returning to her face as they began walking back toward the village. "You will be right as rain after a few days' rest."

  The walk back was slow. Miss Silvia pretended not to lean on James, and he pretended not to notice. The birds, which had been strangely silent, resumed their morning calls as the sun burned off the last remnants of fog. By the time they were halfway back, Miss Silvia stood on her own, though her pace was still slow. James couldn't understand why she was so tired—he'd fallen from trees before, but she didn't seem eager to discuss it, no matter how much he asked.

  "Let it be, James," she said with a weary smile and a pat on his back. "Things that used to take me little effort now tire me out. I'm not as young as I used to be. That is all."

  She gave a small chuckle. "You must be hungry if you went to the orchard to steal an apple. Why don't you come back to my place? I can probably find enough oats for both of us or maybe the chicken laid an egg. How does that sound?"

  Almost on cue, James' stomach growled loudly. He flushed with embarrassment, and Miss Silvia laughed softly, her smile warm. They shared the moment as the sun fully burned through the fog.

  Her cottage stood at the edge of town, nearly consumed by creeping vines. The shutters were thrown wide to catch the morning breeze, and the scent of fresh ground herbs filled the air, greeting them as they approached.

  James had always found it strange that, though it was summer, Miss Silvia's garden seemed to hold plants that were out of season—Frostleave, Widdow's Bark, and a dozen others he couldn't name, sprawling in every direction.

  Miss Silvia hung her bag of tools just inside the door and, with a thought, lit the warm coals in the fireplace. The interior of the cottage was like nothing James had ever seen. The small room was crammed full of so many things. There were nearly as many plants as stones in the walls—some in pots, others growing through cracks in the stone. Tables were stacked high with books, vials, metal objects, and mortars and pestles in various stages of use. Near the hearth stood a small bed and rocking chair, a quilt draped lovingly over it. A small table beside the chair held a single book and a pair of reading glasses resting neatly on top. James could just see a small basket of yarn tucked away beneath the table.

  The largest tabby James had ever seen lay stretched out near the warmth of the fire, its steady breathing a rhythmic lullaby.

  "Go ahead and sit in the chair. Don't mind, Whiskers," Miss Silvia called from the other side of the room. "He will not scratch you unless you are a Ghoul. Come to get me after all these years."

  She moved gracefully through the clutter, her movements fluid, like a dancer on stage. James doubted he could do the same.

  "I'm fine right here. I don't want to knock anything over." James shuffled his feet.

  "Nonsense," she said, barely glancing at him. "There is more room than you think." She pointed to the chair as she opened the drawers and cabinets in the small kitchen. To James's surprise, there was plenty of space as he walked. The tables didn't feel as close as they had seemed, and he could easily move between them. When he looked back, it seemed the room still should have been crowded, but he hadn't knocked over anything.

  The chair felt perfect as he sat down, neither too tall nor too short, and the arms were perfectly positioned. "It's perfect. I could sleep here."

  "Go ahead and put the blanket on, dearie," Miss Silvia's voice was soothing, almost melodic. "It will be a few minutes before I get the oats cooking and the tea ready."

  James pulled the blanket from behind him and wrapped it around his shoulders. It was warm, like being hugged by his grandad or tucked into bed as a child. The aches from his fall and the tension in his shoulders melted away. The large tabby raised a single violet eye. James swore the eye glowed faintly. Before the cat yawned and turned back to watch the fire.

  "That cat's the size of Farmer Gorgie's mastiff. I didn't know cats could get that big." His thoughts were growing fuzzy.

  He fell asleep before his eyes had even fully closed. Silvia knew the chair and blanket would work their magic—they always did. Still, she went about preparing the tea. She knew she didn't have the oats she'd promised, but Edwin would be along soon to check on her—and the boy.

  Sure enough, just as the kettle whistled, there was a firm knock at the door. Whiskers circled the room, his tail twitching, his eyes trained on the sleeping boy. The sound of heavy boots approaching announced Edwin's arrival.

  "Well," was all he said as the door creaked open. Silvia had to admit she was taken aback by the grizzled old man's appearance, not for the first time. He crossed his arms over his leather smith's apron, his nearly all-grey hair showing only a few black strands in his neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, the color of morning fog, met hers over a nose that had been broken more times than either of them could count.

  She saw the weariness in his gaze but also something softer, something unspoken.

  He towered over her, standing nearly six and a half feet tall, his arms as thick as most men's legs. Yet his bulk was soothing in this moment.

  "We seem to have stopped her magic in him, as we hoped. But it hasn't gone away," she said, her voice low. She grimaced as she poured two cups of tea and handed one to him. "He will always have her touch on him now, and anyone who cares to look will see it."

  "So, do we tell the Master?" Edwin sipped the tea, his eyes flicking over to the sleeping boy. "Poor kid."

  "It would only put him in more danger. I don't think that is wise... not just yet." She took a long pull from her own tea, her face scrunched at the slightly bitter taste.

  "I'll ask the Master if I can take him on as an apprentice. I've been meaning to get one since Kurt ran off." Edwin set his cup down on the table. "That way, I can keep an eye on him until he's ready for whatever she's planning."

  "Okay," Silvia murmured, still watching the boy. She let out a quiet prayer, sending her thoughts to the gods above.

  "Please," she whispered, "bright and worthy ones, keep this foolish child safe from your sister."

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