FORGOTTEN SPELLS

The morning air was fresh and cool, but to Lena, it felt like a bitter reminder of how life could move forward, indifferent to the pain that lingered in her heart. The sun's soft, golden light seemed almost cruel in its warmth, contrasting sharply with the cold emptiness that had settled within her since last night. She glanced at the trees, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze, and thought of how peaceful the world appeared, as if it hadn't witnessed the horrors of the night before.

Nearby, people were scattered among the graves, mourning their dead loved ones. Some were still in the midst of the painful process of burying their kin, their hands working methodically through the dirt as they said their final goodbyes.

Lena and Jarin stood together, their figures silhouetted against the morning light. They were in front of Lena's father's grave, a freshly turned mound of earth marked by a simple, yet lovingly crafted, wooden cross. Lena's eyes were red and swollen from crying, her grief raw and visible in the way she clung to Jarin's arm. 

Lena's thoughts drifted back to the previous night, to the screams that had echoed through the streets, the dark shapes that had torn through the town like a storm of nightmares. So many lives had been snuffed out in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the silence of the dead. The morning, which should have brought comfort and hope, now felt like a lie—a beautiful mask hiding the ugliness of what had been lost.

As she stood before her father's grave, Lena couldn't help but feel that the world had betrayed her. How could the morning be so calm, so gentle, when so much had been ripped away? 

They were both lost in their thoughts when a voice broke the silence, soft yet filled with an understanding that resonated with their pain.

"He was a good man."

Startled, Lena and Jarin turned to see who had spoken. Standing a short distance away was Constable Bramwell, his expression solemn as he looked at them. He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the grave for a moment before shifting to Lena.

"We need to talk," he said, his tone serious but not unkind, as if he knew the burden he was about to place on her was one she was not yet ready to bear.

Lena wiped her eyes, trying to pull herself together. "About what?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound strong.

"Not here," Bramwell replied, glancing around as if the weight of the conversation would be too much for the quiet graveyard. "There's something you need to know, something your father left behind.

A chill ran down Lena's spine as she exchanged a look with Jarin. The unease she had felt before had not dissipated; instead, it seemed to tighten its grip on her heart. Without another word, she nodded, her mind already racing with possibilities as she followed Bramwell out of the graveyard, Jarin close by her side.

Inside Constable Bramwell's house, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension. The small office where they sat was neat, its walls lined with shelves filled with books and scrolls. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, doing little to warm the chill that had settled over the room. Lena and Jarin sat side by side on a cushioned bench, the weight of the morning's events still pressing heavily on their hearts. Across from them, Bramwell sat behind a sturdy wooden desk, his face composed but grave.

A maid entered the room quietly, setting a tray of tea on the table between them. The soft clink of porcelain was the only sound as she poured the steaming liquid into delicate cups, her movements precise and practiced. She placed a cup in front of each of them before retreating silently, leaving the three of them alone.

Bramwell picked up his cup but didn't drink. Instead, he stared at the swirling steam, as if gathering his thoughts. "Your father was an incredible friend," he began, his voice tinged with a sadness that made Lena's heart tighten.

Was, Lena thought bitterly, the word slicing through her like a knife. The reality of her father's death was still too fresh, too painful to accept. She looked at Bramwell, her eyes narrowing with a mix of grief and anger. "Get on with it," she said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Bramwell nodded, setting his cup down. He reached into the drawer of his desk and pulled out a rectangular box, its royal blue surface speckled with tiny golden sprinkles that caught the light. He handed it to Lena, his expression unreadable.

Lena hesitated for a moment before taking the box, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the lid. Inside was a necklace, unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was made of fine, intricate silverwork, with a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon. In the center of the crescent was a small, deep blue stone. 

She stared at it, confused. Jarin leaned in to get a better look, his brow furrowing. "What is this?" Lena asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It was something your father wanted you to have," Bramwell replied, his gaze steady. "He gave it to me about two weeks ago, with instructions to pass it on to you after his... after he was gone."

"Two weeks ago?" Jarin repeated, his confusion matching Lena's. "But you weren't with him before he... before he was in danger?"

Bramwell shook his head. "No, I wasn't."

"Then how did he know...?" Lena's voice trailed off, the question hanging in the air like a dark cloud. "How did he know something was going to happen?"

Bramwell looked down at his hands, his expression somber. "He didn't tell me everything, Lena. But he knew... he knew something was coming. Something dangerous. He wanted you to be prepared."

Lena stood up abruptly, the box still clutched in her hand. "That's impossible," she said, her voice shaking with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "How could he have known? If he knew, he would have... he would have done something to prevent it."

Bramwell's eyes met hers, filled with a sorrow that only deepened Lena's anger. "He made his decision, Lena. He did what he thought was best."

Lena's anger flared, tears welling up in her eyes. "You're lying!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. "He didn't know anything! You're just trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense!"

Bramwell remained calm, though his expression grew more resigned. "I'm telling you the truth, Lena. Your father knew more than he let on. He trusted me to give you this, and to tell you one more thing." He paused, watching her carefully. "You need to go to Drakemoor. You'll be safe there."

Lena's fists clenched around the box. "Safe?" she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "What do you mean, safe? Why should I trust anything you say?"

Jarin stood up, moving to place a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her. "Lena, please—"

"No, Jarin!" Lena snapped, pulling away from him. "He's hiding something! If my father knew all of this, why didn't he tell me? Why didn't he stop it?"

Bramwell remained seated his calm demeanor in stark contrast to Lena's fury. "He had his reasons, Lena," he said quietly. "And he believed you'd be safer in Drakemoor. That's why he left these instructions."

"Instructions?" Lena's voice was thick with tears. "He's gone! And you're telling me to run away to somewhere because of what? Because of a necklace?"

Bramwell's tone remained level, though there was a hint of urgency now. "You don't have to believe me, Lena. But please, trust your father's wishes. Go to Drakemoor. It's the only place I can be sure you'll be safe."

Lena shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she turned towards the door. "I'm not running away," she muttered, her voice choking with emotion. "I'm not leaving."

Jarin followed her, his expression torn between worry and resolve. As they reached the door, Bramwell's voice called out one last time.

"Lena, please. Drakemoor is the only place you'll be safe."

Lena paused, her hand on the door handle, but she didn't look back. "We'll see about that," she whispered, pushing the door open and stepping out, Jarin close behind her.

After stepping out of Bramwell's house, Lena and Jarin walked in tense silence, the weight of the constable's words pressing heavily on them. The early morning sun cast long shadows on the cobblestone streets, but it did little to lift the dark mood hanging between them.

Jarin's thoughts swirled with worry and uncertainty. He glanced at Lena, who marched ahead with a determined stride, her face set in a hard, unreadable expression. Finally, he broke the heavy silence. "Lena, I think Bramwell might be right," he said cautiously. "We should at least consider what he said about Drakemoor."

Lena stopped abruptly, turning to face him with a sharpness in her eyes that caught Jarin off guard. "You believe that? That we should just drop everything and run to some place because of what he believes?" Her voice was edged with frustration and disbelief.

Jarin met her gaze, struggling to find the right words. "It's not just about Bramwell's belief, Lena. It's everything—your father trusted him enough to give him that necklace. Maybe he knew more than he could share with us, but... what if Bramwell's right? What if Drakemoor is the only place where you'll be safe?"

Lena's jaw tightened, her eyes flashing with anger. "Safe? You think running away to someplace I've never even heard of will make me safe?" She pulled out the box holding the necklace, opening it to reveal the delicate silver chain. "This? This is just a necklace, Jarin! It doesn't make any sense!"

Jarin's eyes widened slightly as he stared at the pendant. "You don't recognize it, do you?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and concern.

Lena frowned, her confusion growing. "Why would I? It's just a necklace," she replied, looking down at the delicate silver crescent and the small blue stone set in the center.

Jarin's expression shifted, a realization dawning on him. "Lena... this isn't just any necklace." Without another word, he reached out, grabbing her hand. "We need to go. Now."

Startled, Lena tried to pull back. "Jarin, what's going on?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic as he started pulling her down the street.

But Jarin didn't slow down, his grip on her hand firm as he quickened their pace. "I'll explain later,"

As they moved swiftly through the streets, Lena could see the devastation that still lingered. The town was in chaos—people were working frantically on the ruined buildings, their faces marked with exhaustion and despair. Some were clearing debris, while others tried to salvage what they could from the wreckage.

Lena's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to keep up with Jarin. She glanced around, her mind racing to understand what was happening. Her eyes met those of a man lifting a heavy beam, his face smeared with soot, and a woman sorting through a pile of charred belongings. The once-familiar streets now seemed alien, transformed by the night's destruction.

He suddenly stopped, picking up a framed photograph from a shelf in the living area. The frame was simple yet elegant, made of dark wood with intricate carvings along the edges that gave it a timeless, classic feel. The glass was slightly smudged, showing signs of being handled often as if it had been cherished and held close through the years.

In the photo, Lena's mother held her as a baby, her face glowing with a serene, joyful expression. Her auburn hair, much like Lena's, was loosely tied back, a few strands framing her face. Her eyes sparkled with warmth and love, a smile softening her delicate features. The photograph captured a moment of pure happiness, the kind that seemed almost magical in its simplicity.

Lena, just a tiny infant in the picture, was wrapped in a cozy blanket, her small face nestled against her mother's chest. Only a hint of her mother's dress was visible—a flowing, soft fabric in a muted shade of green, adorned with subtle floral embroidery near the neckline. The dress added a touch of grace to the image, complementing the gentle, nurturing presence of her mother.

"Look," Jarin said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. Jarin turned the frame toward Lena, his finger pointing at the necklace her mother was wearing—a delicate silver crescent with a small blue stone in the center. The necklace, now in Lena's possession, was identical to the one in the photograph, a connection that sent a wave of realization and emotion through her.

Lena's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the photograph, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing. "That's... that's the same necklace," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Jarin nodded, his expression serious. "I don't think Bramwell's lying, Lena. This necklace—your father must have known it was important. That's why he gave it to you."

Lena felt her legs weaken as the weight of the revelation settled over her. She took a seat in a nearby chair, her hands still clutching the box. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "But why? Why didn't he just tell me what this all means?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jarin crouched down beside her, his eyes filled with concern. "Maybe he couldn't, Lena."