Beware of Kittens [9.1, 9.2, 9.3]

Day 9.1: Witchy Cultivation

I didn't trust Vesna enough to let her roam freely during the night. Despite the magic pact I observed and Minnow's assurances, caution seemed the wiser course when dealing with a centuries-old predator.

"You'll sleep in here," I told her, leading her to a small storeroom at the back of the pub. It had likely once held grain on shelves and barrels of mead, with sturdy walls and a heavy door that could be barred from the outside.

Vesna's golden eyes glittered in the dim light. "A cell within a sanctuary," she observed dryly. "How generous."

"Just a precaution," I corrected her. "Until more trust is established. Put yourself to sleep at night with your song magic so that your rest cycle is aligned with mine."

"As you wish, warlock." She entered the room with a sigh, her dark wings folded tightly against her back. "Until morning, then."

Minnow slid off Vesna, half-smudged and moving across the wall like a creeping shadow that watched me with those unnerving black eyes.

"She won't attempt escape," the small nav assured me. "The bond is true. I will watch over her dreams.”

“And feed on them?”

“Yes,” the nav answered. “I will feed on her dreams. That is our deal.”

“Which will do what?”

“Which will reveal her secrets and plans to me,” the nav replied. “One cannot deceive themselves in dreams. As she is ancient and very magical, her dreams will make me grow in power, give me greater presence in the physical world… fortify my existence.”

"Aight," I replied, "Let me know what you learn tomorrow."

The nav flitted into the room with the Sirin. I pulled a wheelbarrow with a small pile of my domain earth close to the Sirin to hide her from Jotun-sniffery and then closed the door and secured it with a heavy wooden beam. 

Stormy had already claimed her spot on my domain soil sled, curled into a tight ball of black fur. I joined her, settling onto the warm, violet-tinged earth that had become my bed in this strange world of magic beasts. Sleep came quickly, my body exhausted from the day of dragging the elk corpse home.

Morning arrived with pale light filtering through the round stained glass windows above the shutters casting colorful circles across the pub's worn floorboards. I woke feeling refreshed, with a pitch of a tingling sensation coursing through my body that hadn't been there before.

Curious, I summoned the status window.

| Name: Ioan Starfall

| Age: 17 winters

| Kin & Blood: Witch, Zemlya-Touched

| Soul's Root: Witch of Svalbard

| Tier: 2

| Anima: 89/89

| Domain Bound Anima: 417/417

| Might of Zemlya: 0

| Swiftness of Wind: 0

| Grace of Hand: 0

| Vitality: 1

| Voice of the Wild: 0

| Blessings & Craft: None

| Cultivated Essence: 3

The change was immediate and obvious—my Cultivated Essence had increased from 0 to 3 overnight and I was now tier 2, whatever that meant. I stared at the floating numbers, wondering what had triggered the growth. What has changed recently?

The barrels. 

It had to be the barrels containing the corpses I'd buried in my domain soil. Yaga had mentioned that "all things that decay and bloom in your domain's soil will gradually empower you" plus my conversations with Vesna and Minnow confirmed it. The decomposition process was somehow ‘cultivating’ power.

I released Vesna from her makeshift cell, finding her perched on a small barrel, her wings wrapped around her body like a cocoon. She unfolded herself as the door opened, stretching languidly with a yawn of predator canine teeth.

"Warlock," she greeted me. 

"Vesna,” I said.

She followed me out of her ‘room’ grumbling that the sun was being noisy. Minnow seemed to be asleep on her shoulder, wrapped around her neck like a dark gray scarf.

I headed for the barrels that contained my macabre garden. They stood where I'd left them, arranged in a triangle around my sled. The lids were sealed tight, but a faint odor of rot emanated from them—the unmistakable scent of decomposition.

I pried open the first barrel, wrinkling my nose at the intensified smell that wafted out. Vesna recoiled sharply.

"What in Nox's name are you doing?" she hissed, backing away.

“What? You can smell that?” I asked.

“Yes, I can smell rotting flesh,” she replied, her nose twitching. “It is unpleasant. Why are you…”

"I am checking my experiment," I replied, tipping the nearest barrel sideways and digging out the corpse.

The human body I'd placed inside was partially decomposed, far more than should have been possible in such a short period of time. The flesh had largely liquefied, the fluids almost entirely absorbed into the violet-tinted earth and the bones were crystallizing, transforming from white calcium structures to violet-tinged crystalline formations that resembled the rocks in my domain soil.

“Seriously, why do you keep corpses in barrels?!” The Sirin retreated even further away from me.

I glanced at her, then back to the barrel. "To understand the process of what my domain does to bodies. Didn't you ever check on the bodies you collected for your tree?"

"Ugh, no!" she exclaimed, looking genuinely revolted. "The Mother-oak handled all that. I simply delivered them, dropped them into her wooden maws and then they... disappeared into her root-spheres." 

“Oh, so they weren’t your snacks?”

"Snacks?! I prefer to catch and eat my meat fresh, since I can just call prey out with my voice. The dead hold no interest for me."

Her reaction was interesting—this predator who had slaughtered countless victims was disgusted by the natural decay process. A medieval sensibility, perhaps. Or maybe Sirins had an instinctive aversion to rot? Either way, my original presumption that the Sirin was storing bodies for later consumption was wrong.

I emptied and examined the other barrels, finding similar progress in each. The animal remains in the third barrel were almost completely reduced to crystalline bone structures, the process seemingly faster in the smaller organism.

Vesna stared at me with a disgusted expression.

"As you can note, the decomposition is accelerated by some kind of life-energy emanating from the domain earth," I explained, putting my research subjects back into their barrels, leaving a few samples on the table. "The bacteria and other micro-organisms are consuming the flesh at a truly extraordinary rate."

"What’s bacteria?" she asked.

"Tiny living things too small to see," I clarified. "They're everywhere—in the air, the soil, on our skin. They break down dead matter."

“What? There are invisible creatures... eating us? Right now?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes." I said, trying not to smile at her discomfort. "It's a natural process. When we die, they consume our bodies and transform them into something new. In this case, my domain is directing that transformation toward bone crystallization."

"That's... unsettling," she muttered.

“To be completely honest you’re a magical beast with blood that crystallizes in the open air and I’m… whatever I am,” I said. “Maybe micro-organisms don’t actually eat us? I’ll need your help to build a better microscope… errr a metal and glass tool that magnifies the view and thoroughly examine our hair, feathers, skin and blood with it.”

“Ugh. Gross and weird,” the Sirin shuddered.

I reburied the corpses fully, packing fresh domain soil around them as I considered where to put my newly cultivated essence.

"Why do you want to study such things?" Vesna asked as I washed my hands in a water basin.

"Knowledge," I replied simply. "Understanding how things work gives me power over them."

I retrieved my Codex book from where Stormy was sleeping on it. Shoving the kitten off the book, I began recording my observations, sketching the crystalline bone structures, looking at the samples with my shoddy water drop microscope and noting the accelerated decomposition timeline.

Domain Decomposition Process:

- Subject 1 (Adult Human Male in his 40s): 50% tissue liquefaction after approximately 49 hours. Bone crystallization beginning at extremities (fingers, toes) and advancing toward larger bones. Notable violet coloration developing in remaining tissue.

- Subject 2 (Adult Human Female in her 30s): 60% tissue liquefaction. Similar progression to Subject 1, but slightly more advanced, perhaps because the subject is smaller and female.

- Subject 3 (Fox): Near-complete tissue decomposition. Skeleton fully crystallized with pronounced violet hue. Size appears to be a factor in conversion speed.

Liquefaction has been greatly accelerated. What would normally take months in standard decomposition is occurring in just days. The domain appears to be supercharging bacterial metabolism while simultaneously directing the crystallization process in specific patterns.

Hypothesis: The domain is using the bacteria as tools, both to break down organic matter and to reconstruct it into crystalline structures that can store or channel magical energy. The energy released during decomposition is being captured rather than dissipated as heat.

Questions for further investigation:

1. Can I direct or control this crystallization process?

2. Are different tissues converted to different types of crystals?

3. What is the relationship between crystallization and Cultivation Essence gain?

4. Can this process be applied to living tissue? 

After completing my notes on the dead test subjects, I turned my attention to the various materials I'd placed in and around my domain soil yesterday. Each had responded differently to exposure, and I documented each reaction carefully.

The woods showed varying degrees of crystallization, with softer woods like pine transforming more quickly than dense hardwoods like oak. The metals exhibited interesting patterns—iron developed a violet patina that seemed to protect it from rust, while copper and silver showed minimal change beyond a slight iridescent sheen.

Most intriguing were the gemstones and jewelry. The pearls had developed a mild violet luster, and the various gemstones seemed to shimmer faintly with violet refractions when viewed from certain angles. The gold items showed the least change.

I jotted down detailed notes on each material, contemplating the implications. If my domain could transform common materials into magical variants, the applications were potentially limitless.

Vesna observed my work from her dark corner, her glowing, gold eyes tracking my movements with a touch of curiosity and wariness.

"Did scholars or Alchemists not do this in the old Svalbard?" I asked her. "Before the ice came?"

“I… suppose they did,” she shrugged. “Many of my memories of my childhood are… hollow, incomplete.”

“What can you remember?”

“Even back then, I could sing magic into existence, bend reality ever so slightly with my words.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Did you go to school back then? At what age did you make your pact with River Glinka?”

“I did.” Vesna made a sour face. "I was sixteen when I sought out the river," she said after a moment, her harmonious voice taking on a hollow quality. "A naive, desperate girl yearning for limitless power… that didn't rely on celesteel.”

“What’s celesteel?” I asked.

“Celesteel,” she repeated, “is magical metal bound to flesh.”

“Bound how?”

“With a needle. A magic tattoo design, hexagrammic patterns embedded into skin. Very painful.”

“So, over three hundred years ago mages had magic tattoos to reinforce their power?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Men had tattoos that reinforced the strength of their bodies while women’s tattoos amplified their magic spells.”

“Internal and external variance,” I noted.

“Yes,” Vesna said. 

“Could you… make such magical tattoos on someone?” I wondered.

“If I had the needle and some celesteel ink… Maybe? Although I have no idea where I would even find such,” she shrugged. “As the most basic option—metal dust can be applied with a paintbrush, but it will flake off quickly, losing its potency. I would have to sing and meditate on it, try to recall the exact patterns. I received them bloody often enough as the damned tattoos had to be refreshed each year after they burned away with use and became distorted as my body grew.”

“Could you amplify my magic this way?” I wondered.

“How? I cannot see you,” she pointed out. 

“I could step outside of my domain,” I said.

“Hrm,” Vesna considered it. “Then… perhaps I could.”

“You should experiment on Minnow first,” I said. 

“What?” Dark eyes of the shadow-ghost opened on Vesna’s shoulder.

Day 9.2: Runes

“I heard my name,” the nav repeated with a yawn. “What do you desire of me, Master?”

“I… desire for Vesna to test a variety of magic on you,” I said.

“Hrm,” the nav blinked. “Very well. As long as she does not hurt me.” 

Vesna frowned thoughtfully. "Celesteel ink application on a nightborn... I'm not certain it would work or even persist on her half-form. In the old days, celesteel was applied only to the living."

“Her?” I asked. “Minnow is a girl?”

“She is leeching power from me, becoming less like a vague shadow and more like… a miniature version of me, I suppose,” Vesna revealed.

“I see. In terms of using magic ink on Minnow—we won’t know until we try,” I said. "What exactly is celesteel? You mentioned it was a magical metal, but what makes it different from regular iron or steel?"

Vesna settled onto a bench in a shadowy corner, her wings folding neatly against her back. She seemed more comfortable discussing this topic than the decomposing bodies.

"Celesteel is magic metal with very particular properties," she explained. "The people of old Svalbard used to produce various alchemically treated metals, each with different properties. The most common were glimmerite and bloodiron. The latter was made by quenching hot iron in the blood of a magical beast while singing specific enchantments."

"That sounds like it could have interesting chemical properties. Could you produce such?”

"My mother was an Alchemist," Vesna continued, a distant look crossing her features. "She forged glimmerite, stormsteel, sootsilver, bloodiron, magisteel and celesteel for the city's heroes and mages. I often watched her work when I was small.”

“Could you replicate such at the smithy in town?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “Although I cannot guarantee perfect results and I have no idea where we would find half of the necessary ingredients.”

"And what exactly could these metals do?"

“When they were applied to skin or forged into tools in particular patterns, they amplified magical properties in various ways.”

“Such as?”

“Uhhh…” Vesna contemplated. “Glimmerite, the most basic type of magic metal created from glinka’s sand dune shores entwined with ironbane mushrooms and bronze amplified…. the might of Perun in young heroes when laid in a particular pattern.”

“What pattern?”

“I think it looked like this,” She hummed a note and traced what looked like a magic cube-shaped hexagram in the air that sparked with emerald before fading away into falling yellow and green sparks.

I sketched out the hexagram in my book. “You think?”

"It was a long time ago,” she shrugged. “I only vaguely remember some of the shapes." She paused, considering something. "Much of the arcane alchemical knowledge was closely guarded. My mother had grimoires, books that detailed the exact shape forms and tunes..."

"These books—would they still be in the city somewhere? In the catacombs, perhaps?"

She looked troubled. "Perhaps. If they survived the centuries. Acquiring them will not be easy.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Can you not split stones with your voice? I’ve been down there and didn’t spot anything dangerous.”

“You probably didn’t reach the lower levels,” she said. “The deep storage catacombs are sealed with Astral locks and protected by Elementals, many of which are probably still functional.”

“Which are what?”

"Magic bound to stone and metal and water," she replied. "Deadly to the unprepared."

I considered that perhaps my catacombs trip was rather foolish to do with only a kitten for company.

“I went just a few levels down to the crypts. Would you be willing to guide me further?" I asked. "To these hidden, deeper chambers?"

Vesna hesitated, her golden eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I could… try. The paths are treacherous, and like I said before many of the passages can only be opened through the Astral.”

"Which is what?" I asked.

"The Astral," she repeated. "Is the shadow-realm of the dead bisecting reality. The place I see through which all magic echoes."

“Except for mine?”

“Except for yours, yes.”

"And you can physically enter this... other dimension?" 

"Not physically, no," she clarified. "But my consciousness, my soul, can reach out from my body and perceive it, interact with it via songs. Even so, the sealed lower levels might not open… It's been a very long time since the fall of Svalbard."

I leaned back, processing this new information. If there were actual, measurable alternate dimensions connected to this world, the implications for understanding magic were enormous. It wasn't just energy manipulation as I'd been theorizing—it might involve accessing entirely different spaces governed by different laws.

"Can I access the Astral?" I wondered aloud.

Vesna tilted her head, considering me. "I don't know. You're... Very odd. Your domain feels like nothing, a void."

“How is that different from another witch’s domain?” I asked.

“It’s similar to the unplottability of a witch’s domain, but also very different. A witch domain burns bright in the Astral with brilliant waves of Zemlya’s magic, warns you not to fuck with it. Yours is barely visible, really hard to spot from afar. I can’t explain it exactly, since I don’t exactly mess with witch domains—witch domains are inherently dangerous, deadly places.”

“Unless the witch is a newborn?” I asked with a smile.

“Yes,” Vesna nodded. “A newborn witch is easy prey, her domain weak and small. With time, a witch gets stronger. Granhilda of the Shalish Wood and the Gygr of Chernobog are completely untouchable.”

I made a note in my journal: Astral Ocean—alternate dimensional space. Accessible through magic? Connection to domain creation? Source of magical energy?

"Tell me more about River Glinka," I said, changing the subject slightly. "Is she an actual sentient being?"

"Glinka is..." Vesna searched for words. "Not a god, exactly, but… more like a primordial force given consciousness through centuries of worship and sacrifice."

"And she makes magic bargains?"

"With those desperate or foolish enough to seek her out and give their blood to her." Vesna's tone grew cautionary. "She gives exactly what you ask for—no more, no less—but the price is always greater than you anticipate."

“Why?”

“Such is the nature of wild spirits,” Vesna shrugged. “The Fae operate on bargains.”

She patted the nav on her shoulder.

“Could one get a wish out of her without paying a price?” I asked.

"No. She is far too old and clever for that. One can never truly outsmart Glinka," Vesna shook her head. "Even the cleverest bargainers find themselves paying more than they gained in the end."

“Glinka is old and potent,” Minnow voiced. “She is the memory of all waters that have ever flowed through these lands. She knows much and remembers the time before the ice, before humans walked here. She is truly ancient, and her spirit was here long before Svalbard was built on her shore. Her currents extend into the deepest darkest abyss of the Astral Ocean.”

“And people can… just buy knowledge from her?” I asked.

“With their blood, knowledge and soul,” Minnow nodded. 

I contemplated what this meant.

“Might of Zemlya, Swiftness of Wind, Grace of Hand, Persistence of Body, and Voice of the Wild. Do those mean anything to you?” I asked, wondering if my companions could help me figure out what I was seeing in terms of my personal stats.

“Those sound like the five classical affinities of a hero," Vesna mused. “Except… a bit wrong? It should be… ‘Might of Perun. Swiftness of Stribog. Grace of Jarilo. Persistence of Dazhbog. Voice of Veles.’”

"What do they represent exactly?" I asked. 

"The five primary runes aligned to the Nordstaii Pantheon," she explained, tracing each rune in the air. "Might of Perun grants physical strength, correlating to lightning. Swiftness of Stribog bestows speed beyond mortal limits, and the ability to fly like the wind. Grace of Jarilo gives perfect coordination and skill with weapons. Vitality of Dazhbog provides resistance to poisons and rapid healing. Voice of Veles allows command over your blood."

“These are all male gods?” I asked, drawing the runes.

“Yes.”

“Do girls have different affinities aligned to female gods then?”

“Yes. Zemlya to shape the life-bloom of plants. Mokosh for the gift of weaving fate and commanding water. Devana to amplify the hunting prowess of others and gain instincts to see the future ahead or uncover mysteries. Lada to gain the power to heal or seduce. Nox to attain dominion over the Astral Ocean, darkness, stars and dreams.”

The hexagram she drew for Nox stayed in the air the longest. It looked like two triangles facing each other or a stylized sideways number eight.

“Dagaz rune,” Vesna said with a somber expression. “This one was tattooed on my back. The Dawn of Night Everlasting. Death and rebirth. Eternity.”

She drew another rune in the air. It looked like four crosses or four swords pointed at each other. “Nox was also defined by some Nordstaii scholars as Mora. The Mora rune represents four knights of the end times. Four heroes. Four souls bound as one. This one was tattooed on my chest.”

“The four horsemen of the apocalypse?” I commented.

“Yes,” Vesna said. “It is written that Mora brings them together to destroy the lawful gods at the end of everything when the Wormwood Star bathes the planet in all consuming storms. They are thus named: The Architect. The Champion. The Understanding. The Leader. Statues and carvings of the four were put up around Svalbard at the threshold of its peak.”

“What was the city like back then?” I asked.

“Magnificent,” she answered, spreading her sparkling wings, black and emerald feathers fluttering atop her head. “Magic flowed through its streets like water along precious metal channels, illuminating the grand boulevards at night with floating spheres of cold light within brass lanterns."

Her golden eyes grew distant, seeing something far beyond the ruined pub walls. "My family was well-positioned. My father served in the High Magister's council. We lived in the Upper Quarter, and I attended the Academy of Harmonics for my education."

"So you were formally trained in magic?" I asked.

"Yes," Vesna nodded. "I was considered... exceptional. My voice could shatter glass when I was angry. When I sang to the flower seeds, they would bloom out of season.”

"That must have made you popular," I remarked.

“The metal hexagrams magnified my talents, made them visible to everyone.” A bitter laugh escaped her. "It made me valuable and also very expensive to keep. Like a prize mare. The tattoos were costly to refresh." Her talons flexed unconsciously. "By my fourteenth year, I was already being courted—not as a person, but as a magical asset. The great houses wished to bind my bloodline to theirs."

"Courted?" I raised an eyebrow. "You mean..."

"Marriage contracts," she confirmed, voice hardening. "My father, for all his position, had accumulated debts to the northern trading houses. He saw in me a way to clear those debts and elevate our family's standing in a single transaction."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter outside. "He tried to sell you."

"He did sell me," Vesna corrected, talons digging deep into the bench. "The contract was signed on midwinter's eve, binding me to Jarl Volandr—a massive man four times my age whose previous three wives had all died… trying to birth him a magically gifted heir."

Her golden eyes flashed with remembered rage. "He wore their fingers as trophies on a necklace. Preserved by magic so they would never rot, each one still bearing its wedding band."

"That's..." I struggled to find adequate words.

"The custom of the Northern Houses," she finished for me. "I was to be delivered to his estate when I turned sixteen. My blood mother wept as she helped me pack my ceremonial robes, but she did not interfere. She could not."

She made a somber pause.

"I fled the city three days before my scheduled wedding. The cold was brutal—a forewarning of the ice age to come, though none knew it then. I waded into Glinka's waters where they ran beneath the city walls, the ice breaking against my shins as I called out to her. Her waters were black as pitch that night. I sliced my hand with a knife and was about to make the pact with the river.”

“You were stopped?”

“Yes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They found and knocked me out with a concussion spell before I could make the pact with the river. Jarl Volundr's huntsmen with their spelled hounds that could track a specific bloodline. They dragged me from the river, half-frozen and barely conscious. The Jarl himself came, regarding me with pure contempt."

She shuddered visibly. "He said I had damaged the value of his investment by attempting to escape. That a few of my fingers would join his collection early as punishment—one joint at a time, until I learned my place. He took out a ceremonial blade of black glass and seized my hand..."

Vesna's talons clenched into a tight fist. "The fear and rage that filled me then—I cannot describe it. Something broke open inside me, and I sang a note I had never known before. A killing note."

She fell silent once again, blinking tears from her eyes.

"What happened then?" I asked.

"I burned through almost all of the celesteel runes covering my body. His huntsmen and servants died instantly, blood pouring from their eyes and ears. But the Jarl... he bled but did not perish. He only smiled. His bloodline and personal might protected him from my magic. He struck me across the face, ordered his guards to bind me in spelled chains that prevented me from singing anything else."

She looked down at her hands. "They imprisoned me in a high tower room close to the river to await my wedding at dawn. No one came to my rescue."

"How did you escape then?"

"In my desperation, I did what we were expressly forbidden to do—in absolute darkness of night I reached into the deepest Astral with my soul, burning through the Dagaz rune on my back." Her feathers trembled at the memory. "I called to Glinka from across the veil, offering anything—everything—in exchange for freedom."

"And she answered."

"Yes." Vesna nodded. "I was apparently still bound to her with my blood. Glinka's voice filled my mind, cold as the glacier's heart, asking what price I would pay for true freedom."

"What did you offer?" I asked quietly.

Day 9.3: Sirin Bloom

"I offered the river whatever she wished to take," Vesna said simply. "My humanity. My connection to the mortal world. My past and future. In that moment of terror, with dawn approaching, I would have given anything to escape the Jarl."

"And Glinka accepted?"

"She did more than accept." Vesna's voice took on a bitter edge. "She granted my wish. The tower’s foundation cracked as the river washed it away, smashed it from below. The tower toppled into the river and I… drowned.”

“And?”

“And I woke up on a small, rocky island in the middle of her waters, far away from town… Where my magic grew stronger by the day without needing celesteel tattoos. No one could reach me there against my will. I was utterly safe." Her wings spread slightly in emphasis. "And utterly… alone."

She sniffed.

"Your own prison," I murmured.

"Yes. I was free from the Jarl, unplottable… impossible to find. I could not leave the island. Pain would lace my body if I got too far into the icy water, forcing me to crawl back to the rocks binding me. The Jarl undoubtedly spent a fortune hiring scryers and hunters to find me, but he never did."

Her golden eyes grew distant. "Years passed. I heard from a passing boatman that the Jarl eventually died, though not before adding twelve more fingers to his collection. Svalbard lived in the distance, ships coming and going from its great harbor, and I watched it all from my island, growing older but never aging."

"Then Lisabella found you?" I asked.

“Yes.” Vesna's expression softened. "By then, I had been alone for perhaps a century. The city had changed, contracted as winters got worse. The old Jarl's bloodline had died out entirely. I had watched generations live and die from my island, performing small magics for those few brave enough to seek me out, slowly becoming a legend of a spooky island witch rather than a person."

“Did you ever make a familiar?” I wondered, glancing at Stormy who had relocated back atop of the Codex book that I left open.

“No,” she shook her head. “I wasn’t ever big on keeping pets… desired human companionship. Alas, such wasn’t granted to me as people were afraid of me.”

She paused, her golden eyes gleaming. "The ice had begun its advance by then in earnest. The northern ports had already been abandoned. And then... she came to me."

I tried to push stormy off my book but the kitten refused to budge, biting my fingers.

"Lisabella," The word emerged as a soft caress from her lips. "She was magnificent—a full, arcane Sirin. Her feathers were red and gold like sunrise, her song more beautiful than anything I'd heard in my winters of isolation."

"She came to your island?"

"No," Vesna shook her head. "She would perch on a large tree on another island nearby and sing to me. Songs of flight, of freedom, of the sky."

"And you fell in love," I guessed.

"Desperately," she admitted, her voice breaking on the word. "For seven seasons she came, each time lingering longer. In all my years of isolation, no one had ever returned so faithfully, had ever seen me as something more than a magical curiosity or a tool to be used. We sang to each other about many things. She promised freedom, promised flight, promised that we would be sisters of the sky together."

Her wings trembled slightly. "In the autumn of the eighth season, she sang to me the truth—the ice was advancing. Soon, Svalbard would fall. My island would freeze solid, trapping me forever in a prison of ice, likely dragging me away from my domain regardless of what I did."

"What did you do?" I asked, captivated by her tale.

"I made my choice," she said simply. "I abandoned my domain, swimming through Glinka's waters toward Lisabella's waiting arms."

"You broke your pact with the river?"

"Yes." Vesna's voice dropped. "The pain was... indescribable. Glinka's waters turned to liquid fire around me. I felt my gifts being scoured from my body, felt portions of my memory as a domain-bound witch dissolving away. The river demanded her due in full for breaking her pact."

Her golden eyes closed in remembered agony. "I was drowning, burning, fracturing all at once. But Lisabella caught me before I fully sunk under. Lissy saved me… she carried me to her oak tree, singing a transformation song that rewove the broken shards of my being into something new."

"And you became a Sirin," I concluded.

"I awoke reborn," she nodded. "No longer a witch, but something in between—not fully Sirin by birth, but shaped by Lisabella's power and Glinka's curse. My wings were black and green where hers were gold and red, as if the river's rejection or perhaps my reliance on Dagaz rune had stained me forever. She lived during the day while I existed at night. Whatever the river had done to me, it cursed me… made me a denizen of the night. Lizabella and I mostly interacted at twilight, since she gained her power from the sun while I… I was dead twice and was thus bound to goddess Nox as is the fate of all undead things."

Minnow nodded along.

"What happened to Lisabella?" I asked.

Vesna's feathers drooped. "For a time, we were happy. We flew together above the dying city, hunted together in the forests that still remained, sang and hunted together in twilight. She taught me to use my new form, to navigate the Astral, to feel and wield the currents of magic."

"But something went wrong," I guessed.

"The White Blight came," she whispered. "It infected the forest. Lisabella tried to heal it with her song, spending days and nights pouring her power into all nearby trees. She spent less time with me and more time flying further and further out, tiring herself out, falling asleep before evening, bringing dead monsters and men back, feeding them to our tree.”

Her voice grew hollow. "I tried to exist during the day to speak to her… It hurt… but I tried regardless. It was then that she looked at me with eyes I no longer recognized. I didn’t understand it then, but she no longer saw me as her beloved, but as a night servant to the tree, just as she had become its day servant. When I tried to convince her that something was wrong, tried to use my song to fix her… she attacked me."

"You fought with her?" I asked.

"I couldn't," Vesna shook her head. "I loved her too much and was too weak during the day. I flew across the forests that night, searching for something to help her. When I returned later with healing mushrooms and crystals from the mountains, she wasn’t in the tree anymore. Eventually, I found a trail of her blood and feathers..." She swallowed hard. "The trail led to Chernobog. I… I tried to find her in the fog. What I found wasn’t her. It was a Jotun. The abomination had her eyes, yes… but her body was turned inside out. She chased me across the midnight sky and tried to drag me into the swamps too, but I fought her back with my magic, retreated back to our mother tree and wept there… all alone.”

"The Mother-tree kept a shadow of her," Vesna continued with a sob. "An Astral echo. Enough to sing to me at night, to call me back, to order me to feed the Mother tree, night after night. I knew it wasn't truly her anymore, but I couldn't leave. I told myself I was guarding that echo, praying that someday I might find a way to free her soul… To get her back somehow, as long as the tree remained alive."

She laughed bitterly. "Instead, I became what Lisabella had—a servant to the tree's hunger. As the decades passed, I forgot why I had stayed. Forgot everything except the hunt and the song. Until you burned it all away."

I nodded, letting the weight of her story settle between us. "What did they teach you at the Academy of Harmonics?"

"All sorts of things… although the details are vague to me now," she replied, seeming relieved at the change of subject. "The principles of voice-carried magic, the foundations of harmonic resonance, the connections between runes, musical tones and elemental forces. I was training to be a Chord-Weaver—a specialist in using sung spells to reshape physical matter."

"That's why you can shape crystals," I realized.

"Yes." She nodded. "It was one of the few skills that remained after my transformation. The Academic district was a grand place. Each magical discipline had its own tower, its own methods, its own arcane tools, tattoos and magical language."

"There were multiple magical academies in Svalbard?”

"Five major ones," Vesna confirmed. "The Academy of Harmonics where I studied, the Magisterium of Material Transmutation, the Tower of Astral Navigation, the Circle of Vital Essences, and the Sanctuary of Boundary Magics. Together they formed the greatest center of magical learning of the North Sea."

"And they were located in what's now the village center?"

"No," she said. "The Academy district stood on the central hill behind this pub, five grand, gleaming white towers arranged in a perfect pentagram, visible from leagues away. It’s all rubble now… those rough limestone cliffs are all that remains."

"How was it destroyed?" The thought of such knowledge lost pained me.

"Much was lost over time," she sighed. "Though not all at once. Many fled south over the centuries. The city had a few peasant revolutions that devastated the mage and highborn districts, invasions too… When the defence wards fell, dragon and leviathan attacks blasted and flattened the towers. Giant beasts came seeking to feast on the magic crystals and celesteel buried within the stone. After all that… a group of Nordstaii refugees came from the North-East and settled in the ruins, and built the village of Svalbard.”

“Why did they even stay here?”

“Magical power,” the Sirin shrugged. “Glinka’s megalith… creates a natural ley line of sorts here, helps people survive longer even in winter. The South isn't a safe place anymore… not since the Arcanix came into power. From what I heard they hunt the Nordstaii people, kill the women and capture the men.”

I considered that I spent enough of the day being lectured by Vesna about the past.

I rummaged through a pile of furs I'd collected from various homes, selecting the thickest and most enveloping pieces. "Put these on," I told Vesna, throwing the furs onto the edge of the long table she was occupying.

She looked at the furs dubiously. "Why?"

"Because I want to see if you can function in daylight if properly covered. These should shield you from direct sunlight."

Vesna took the furs reluctantly. "I still don't understand your fixation with making me endure daylight. Night is my domain."

"Easier to see during the day," I shrugged.

With a sigh, she began to don the furs, folding her wings tightly to her back and layering them over her feathered form. 

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, her talons slicing through and sticking out from the gloves. "I look like a hibernating bear… and my claws and feet are still exposed to daylight.”

"Better than smoking like bacon," I countered. “Sit down. I’ll wrap up your talons.”

As she sat on a bench, I moved closer to her and she went rigid, her golden eyes glazing over, my domain paralyzing her senses.

I rapidly wrapped her feet and talons in thick cloth, binding it all with cloth strips.

I added a dark, slightly transparent shawl as the final touch, draping it over her head to shield her face. 

She gasped as I retreated, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Ugh. Being close to your domain is quite unnerving.” Minnow, who had been watching our preparations with curiosity, fluttered beneath her hood.

"There," I said, stepping back to examine my handiwork. "A perfect disguise. No one would suspect there's a feathery murder-menace under all that fur."

"Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired," Vesna grumbled.

"Right. Let's test it," I urged, moving toward the door. "A quick step outside to see if you start smoking."

I opened the pub door, letting in a gust of cold air and winter sunlight. Vesna hesitated at the threshold, apprehension evident in her stance.

"Go on," I said. "If it hurts, you can retreat immediately."

With visible reluctance, she extended one fabric-wrapped talon into the path of the sunlight. When nothing catastrophic happened, she took a tentative step forward, then another, until she stood fully in the daylight.

"Well?" I asked after a moment. "How does it feel? Are you melting? Any pain?”

"Uncomfortable," she admitted. "The sun is still... loud. But I'm not burning. The wrappings… help."

"Excellent," I said. "Let’s go check on the rest of your victims.”

She sighed, following me.

We walked to the shed where I'd stored all of the corpses procured from the Mother tree—the ones I hadn't buried in the domain soil barrels. I wanted to compare their decomposition rate to my magically accelerated versions.

The shed door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior. The corpses lay where I'd left them, but something was looking very wrong.

"What in the hell?" I breathed, stepping closer.

The semi-crystallized, wrapped bodies weren't simply decomposing—they were transforming. Delicate filaments of emerald crystal grew from them, branching out like fungal mycelium moving from corpse to corpse. The growths sliced through the cloth and formed intricate, geometric patterns, reminiscent of the crystalline structures I'd observed in Vesna's blood.

I crouched to examine the phenomenon more closely.

Vesna remained at the doorway, her golden eyes wide with shock. "By her night everlasting," she whispered. "It's… growing a new Sirin tree!"

"Is that how Sirin trees reproduce then?” I turned back to her.

“I… I don’t know,” she replied. “It… it smells and feels like home. Like Mother tree used to feel… but there’s no voice of Lisabella there, no Astral ghost of my lost beloved, no hunger. Lisabella spoke of planting a new tree in the South… but we’ve never gotten around to it since the Mother tree didn’t let us go.”

I stared at the emerald filaments. It felt like I was witnessing the early stages of a magical parasite colonizing dead tissue.

“We can’t allow these to bloom here,” I said.

“W-why not?” Vesna cried, hands outstretched, but still keeping out of my domain-pack’s affect radius. “It… the tree that will grow from these bodies will make me stronger!”

“Stronger and also bound to this shed,” I pointed out. “Where it will become infected by the White Blight again and possibly influence your decisions.”

“Oh.” Vesna said, lowering her hands, gold eyes glowing under the dark shawl. “It… it’s not as old as the Mother tree, not as strong. It’s not singing anything… It won’t be able to command me! Please let me keep it!”