Chapitre 19: Stacy Avonly
The village of Avonlea stretched across rolling green hills, where cobblestone paths weaved between thatched-roof cottages and the fields of barley swayed gently in the breeze. A single bell tolled from the modest stone church in the distance, signaling the time. To Stacy, it sounded like a final farewell.
Her boots kicked up small puffs of dust as she walked toward the village square, where her family waited. The wagon loaded with supplies stood ready, its wooden frame creaking as the village blacksmith secured the last of the straps. Avonlea was peaceful at a glance, but Stacy knew better. Beneath its quiet charm lay the cracks of neglect—broken fences, drying wells, and an air of hopelessness that weighed heavy on its people.
"Stacy, remember what we talked about," her mother's voice called out, drawing her gaze to the square.
Riona Avonly stood with her arms crossed, worry etched across her face. Her dark hair, tied in a simple braid, was streaked with silver. She held a small bundle wrapped in cloth, which Stacy knew would contain a protective charm or some other token of safety.
"I know, Mother," Stacy said, her tone tinged with impatience as she stepped closer. "Get to Edinburgh City. Take the 'Tremo'. Get to Arch Academy safely. And if I fail the exam, I'll be back." She rolled her eyes but softened her voice at the end. "I'll be fine. There is no need for you to worry about."
Riona frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's not just about the exam, Stacy. It's the journey. The roads can be dangerous, and if you aren't careful—"
"I know," Stacy interrupted. "But there's less than two weeks left before the exam. I can't waste time being afraid. I'll pass, and I'll become strong. You'll see."
Her father, Alaric Avonly, stepped forward. His tall, broad frame cast a shadow over Stacy as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're ambitious, and that's good," he said, his voice firm but warm. "But ambition means nothing if you're reckless. Stay on the main road, Stacy. Avoid the Lazrous Forest, even if it's far from your route. That place… it's cursed. Monsters crawl out, even this side of the mountain. Always be prepared for unexpected. And do not let your guard down, not even in the city."
Stacy swallowed but nodded. She had heard the stories—of dark shapes prowling the woods at night, of travelers who disappeared without a trace. "I'll stay on the road," she promised, though her voice wavered slightly.
Her younger brother, Trevor, tugged at her sleeve. At only eight years old, he was the spitting image of their father, with sandy hair and a mischievous glint in his eye. But now, his face was solemn. "You'll write to us, right? When you're at the academy?"
Stacy crouched down to his level and ruffled his hair. "Of course I will. And when I come back, I'll bring stories about all the magic I've learned."
Tobin hugged her tightly, and Stacy felt the sting of tears threatening to fall. She blinked them away as she stood, turning to face her parents.
Her mother stepped forward, placing the cloth bundle in Stacy's hands. Inside was a small charm made of woven grass and a polished stone in the center. "This will protect you from harm," Riona said softly. "Don't lose it."
"I won't," Stacy said, clutching the charm tightly.
The farewell dragged on longer than she had expected. Her father hugged her one last time, whispering, "Make us proud." Her mother's hands lingered on her shoulders, her eyes filled with unspoken fears. Even Trevor followed the wagon for a short distance before finally stopping at the edge of the village.
As the wagon creaked forward, carrying her away from Avonlea, Stacy allowed herself one last look back. The village grew smaller with every turn of the wheel, its cottages and fields blending into the horizon.
The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the endless stretch of barley fields that marked the edge of Avonlea. Stacy Avonly stood at the edge of the wagon, her belongings packed tightly in a satchel slung over her shoulder. The rhythmic creak of the wheels and the steady clop of the horse's hooves had been the only sounds accompanying her departure.
When the wagon came to a halt at the last field, Gareth, the driver, turned toward her. "This is as far as I go, lass," he said, his voice gruff but kind. "The city's that way, just keep to the road, you'll get there in less then two days."
Stacy nodded, hopping down and landing lightly on the dirt path. She adjusted the strap of her satchel and took a moment to glance back. Beyond the fields lay Avonlea, its rooftops and chimneys just visible in the distance.
"Good luck, mage," Gareth added with a small smile, giving the reins a flick. The wagon creaked back into motion, leaving Stacy standing alone.
She turned toward the road ahead, the fields stretching out before her like an endless sea of gold. The sun was sinking faster now, dipping below the hills and painting the sky in hues of orange and red. Shadows lengthened across the path, and the first whispers of night stirred in the air.
But Stacy didn't stop. She adjusted her satchel again and marched forward, her steps steady and determined. When the light began to fade further, she extended her hand.
A faint glow appeared in her palm, growing brighter until it formed a small, floating ball of light. It wasn't powerful, but it was enough to illuminate the road ahead. The light bathed her surroundings in a soft glow, chasing away the shadows.
Stacy smiled faintly to herself. "Not much use for fighting," she murmured, "but it'll do for now."
The road stretched on, the sun finally sinking below the horizon. The two moons began to rise—one whole and pale, the other shattered into jagged fragments, casting eerie, fractured light across the landscape. The air grew colder, and Stacy pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Then she heard it.
A low, guttural noise, like a growl mixed with a wet gurgle. It came from somewhere off the path, beyond the fields. Stacy stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding as she strained to listen.
The sound came again, louder this time, accompanied by a faint rustling in the distance. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the road she was supposed to stay on. But something in the sound pulled her forward—a mix of curiosity and dread that she couldn't ignore.
Cautiously, she stepped off the path and into the tall grass. The light in her hand bobbed and flickered as she moved, casting strange, shifting shadows around her. The noise grew louder, and soon she found herself standing at the edge of a small clearing.
Her breath caught in her throat.
In the center of the clearing lay a large wolf, its gray fur matted with blood. Its sides heaved as it struggled to breathe, its body riddled with deep gashes. But it wasn't the wolf that made her stomach churn.
Standing over the wolf was a creature unlike anything Stacy had ever seen. It was vaguely humanoid in shape but twisted and malformed, its skin glistening like black tar. Long, jagged limbs ended in claws that dripped with a viscous, inky substance that hissed and steamed where it touched the ground. Its head was misshapen, with glowing red slits for eyes and a mouth that stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.
Black liquid pooled beneath it, bubbling and pulsing as if alive.
Stacy's grip tightened on her satchel, her pulse pounding in her ears. But she wasn't shocked—not entirely. It was as if she had expected something like this, deep down.
She set her jaw and reached into her bag, pulling out a small wooden wand. The light in her hand vanished as she focused, holding the wand steady.
The monster turned toward her, its glowing eyes narrowing as it let out a guttural screech. Stacy took a deep breath, her heart racing, and pointed the wand at the creature.
A soft, green glow formed at the tip, quickly expanding into a circular frame etched with intricate runes. The air around her grew sharp and electric, the wind picking up and swirling around the clearing.
"Wind Blade!" she shouted, slashing the wand in a straight line.
The runes flared brightly, and a powerful blade of compressed air shot forward, cutting through the grass as it raced toward the monster. The blade struck with a deafening roar, slicing into the creature's chest.
The monster let out a screech of pain, its body recoiling violently as the wind blade tore through it. Black liquid sprayed from the wound, hissing and steaming as it hit the ground.
Stacy didn't wait for the creature to recover. She raised her wand again, the green glow already reforming at its tip.
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DemonKingNoir
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