An Impostor

Eydis teetered between awe and apprehension. The celestial symphony of the Northern Lights had barely faded, painting the world in emerald swirls, when a storm of violet meteors erupted in the sky. Blinding white energy pulsed as the knights met the assault, but the most dazzling display came from the master of Silverkeep himself, Duke Theomund. Weapons materialised from his will, each unleashing shockwaves that trembled the very earth beneath her feet.

"You don't seem too scared," a breathless voice rasped beside her. The dragon handler, a man perpetually shrouded in shadow, stood observing her with unsettling serenity.

Eydis tore her gaze from the battle, a wry smile curling her lips. "Odd remark, wouldn't you say? Most folks in my place would be a bit too busy wetting themselves to strike up a conversation."

His brows furrowed, momentarily surprised by her composure. These witches, elusive creatures wielding powers that sent shivers down the Empire's spine, yet here stood this seemingly fragile maid, eyes sparkling with curiosity, as if witnessing a celestial ballet rather than a deadly skirmish.

"My phrasing seems impeccable to me, my lady," he replied, stepping closer, his voice a smooth, slithering thing. But Eydis held her ground, the predator unexpectedly finding itself the prey.

"Perhaps," she tilted her head in mock curiosity, her amber eyes mirroring his calculating gaze, "Normally, in this kind of situation, people would have asked: Are you Ok? Are you hurt? Or…," she added with a shrug.

Advancing towards the handler, Eydis adopted a predatory demeanour, an ironic twist in her current situation. She purred, "…Should we hide? And yet, here you are, watching the battle, nonchalantly."

Eydis advanced, her steps measured, yet radiating a predatory grace. The tide of the battle shifted, the witches' fervour waning against the relentless knights. She rolled her eyes in response to the echoing explosion above, knowing too well the arrival of Duke Theomund's loyal aides.

The dragon handler flinched, the urge to flee warring with the need to buy time. The damn dragon had been suspicious the whole ride, the calvaries had arrived, and now, this captivating enigma who danced on the edge of the carnage. Should he spend his final strength to subdue her, or gamble on his partner's swift arrival? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he felt the cold sensation of a blade, eliciting a wet trickle of blood down his chest. 

Uttering words through a mouthful of blood, he barked, "Who are you?" 

Eydis' eyes gleamed with predatorily intent, nonchalantly twisting the blade further into his chest.

"If you kill me now," he gasped, the familiar rasp of demonic magic lacing his voice, "you'll never know what's happened to you."

Eydis's smile was a chillingly sweet curve. "I beg to differ," she murmured, withdrawing the blade only to plunge it in again, ebony blood splattering her face like macabre paint. "After all, you weren't exactly informed yourself, were you? Asking who I was, assuming..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "you were abducting me."

His form twisted, his facade peeling away to reveal an aged, weathered visage. As his vision faded, the last image etched in his mind was a face illuminated by the dying flames, framed by a cascade of violet snowflakes. Her amber eyes shone with a fire that mirrored the inferno, yet held a steely resolve. The illusions of the witches dissolved, the air thick with the scent of charred wood and fading magic. A whisper, almost inaudible, drifted from the figure bathed in violet light.

"Forgive my rudeness," the whisper carried, laced with a hint of regret. "But silence is my only shield."

**

Duke Theomund stood transfixed at the scene unfolding before him—Eydis sprawled atop a grotesquely lifeless form, motionless. It felt as though the very air had abandoned his lungs. Solemn darkness broken by flickering flames, time stilled, and his legs were anchored to the ground, as if taking another step towards the unconscious woman would bring about the apocalypse . Glimpses of crimson flames brushed by him, dashing towards the said woman. A muted yet anxious voice shattered the silence, saving it for the crackle of fire of the aftermath.

Captain Lionel yelled as he knelt beside Eydis. "Eydis! Wake up!" His call hung heavy in the air, unanswered. He scooped her in his arms, the familiar weight both reassuring and chilling against his chest. 

Suddenly, a voice cut through the haze. "Captain Robin, step aside. Allow me to help." Priest Lange stood behind them, his silver robes shimmering like moonlight on water.

Lionel relinquished Eydis, laying her gently on the ground. Priest Lange moved forward, his touch as light as a butterfly's wing. Golden light pulsed from his fingertips, weaving itself into a shimmering halo around Eydis' pale form. 

Witnessing the miracle unfold, relief washed over Theomund. Rare records existed of civilians surviving witch raids, let alone encounters with a high witch, twice. Little was known about the witches, but one thing was certain - encounters with them often ended in tragedy. The loss of his brothers and father, the late Duke of Silverkeep, weighed heavily on him. He was the sole survivor, inheriting the Dukedom at twenty-three, the responsibility daunting yet inescapable.

Theomund approached Eydis, her steady breathing a testament to her resilience. His breath hitched as her eyes fluttered open, tired amber meeting his weary silver. "Your Grace, I can hear you thinking from here," she spoke, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Kneeling beside her, Theomund's voice carried a gentle, yet uncertain tone. "You're awake. Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. But are you, Your Grace?" Her concern was evident.

The Duke relaxed, his response a soft whisper, "You're in no position to worry about me, Miss Eydis."

Priest Lange interjected, clearing his throat, "Please, Miss Eydis, you need to lay down. You've been poisoned."

"Poisoned? How is that possible, Priest?" The Duke's fears crept to the forefront of his mind.

The priest directed everyone's attention to the lifeless form. The corpse, dressed in Silverkeep's uniform, bore no resemblance to Quetzal's dragon handler. There laid a petite figure with feminine features.

Golden light pulsed from his hand, drawn towards the body, but only to be met with a chilling stillness. The divine energy dissipated, swallowed by the darkness that clung to the corpse like an unseen shroud. Pries Lange spoke with confidence, "Power potent enough to counter divinity. This individual here is unmistakably a witch. Most likely a high witch."

Murmurs rippled through the knights, disbelief twisting their faces. "Mr. Andy? Impossible!" one barked. Another shook his head, his voice thick with grief. "He wasn't like that. Didn't look like that."

Sir John knelt beside the body, his face grim as he searched for any clue to unravel this riddle. He returned, a small metal tag glinting in his hand. "This belonged to Andy," he confirmed, his voice crisp.

The Duke took the tag, the name etched cold against his skin. "Thirty years he served us," he rasped, his gaze locked on the unfamiliar face staring back from the darkness. "A loyal man, a giant of a man… and now this?"

Lionel broke his silence, his voice trembling. "Your Grace, does it mean…?"

"An impostor, Lionel." Duke Theomund's eyes narrowed. "A witch, disguised with magic beyond our understanding."

The knights erupted in murmurs of disbelief. This ability, unheard of even amongst the royals, sent a shiver down their spines. "How could they mimic the body crafted by God?" one voice exclaimed.

Eydis rolled her eyes so hard it caused a searing headache to her brain. She left out a soft gasp, catching Duke Theomund's attention.

Eydis rolled her eyes, the movement sending a searing ache through her head. She left out a soft gasp, catching Duke Theomund's attention.

"I'm sorry, Eydis," he said, his voice rough with regret. "I shouldn't have left you alone with them, with… her." He gently cradled her in his arms. "Rest now," he murmured, his deep voice a soothing balm. "We'll reach our stop soon."

Fatigue overcame her, and her eyelids fluttered shut, yet beneath the veil of sleep, a flicker of concern ignited in her mind. The Duke's words, his touch, held a tenderness she hadn't witnessed before. But as she drifted further into slumber, another question gnawed at her: if the impostor could mimic Mr. Andy's form, could it have mimicked someone else? Someone closer to the Duke?

**

Click-clack. Click-clack. Indigo's footsteps echoed through the hushed library. He navigated the book shelves with practised ease, his eyes scanning the for the elusive volume he sought. "Not here," 

Click-clack. Click-clack. He circled a towering oak bookcase, his frown deepening with each empty space. "Callista," he sighed, picturing his partner sprawled across a chaise longue, a forgotten book sprawled open on her lap. He fondly imagined locking her out of his beloved sanctuary, the thought bringing a fleeting smile to his lips. But the thought quickly faded as he remembered another recent mishap – scrubbing a suspicious stain off his velvet armchair for an entire hour. "Perhaps my entire house," he grumbled, his gaze lingering on the offending piece of furniture.

Creaaaak. "Oh dear, that's a little loud," mumbled Indigo as he dragged his wooden ladder on the worn-down timber floor.

"Ah! There it is!" Indigo erupted with joy before a shrieking scream erupted from the hallway, shattering the tranquil of the night.

"That can't be good." Indigo's heart hammered against his ribs as he raced towards the source of the scream. A woman, clad in a tattered black dress, writhed on the worn floorboards, her body convulsing. Violent mist emanated from her form as she struggled to sit up.

The woman spotted him; fury ignited in her eyes, warping her face into a mask of vengeful fire. Her ebony hair, plastered to her forehead by cold sweat, framed eyes blazing with murderous intent. If it weren't for her horrible state, Indigo might have feared for his life.

He should have feared for his life, for she was still dangerous despite being almost incapacitated. She lurched forward, crashing into Indigo. They both fell on the floor with a thud, Indigo taking the brunt of the impact. He winced, a groan escaping his lips. He should fix the hallway floorboards tomorrow.

The angry woman laid atop of him, continuing to sputter incomprehensible insults. He sighted, jabbing a syringe of purple liquid into her arms. He had an inkling of what was to come.

"You SCREWED up!" she yelled, repeating what she had been trying to say under the breathless voice. 

…And he was right.

Realising her voice had returned to normal, she paused and examined her throat. That seemed to have calmed her down, though her bloodshot eyes still burned in rage. Up close, he noticed dried up blood on her face; she looked horrible.

"Callista, are you terribly hurt? You look horrible!"

She scoffed, spitting out blood through gritted teeth. "I am…fine, just fine." Yet, her attempt to push herself up was shaky, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. He reached out, a hesitant brush of fingers against her arm.

Callista flinched, a low growl rippling from her throat. But she didn't pull away.

She was truly, utterly, spent.

Fuck Eydis.

And stupid Indigo.

Ignoring her protest, he helped her to her room, but not without asking an annoyingly obvious question he knew the answer to, "I take it our mission didn't go as well as we hoped?"

Callista's retort came swift and sharp. "It was a complete mess! If you'd bothered with a proper background check, we wouldn't have walked into a viper's nest. Eydis was a fucking psychopath!"

He winced at her anger, though couldn't deny her accusation. This mission, their second attempt, had been a debacle. Eydis's volatility had thrown their meticulous plans into chaos, proving their underestimation of her.

"It appears Ms. Eydis has a talent for surprises, wouldn't you say?" He tried to inject some levity, hoping to defuse the tension. "Did she...cause these?" His gaze scanned the knife wounds on Callista's body.

Her response was a venomous glare. "Just patch me up and get out of my sight. Two near-death experiences were enough. I'm done."

"Quitting isn't your style, Callista," he countered gently, settling her onto the bed and preparing the familiar purple solution.

"Not with partners like you and that lumbering baboon! If he hadn't been late, we might have actually pulled it off."

Indigo's brow furrowed. "He was delayed? I'll need to hear his account." He injected the liquid, its calming effects washing over her tense form.

"Do that," she muttered, voice slurring with fatigue. "And make it clear his tardiness nearly got us both killed. Now, let me sleep. This...disaster needs a long nap to fade."

He lingered for a moment, concern etched on his face. "We'll regroup when you're feeling better, Callista. For now, focus on healing. A month, perhaps, to mend both body and mind."

"30 whole days with you? I'll be bored to death." A flash of her fiery spirit momentarily lighting up her tired eyes. She ran her fingers through her midnight hair, the strands slipping through with a silky texture that mirrored the storm in her mind.

Indigo shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "But pushing yourself now won't help."

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken emotions. The air pulsed with the lingering scents of exotic incense and the earthy aroma of the surrounding woods. 

"Fine," she conceded finally, her voice laced with quiet defiance. "One month. Then, we finish what we started."

Intrigued, Indigo raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's wise, Callista? Eydis proved to be...unpredictable. Perhaps a different approach is needed."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave; I'd like to rest now." Next time she met that maid, she would take full pleasure in hurting her. 

That's a promise. And Callista would follow through her promises as if they were her religion.

She fell into a slumber, dreaming of a kaleidoscope of colours. Each shade, from fiery red to deep emerald, held a piece of her fragmented past, a memory both beautiful and devastating. And then there was a tone that reminded her of summers, warm and fragranceful. By morning, she would forget what she had dreamed about, but a lingering sensation remained.

Thrill.