When Hope Begins to Hurt

Memorial For The Hunter & The Witch
The sky was a slate grey, the clouds thick with mourning. A light breeze whispered through the treetops of Bellaflor, rustling the silver leaves and sending specks of pollen adrift like floating fireflies. Clusters of witches in rows, all dressed in cloaks of deep indigo and obsidian black, had gathered in solemn silence beneath the Heart Tree. Its colossal, glowing trunk pulsed gently in the background like the heartbeat of their dying grief. Candles floated mid-air, flickering like stars caught in an eternal dusk, while glowing runes hovered around the ceremonial stones—wards of protection, of memory, of reverence.

Though no bodies lay beneath the earth, the graves were marked—two stone markers side by side, wrapped in ivy and adorned with trinkets from their comrades. One had a wooden figurine of a fox perched on top, painted by trembling hands. The other held a sword buried halfway into the earth, its handle wrapped in a scrap of silver-threaded cloth. They bore no names—only symbols. One for Nixie. One for Darius.

The air was thick with sorrow and magic, the kind that clung to the soul.

Elara stood at the front of the gathering, her grey hair tied into a neat braid that fell over one shoulder. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched a small pendant—a locket Darius had given her long ago, when he still bore the cloak of a witch hunter but dreamed of shedding it.

Beside her, Soraya remained stoic, her hand resting gently on Elara’s arm.

The crowd hushed. Only the wind spoke.

Elara stepped forward, her voice barely more than a whisper at first.

“My son was born under a waning moon,” Elara began, trying to smile. “The midwives said he would be quiet, reserved. A watcher. They weren’t wrong. Darius always watched, always thought before he acted. But when he did act—gods, he moved mountains.”

A hush settled as she paused, fingers trembling. Her eyes searched the crowd, landing briefly on Aurora, then Selene, then the others.

“He was a boy who grew up in fear. In the wrong walls. Among the wrong people. And still—still, he found it in himself to choose what was right.”

Tears began to build, trembling in her eyes.

“He crossed lines no one else dared to cross. He fought bravely. For you. For witches. He was born human yet gave his life for a people not his own, because he believed in our right to live.”

“I knew what it meant when he chose to go undercover in Edralis. I knew the risks. But he chose to walk among those who hunted us, not because he wanted vengeance, but because he wanted peace. He wanted a world where witches didn’t have to hide.”

“I lost my son… but witchfolk gained a hero.”

Elara’s voice finally broke, a sob escaping her lips. Her knees gave way slightly, and Soraya was at her side instantly, holding her firmly. The gathered witches watched in stillness, many covering their mouths, some weeping openly.

Soraya whispered something soft and inaudible to Elara as she guided her away from the front. The crowd parted in silence as they passed.

Then, a murmur rippled through the crowd as Maelis and Idris stepped forward, the unlikely duo looking uncharacteristically serious—though Idris’s mouth twitched like he was struggling to resist saying something inappropriate.

“I don’t do well with grief speeches,” Maelis began, her voice firm but not cold. “I’m much better at insulting people, threatening their egos, or throwing potions in their faces.”

That earned a small ripple of chuckles from the crowd.

“But today…” she sighed, the mirth fading slightly, “we honor two of the boldest, most reckless, most aggravating people I’ve ever known.”

Idris stepped forward, arms folded. “You forgot bravest, Maelis.”

“Oh right. Brave too. So stupidly brave I wanted to hex them both half the time.”

Another soft wave of laughter. Even Soraya cracked a small smile where she stood beside Elara.

“Well,” Maelis said with a sigh, “Darius may have been a pain in my ass, but he was our pain in the ass.”

“Darius was brave,” Idris added, folding his arms. “He faced things most of us wouldn’t. He made jokes during the worst situations, mostly terrible ones, and got on my nerves at every opportunity. But I’d trust him with my life.”

“And Nixie,” Maelis said, her voice dipping into softer tones. “You crazy little spark. You used to jump into every mission like it was your last. And half the time it nearly was. Remember the time she tried to wrestle a rock troll because it stole her necklace?”

A bittersweet laughter erupted from the crowd.

“She was reckless,” Idris said, “but she was also fearless and loyal. The best of us.”

They shared a glance, then together said, “We’ll carry your memory. Always.”

She and Idris stepped down together.

Then came Selene.

The wind picked up again as she approached, her long robes trailing behind her like waves.

She didn’t say much.

“Nixie was… my sister in spirit. A force that pulled people together. She made us feel alive even in the darkest moments.”

Her voice was soft. Strong.

“And Darius… he taught me that redemption is possible. That even someone who’s walked among monsters can choose to protect instead of destroy. I will honor them both in every step I take forward.”

Then Morgan came up, his boots crunching on the dirt as he approached the markers. He carried a single white bloom—one from the garden Nixie had once admired.

“They weren’t supposed to die,” he said. “Not like this. Not without a proper goodbye.”

His voice wavered.

“But maybe that’s the thing about heroes. They don’t always get perfect endings. They just leave behind stories. Stories that become legends.”

He knelt, placed the bloom between the two graves, and rose without looking back.

Silence fell like snow.

All eyes turned to Aurora.

She stood alone now. Pale cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the hood pushed back so the wind could weave through her hair. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hands clenched at her sides.

She took a breath.

Her voice was hoarse when she spoke.

“I wasn’t supposed to be here either,” she began, her voice trembling. “I was supposed to be the one buried here today. Not Darius. Not Nixie.”

“Nixie was my friend. My sister in all but blood. We fought together, ran from fire together, bled together.”

She blinked, tears welling in her eyes.

“She never hesitated. Never second-guessed. She was light and laughter and fury all wrapped in one, and she loved fiercely. She gave her life trying to save me. Trying to save Darius, and I will never forget her.”

She swallowed hard, pressing a hand to her mouth, then lowering it.

“And Darius…”

Her legs nearly gave out. A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another. The words came through sobs.

“The first time I met him, he was in a witch hunter uniform. And I hated him. I hated everything he represented. But even then, something about him felt… different. Familiar. I didn’t trust him. But something inside me said I could.”

She let out a bitter laugh through her tears.

“And then he was captured. Taken to Edralis to be executed. And I—I didn’t even know him that well at the time, but I threw myself into the fire to get him back.”

Her voice dropped.

“Because I couldn’t let him go. Not then. Not ever.”

The wind howled through the trees as she continued, eyes now glassy and wide.

“He was my strength when I felt like crumbling. He listened when I couldn’t speak. He fought for me. Died for me.”

She clutched her chest.

“There will never be another man like him. I will always love and cherish him. And he he lives here now.”

She pressed her hand to her heart. “Right here.”

The crowd was silent, many weeping quietly.

After a long moment, the witches began to sing in unison.

It was an old song—one only sung in times of great loss. Their voices rose in harmony, mournful and raw. The sound floated through the air like a sacred mist, weaving through branches, stones, and sky.

When the final note faded, there was nothing but the rustle of wind and the soft patter of tears on soil.

Slowly, the gathering dispersed.

Aurora walked in silence, flanked by Maelis, Idris, Selene, and Morgan. None of them spoke.

Then something glittered in the sky.

A flash of white, like paper caught on the wind.

Aurora stopped.

She reached for it hesitantly, and the moment her fingers brushed the paper, it unfurled and shimmered with arcane light—transforming into a letter sealed with wax.

The crest of Edralis.

Her breath caught. Everyone froze.

Then she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Her eyes scanned the page—and then they widened, her mouth parting slightly in shock.

The letter trembled in her hands.