Novel-Verse

The first rule of blood magic is that you cannot resurrect the dead, but no one ever said anything about gluing their hearts back together with moonlight.

Elara knelt on the damp, moss-covered earth of the Elderwood, her breath pluming in the crisp autumn air. Before her stood the Altar of the First King—a monolithic slab of dark stone carved with runes so ancient they seemed to hum a low, atonal note. Resting in the center of the altar, illuminated by the pale light filtering through the twisted canopy of ash and briar, was a heart. It was not flesh and blood, but a faceted, crystal structure the size of a melon, glowing with a faint, dying blue light. A jagged, deep fracture ran right down its center, leaking a purple mist that smelled of ozone and crushed lavender.

“Oh, Silas,” Elara whispered, brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her face. “What have you done to yourself?”

Silas was not a man; he was the Guardian of the Elderwood, a creature of starlight and stone who had protected the forest for three centuries. But two nights ago, the shadow-stalkers from the deep ravines had breached the perimeter. Silas had driven them back, but at a terrible cost. His physical form had dissolved, leaving behind only his core—his crystalline heart. If the light in the heart died, the Elderwood would wither, turning into a barren wasteland of rot and bramble.

Elara uncorked a small glass vial she had carried from her cottage. Inside swirled a silver liquid that seemed to catch and reflect the stars. It was distilled moonlight, gathered over seven full moons, mixed with the tears of a weeping willow. It was the most potent binding agent known to hedge-witches, and it was highly illegal under the laws of the High Coven.

She poured a single, gleaming drop into the jagged crack of the crystal heart.

The heart hissed. The blue light flared violently, turning into a blinding white, and a shockwave of cold air swept through the clearing, extinguishing the dancing fireflies. Elara gritted her teeth, holding her ground. The magic was resisting. The heart was too broken; the magic of the Guardian was leaking faster than she could seal it.

“I won’t let you fade,” Elara said, her voice trembling but fierce. She placed both her hands directly onto the freezing surface of the crystal. The cold bit into her skin like needles, numbing her fingers instantly. She closed her eyes and began to chant the ancient binding words, pulling on the deep, green magic of the earth beneath her knees.

As she chanted, the runes on the stone altar began to glow with a sympathetic blue light. The purple mist leaking from the heart slowed, thickening into a dense vapor that wrapped around Elara’s wrists. She felt a presence in her mind—a vast, ancient consciousness, tired and fraying at the edges. It was Silas.

“Let it go, little witch,” the voice echoed in her thoughts, sounding like the rustle of dry leaves. “My time is done. The cycle must continue.”

“The cycle is broken!” Elara shouted aloud, ignoring the biting cold that was creeping up her arms. “The shadow-stalkers will consume the wood without you. You don’t get to rest yet.”

She poured the rest of the moonlight vial into the fracture. The silver liquid bubbled and boiled as it met the dying magic of the core. Elara poured her own life force into the spell, willing the crystal to knit back together. For a terrifying moment, the light in the heart completely extinguished, plunging the clearing into absolute darkness.

Then, a deep, resonant heartbeat pulsed through the stone altar.

Thump.

The blue light flared back to life, brilliant and steady. The crack in the crystal had sealed, leaving behind a delicate, silver scar where the moonlight had fused the shattered pieces together. The freezing cold vanished from Elara’s hands, replaced by a deep, comforting warmth.

Elara fell back onto the moss, gasping for air. Her hands were raw and red, but she smiled as she watched the crystal heart rise slowly from the altar, floating in the air. The blue light expanded, taking the shape of a massive wolf made of starlight and shadow. The Guardian turned its glowing eyes toward her, bowing its great head.

“Thank you, Elara,” the voice murmured in the wind.

Elara watched as the Guardian bounded away into the trees, the forest blooming with new, vibrant life in his wake. The broken heart was whole again, and the woods were safe.

Explore more free magical realism from Novel-Verse: The Girl with the Glass Wing, The Clockwork Dragon, and Ink and Moonlight.