The rain fell softly on the old wooden porch. Maya pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, listening to the steady tapping on the roof. She was about to close the door for the night when she saw him—a stranger, soaked to the bone, shivering in the cold.
"Please," he said hoarsely. "I just need somewhere to stay tonight."
She hesitated. She lived alone. Letting in a stranger was foolish. But the desperation in his eyes reminded her too much of her own, all those years ago.
She stepped aside. "Come in."
The moonlight spilled across the forest floor in silver pools. Elara stepped carefully among twisted roots, the ancient oak trees watching her like silent guardians. She could feel the magic humming in the air.
She stopped at the clearing where the ritual would take place. A man waited there, cloaked in black with a silver clasp at his throat. His eyes glowed faintly green in the moonlight.
"You're late," he said, voice smooth but cold.
She lifted her chin defiantly. "I had to make sure no one followed me."
His gaze softened, just a little. "Wise. But the pact cannot wait. Give me your hand."
Elara hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. The forest fell silent as the magic sealed their fate.