Hexe

  Heh?xeh

  Type: Noun

  Meaning: A creature who is both cursed and blessed, resulting from a mutual spell performed with another individual.

  HEXE - BOOK of The Great Exodus

  It was a beautiful night to say goodbye.

  The Night glowed with nine moons that adorned the sky, ready to pay tribute to this simple human child on her last journey.

  At least for now.

  A wolf lingered between the edge of the forest and the clearing.

  His fur was so deep it swolled darkness itself.

  The Howling Night, they called him. Rumours believed to be one of the most powerful Spirits to ever exist across the Map, believed to possess the ability to control Time, to make, to stitch, and to break the strand of continuity.

  His black eyes focused on the tragedy before him.

  The villagers gathered at the riverbank, ready to say their goodbyes. It was a child's funeral.

  The men lowered a small wooden boat into the water with the lifeless girl wrapped in linen.

  A howl cut through the air. Not of the wolf but of a mother's cry, her pain overflowing the assembled crowd.

  "My Marie, my little Marie, no, no..." she screamed, “no, no, no…”

  Friends and family began to lay offerings on the boat, wreaths of wildflowers, trinkets made of clay, and parcels of food for the journey to the beyond.

  As the boat drifted and docked downstream, the archers took their positions. Longbows were nocked with their arrowheads soaked in burning oil.

  "May your aim be true," said the village elder, a grizzled man with weathered skin like tree bark and horns resembling bare branches, while he and two other men pushed the boat to the water.

  The archers drew back in unison, sinews straining and bows creaking. A moment of suspension, and then they released.

  But not a single arrow found its mark. They arced high, veering left and right, some plunging into the water while others vanished into the misty Night with a dying flame. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  "It's a sign," whispered a woman, her eyes wide.

  "Or a curse," retorted another, nervously clutching her shawl.

  "Try again!" the elder shouted.

  The archers dipped their arrows again in oil, set them aflame, and lifted their bows, pulling back the strings.

  "Release," commanded the elder.

  The archers let go. The flaming arrows arced through the air, drawing luminous trails. They descended in a flawless arc toward the drifting raft.

  And then, each arrow halted mere inches above the raft as if hitting an invisible barrier. A collective gasp swept through the villagers.

  The arrows hung there for a moment that felt like an eternity before they extinguished and plunged harmlessly into the river, leaving the child untouched in her final resting bed.

  A gasp of surprise swept through the villagers, interrupted by the sound of approaching hooves.

  A procession of five horses with riders draped in Black Robes.

  One of them dismounted and walked barefoot toward the grieving mother kneeling by the water's edge. When he reached her, the man paused, his eyes searching hers. With a quiet, almost reverent motion, he began removing his robe, and he gently placed it around the grieving mother, covering her.

  As the robe settled over her, the villagers gasped once more. Translucent wings unfurled from his back, flowing like a cape of an uncrowned Menschen king.

  "That's Yeso," one man whispered, eyes widening.

  "The Commander!" another confirmed.

  "What's he doing here?"

  Yeso's skin resembled the shade of moons, his hair strands made of diamonds.

  However, it was his eyes that dispelled any doubts about his identity. They had an indescribable colour which lent him an otherworldly aura, making him appear as if he were a Spirit incarnate.

  With a touch, his fingertips wiped away the tears coursing down the mother's face. It was a gesture so tender that it seemed almost contradictory to his fame.

  "Look at me," he said while he helped her to her feet. "Tonight is not the funeral of your child; this is the rebirth of a Spirit." Yeso murmured, raising a finger towards the water. The woman's eyes followed, and what she saw stole her breath away. There, defying the laws of nature, a wolf walked across the water. The creature was made of the same matter as the sky above. Its fur swirled with constellations, nebulae, and pinpricks of radiant light. "The Howling Night," the woman murmured.

  The wolf reached the drifting boat and, with an agility that belied its size, settled beside the child's lifeless form.

  The wind rustled through the dense, inky fur of the Howling Night. His dark eyes fixed on the child's face, innocence frozen in eternal sleep. Gently, he leaned down and nudged her cheek with his nuzzle.

  The girl's eyes flicked open with surprising speed, her brow furrowing in a comically peeved expression. "What are you doing?" she snapped.

  "It's time," responded the Howling Night.

  "Don't you see I'm dead?" the girl retorted, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.

  "Yet you speak," countered the wolf.

  "You woke me up!"

  For a moment, the Howling Night simply locked his gaze with her.

  "Why am I talking?"

  "Because Spirits can’t leave the living, and your journey has not yet ended," the wolf responded. "It has begun."

  “Said who?”

  “Your Master!”

  The child sighed and rolled her eyes. "Very well, give me a moment."

  She closed her eyes, her face scrunching up in concentration. Her head quivered subtly, and then her mouth opened to release a tiny white mouse.

  The creature jumped free from between her lips and scampered onto the raft. The little white mouse circled the vessel, almost as if searching for something, until its eyes, glowing an unearthly red, finally met the wolf's gaze.

  "So where are they?" The mouse asked.

  "Who?"

  "My master!" The mouse's tail twitched impatiently. "We had an agreement, Howl. You said you'd call me back to this realm only when my Master was born. So, where is he? Or she... is it a girl?"

  "Well, they haven't been born yet."

  "That wasn't the deal!" The mouse's voice hit a high note of irritation. "You promised to wake me when there was someone for me to serve. Why am I here, a Spirit in a world where I have no master? What am I supposed to do?"

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Howling Night looked away, its gaze drifting to the moons. Finally, its eyes met the mouse's again, but it offered no answer.

  The mouse's whiskers quivered in annoyance. "Do you think this is some sort of game? My existence hinges on having a purpose, a master to serve. You have your Master! I need mine!"

  Still, Howling Night remained silent.

  The mouse sniffed disdainfully, its small frame shaking with indignation. "Fine. If you won't tell me, I'll find out myself. I'm good at that, you know. I always find a way. I am the Dreamer, the walker between realms!"

  "That is why I called you. I need you."

  "Why? Why me?" The mouse's red eyes narrowed. "You need me? The walker between realms, the Dreamer? That's rich, coming from you. Did you forget last Time?"

  "That is precisely why I called you back," Howling Night finally admitted. "I need you. Your Master needs you! And I need... You both."

  “They are not here!”

  “They’ll come soon enough.”

  "Why not summon the other Spirits? The Dual-Headed Fish, the Ram, the Wind-Eagle, or—" The mouse paused, trying to recall. "Who was the other one? Forgot her name..."

  "I need you. The fish lacks empathy for what's required."

  "You mean they are assholes? You can say the word Howl. Koimar is a prick!"

  The wolf continued, "The Ram is too skittish, too unreliable. The Wind-Eagle—well, you know them. Impossible to have a decent conversation with. I need someone who can perceive more than what merely exists before them."

  The mouse felt a chill crawl up its spine. "What's going on, Howl? What's so horrible that you've disturbed my rest and broken our agreement?"

  "The End of Time is near," Howling Night said, lowering his head as if the weight of his failure bore down on him. "I've tried to prevent it, done everything within my power, but I can't stop it alone. I don't know where I went wrong."

  The mouse blinked, letting the wolf's words settle in. "How much time do we have?"

  "Two generations are to be born."

  ”Two generations? That's not a ticking time bomb. You could have let me sleep a little longer."

  Howling Night didn't raise his head. Instead, he met the mouse's eyes with profound sadness. "It's not as much Time as you think. The end always comes, always takes the same form."

  "What form?"

  "Necromancer."

  "How many times have you tried to stop this necromancer?" The mouse paused, “and how many times did you turn back time?”

  Howling Night paused as if measuring each word. "As many times as it took to realise that I needed to awaken you."

  "How many times have we had this conversation?"

  Howl didn't answer.

  The mouse sat back, contemplating the wolf's admission. A thousand questions buzzed in its mind.

  "Then let's not waste any more time," the mouse said finally. "If the End of Time is coming, and I'm the missing piece of the cosmic puzzle, we'd best start putting it together."

  "Then we begin, Dreamer. Now we walk."

  "Does this necromancer has a name?"

  "Xendrix."

  "Another elf?"

  "A human."

  The mouse didn't move, almost frozen on the spot, "Are you mocking me?"

  Howl shook his head.

  "And you didn't brought any cheese?"

  Howl shook his head again.

  The mouse leapt off the raft, landing gracefully on the riverbank beside the wolf. "To save the world, then!"

  "To save the world and the beyond," Howling Night said, "again."

  And so, under the watchful eyes of the moons and stars, the two Spirits ventured into the Night.

  Yeso caught a glimpse of the two Spirits disappearing into the shadowy maze of the woods.

  He turned to the woman beside him, and he gently touched her shoulder. "She's ready now," he said.

  The woman nodded, and Yeso gestured for his companion to draw near. They joined a small group of villagers standing at the ready, bows taut and arrows nocked. A quartet of mages completed the semicircle, their fingers flickering with firelight and crackling magic.

  "Para!" Yeso barked, his command slicing through the night air in the guttural language of Menschen.

  Obedient to his word, the mages held their incantations, their fireballs suspended in mid-air.

  The villagers instinctively retreated.

  "Ja!" Yeso shouted, giving the final order.

  Like meteorites plummeting to earth, the four fireballs surged forth, crashing into the raft that bobbed gently on the water's surface. In an instant, the wooden vessel was consumed by flames.

  The nine moons hung low over the Meerio River when the five Black Robes reached Keblurg. Their horses were lathered with sweat and dust from days on the road.

  At their head rode Yeso, eyes fixed on the giant twin Guardian Statues that flanked the capital.

  Dawn broke as they reached the castle gates. The sentry jolted awake, hurriedly cranking the portcullis.

  The Black Robes didn’t slow. Their horses clattered across the drawbridge.

  Servants paused, and guards stared. Menschen did not often visit Keblurg or any human settlement.

  Yeso dismounted first, handing his reins to a nervous stable boy.

  “See to them. They carried us well.”

  He turned to his Magis as they slid off their mounts, stretching cramped muscles.

  “We made it,” Yeso said. “But remember—no sword. Only words.”

  A few of them exchanged looks. Some agreed, others disagreed, but they all stand together on one thing. They were tired.

  Redfred stood out first. A quiet man, stern, mane-black hair tied with old-world discipline. He had not spoken once during the ride, but his disapproval radiated from him.

  Close beside him, Jear adjusted his robe, horns catching the morning light. His red skin drew glances even here. A Tiefling appearance with Menschen blood had a way of pulling every prejudice in the room toward him.

  Muru lingered behind them, younger than the others, beard barely growing in. He watched Redfred too closely—imitating without realising.

  Mediah closed the line, half-Menschen, half-human, eyes bright blue with a nervous charm. His hazel hair was tied back poorly, strands falling.

  Yeso gave each of them a final nod before pushing open the castle doors.

  The grand hall swallowed them whole.

  A long strip of crimson carpet led toward King Ieagan Kaspian, who sat draped in fox fur and gold-threaded garments. His thin frame looked consumed by the throne.

  The herald rushed ahead of the Magis and attempted introductions, stumbling over names without surnames. "Your Highness, this is Magi Yeso Sternacht, Magi Redfred Dagurstea, Magi Muru Ann, Magi Jear... huh, no surname and Mediah... no, no… I mean Magi Mediah..."

  It was clear he expected some sort of traditional gesture—perhaps a bow or a kneel. But the Magis remained still.

  Yeso had long run out of patience for such courtly games, no matter if they were played by humans, elves, or Menschen. But he also knew how much the courts revelled in spectacle and grandeur, and if they wanted drama, he was willing to deliver, though not in the way they expected.

  With a deliberate movement, Yeso pulled back the sleeves of his robe, letting them slide above his shoulders. His wings unfurled majestically, spreading outward in a dramatic arc that seemed to fill the entire room. Each wing was massive, nearly the height of two men and three times as wide—a statement that could not be ignored.

  "I see your kind doesn't know protocols," the king sneered.

  Yeso offered a subdued smile, keeping his gaze lowered momentarily before locking eyes with Jear. Raising his head to meet the king's gaze, he replied, "And yours loves to create new ones."

  "Speak Blue-One! What do you want?"

  Yeso stepped forward. His wings folded down, flowing along the floor like a mantle.

  “I come on behalf of the Centaurs of Moonbay.”

  The king scoffed. “Keblurg owns Moonbay. Keblurg owns the Centaurs.”

  “They are Fae,” Yeso replied. “And yet, they bleed red blood, like you. Like your people.”

  “And so do cows,” the king said. “Should I concern myself with... their rights?”

  Mediah muttered, “It would be nice…”

  Yeso cut in before the king could sneer again.

  “I spoke with the King of Spiyles. If you declare Moonbay an independent state, Spiyles will not intervene. And the Centaurs, once free, will offer their services by contract to Keblurg or Spiyles. Paid in coin as it should be.”

  That got the king’s attention. He leaned back slowly, calculating. “And you expect me to consider this?”

  Yeso opened his mouth—

  As he stood there, he was vividly aware that thousands of Menschen settlements were counting on him, stretching from Faewood to Spiyles and then to Keblurg. They were communities on the edge of oblivion, waiting for their Dame to sever ties with a world that had failed to understand them.

  The Fallqueen was prepared to make that cataclysmic decision. Her hand stayed only by Yeso's persistent appeals for more time, for one more chance to mend what was broken.

  He had always told her that compassion was possible—that humans could learn to see the sacredness in all life, that they could learn the humility to share the magic of the world. But she had grown weary, sceptical of his idealistic views.

  Humans have eyes, but they do not see. They have ears, but they do not hear," she would often say.

  And, standing in King Ieagan Kaspian's throne room, Yeso couldn't help but feel that he was losing his argument.

  Until a voice cut across the hall.

  “Father!”

  The Magis turned. A boy ran across the throne room, hair still wet from morning wash, clothes creased, breath heaving. A smear of red marked his sleeve. Blood.

  Yeso’s eyes narrowed, clocking the stain, but he said nothing yet.

  The king sighed. “Xendrix, not now—”

  “I have a solution,” the boy insisted, stopping beside Yeso. “For everyone.”

  “Go on then. Amuse us.” The king waved a hand.

  Xendrix swallowed but kept going. “You want power. That’s why you want the Centaurs. But the Menschen want to avoid the Great Exodus because magic will leave with them. We have none, Father.”

  The king groaned. “Child—”

  “But humans can use magic,” Xendrix said louder. “Not touchless magic. But alchemy. Through tools. Through craft. Like elves, dwarves, orcs. If we learn alchemy, we won’t be helpless. We won’t need to rely on Centaurs or Menschen.”

  He turned to Yeso. “Alchemy is real, right?”

  “Yes,” Yeso said quietly. “Very real, indeed. The boy speaks the truth.”

  Xendrix pushed forward. “Then give us time. If I can learn it—if any of us can—then Father, you won't need the force of the Centaurs. And the Blue-Ones won’t have to leave.”

  "And who would learn this alchemy? You? You can't even multiply numbers right, and you still think the sun rotates around the world! And you think, little brat, you can grasp the essence of magic?"

  "I can learn, Father! They're Magi—they can teach me! All I'm asking is for time. Don't make any decisions yet. Let me learn, and if I can harness magic, then we won't need the centaurs, nobody at all."

  "You're filling the room with foolish ideas," the king dismissed.

  "If the 'Blue-Ones' leave, so will the centaurs, the dwarves, and anyone else with magic. Ormgrund will become a power vacuum. What's stopping the Fallqueen from returning later when we have no chance?"

  Mediah whispered, “He’s… right.”

  Yeso watched the king’s expression shift—anger, calculation, then fear.

  He also watched the prince. The red on his sleeve. The tremor in his fingers. How odd.

  At the doors behind them, the Howling Night and Dreamer Mouse stood as silent witnesses.

  Yeso felt nausea coil in his stomach. Fate was shifting.

  He stepped forward. “Your son speaks truth, King Ieagan. Magic is changing. The world is changing. Alchemy could be a bridge—one that keeps all our peoples alive.”

  The king looked at his son. Then at Yeso.

  The hall held its breath.

  And for the first time that morning, Yeso felt a spark of hope.

  The kind that could change two worlds into one.

  

  "In the threads of history , Yeso Sternacht, wove into, one confronts an inescapable enigma. Did the man who mastered the arcane of the Sun beyond mortal comprehension succumb to the very powers he tamed? Or did he, perhaps, transcend this realm by some other Hex? As a chronicler of history, I find his absence as telling as his life—both are phenomena that enrich our understanding of the magical and mundane worlds. His mystery remains a curious footnote that beckons us to question: Where did the Magi start, and where does the magic end?" —Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune

  Hexe." This Novel has been a labour of love and torment for several years, and it seems it will continue to challenge me in the times to come. I'm predicting 5 Books to complete Hexe and might write spin-offs if there is demand for it. Before you proceed to the next chapter, I'd like to share some insights to set the right expectations for Book One:

  

  
• Profanity: The story contains cursing in stressful situations, though it's not pervasive.


  
• Sexual Content: Book One has the least amount of sexual content in the series. Expect some bedroom talk and light erotica, catering to those with a vivid imagination.


  
• Graphic Violence: There are scenes of violence and torture depicted with restraint. The intent is not to shock or disturb unduly in Book One but to introduce you to the world. But it will grow grimmer in the books to come.


  
• Sensitive Content: Central themes include unique species, lore, religion, and politics, drawing from my personal experiences of psychological trauma. This Novel often explores dark themes and is not intended to be light reading. It's okay to pause and read something happier and come back later.


  
• The World of the Map: The setting is vast and perilous, filled with beings powerful enough to end it all. Trust is a luxury. Be careful who you choose is your favourite.


  
• There isn’t a “slow burn” tag on RR (yet), but this story is very much a slow burn.


  

  Chapter 5.