The Stranger’s Orphan: Prologue, Pg. 1

From out of the woods, the woman strode, black cloak billowing in the night’s wind as she tried, in vain, to protect the small child who slept in her arms. Her left leg, covered by a bloodied bandage, dragged slightly behind the other as she desperately moved across the open field toward the large cathedral sitting a mere one hundred yards from the forest she had just left.

As the rain poured down upon her and the young girl she clutched to her chest, she trudged forward through the muddied grasses. With every ounce of effort that she could muster, the woman pursued her goal. If she bled out from her wound or succumbed to hypothermia in the rain, it did not matter. The only thing that mattered was getting the girl where she had to be.

The cloaked woman, at last, arrived at the footsteps of the Corec Cathedral, shaky and weary from her travel. Sadly, she had little time for a respite, as any second, the men, the ones who had followed her back to this time and chased her through that cursed forest, would catch up. Placing her weight onto her uninjured leg, she ascended the top of the cathedral’s steps.

“This better work, Andenria,” the woman muttered as she knelt and placed the sleeping child onto the top stair. Slowly reaching a hand into her cloak’s pocket, she retrieved the small placard made from oak that rested there. Upon the placard read the name “Anastasia”, and she carefully set it down beside the still slumbering girl, a smile stretching her face.

Standing up, careful to not place too much weight on her injured leg, the woman walked back down the steps. With one hand, she reached upward and touched her hair, soaked from the rain that refused to let up. As she brought it back down, the woman frowned at her palm, now coated in black hair dye. Soon, her natural blonde would become apparent to anyone who looked too carefully.

“Damn,” she cursed. If her pursuers caught up to her and saw her with blonde hair, the plan would be in jeopardy.

Reaching into her pocket once more, the woman pulled out a small metal rod. In length, it was similar to a pencil, and in width, it was like a carrot. Pushing a button on the end of the metal pole, a bluish fog formed around her body. It engulfed her, and she felt the power that came with it.

From the Elder Wood, four men, all robed similarly to the woman, came sprinting forward, each holding their own nassa. The woman pulled her hood tighter to hide her hair before giving the men a friendly wave and seemingly dissolving into the hazy blue fog.

Stopping in their tracks, three of the men turned to the last, awaiting instructions. Their leader sighed. “Follow her,” he said, pulling out his own version of the metal rod she carried. Like she had, the man clicked a button and was enveloped in blue mist, vanishing from the field. Each of his compatriots followed suit.