Chapter 69

The boy was small; he looked to be no older than seven years old, with blonde locks covered in dark brown stains and blue eyes that drew you in. His face was filled with mud, and so were his tattered clothes, with bloodstains here and there. He was trembling by Mage’s side as they ushered the two inside the kitchen.

I could feel his magic pouring through—it was gentle, pure even. “Thank you both. You can leave now,” I said, and Faran looked at me as if he was thinking twice about leaving me alone. He wasn’t too trusting—what shifter, no elf was. In the end, he left with Mage, knowing that I’d be okay even without him.

The boy stood by the door, not moving, not looking at anyone.

“What’s your name?” I asked, but he didn’t talk. He didn’t even look up. I could feel his distrust toward us. Witches weren’t known for being trusting either, but the boy was young. H