The angel throws herself over the prince and tells her mage to stand down just as a shadow spear forms in front of the man. Naya lets out a ragged sigh, lessening the pressure she is applying to the dagger. “Thank you, friend,” the witch breathes, eyes shifting to follow the dark magic towards the newcomer that had entered the fray. She couldn't make out any of his features due to the heavy armor he wore, so there was no way she could make out his race for certain, but judging by the magic she'd say…demon? But where were his wings?
Curious.
“You’d best do as your lady bid you, man creature,” Naya huffs, turning her attention back to the child of light. “There doesn't need to be any more bloodshed this da--,” the witch stops when the ground begins to tremble, stumbling with the movement briefly before getting her footing back. “What…?”
When she sees it she can't breath for a second.
Oh
no.
“What's this, mama?” A six year old Naya asks, flipping through an old tome and pointing at a sketch of a crude looking bear like monster.
“You know how to read, girl,” Elora Ashgrave chides, but there is a small smile on her face. “Go on, tell me what it says,” the older woman prompts, her nimble fingers braiding her daughter’s dark locks.
“Al--Al--Al’hapsted?”
“Al’Hazred, dear. Good try though, my little witch,” Elora chuckles, tying the ends of Naya’s hair with black ribbons before dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. “He was a Varghulf, a vampire whose hunger was said to be insatiable,” the blonde woman pauses, holding the little girl just a little tighter. “Your grandmother told me he was the one that devoured our coven.”
“Really!?” Naya gasps, turning around in her mother’s lap to stare up at her, the child’s eyes widened in a mixture of horror and awe.
“It was many years ago,” Elora explains, flicking Naya’s nose. “There’s no way to know for sure. But to be safe, if you ever see a Varghulf, you must run away very fast. Do you understand?”
“Yes mama,” the little girl nods seriously. “I'll be as quick as a fox!”
“That’s my girl. Now off to bed with you.”
Naya shakes her head to dismiss the memory, disgusted with herself when she realizes her entire body is trembling. “L-Light magic,” the witch says lowly, so soft that hopefully only the mage could hear. “Light magic or holy water is your best bet. Don't let him catch you, he’ll rip you to pieces.”
He doesn't answer, instead calling out,
"You killed me?" Naya couldn't be sure since she couldn't see his face, but she could only assume he was speaking with his princess. The tone of his voice is almost heartbreaking, but the witch doesn't have much time to dwell on it because she's too busy diving out of the Varghulf’s way.
The witch rolls to her feet, jogging in the direction of Asher and the ginger woman. She's no stranger to blood and corpses, but she doesn't actually like to watch people get murdered. Still, there was nothing she could do for him, she had nothing left in her bag that could heal anyone’s physical wounds. “Prince. Little Dove,” Naya greets, wincing at the sound of the mage crashing into the forest floor. “This is for you,” she tells Asher, leaning down to press the dark green colored potion into his hand. “It’ll replenish your magic. It will also dull the pain of your injuries, but it won't heal them.”
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