Stories of Aviaria. Story 1: Black Thorn

Ma’ome’s gaze was fixed on the blade of her dagger, which she had been sharpening for half an hour. Despite the dangerous task at hand, her mind was elsewhere, far from home. The note from Maëlys lay crumpled beside her as if it had been read countless times. Ma’ome kept shooting nervous glances toward the wrinkled parchment. With a sharp, frustrated exhale, she stopped what she was doing, closing her eyes. The letter from her old friend had stirred her deeply. She wasn’t even sure if it had truly been sent by Maëlys or if it was just a cruel, tasteless joke. But the handwriting was unmistakable, and there was that seal—their secret symbol—a moonvine flower.

The hope that the letter really was from her filled Ma’ome with gnawing anxiety, and something inside her tightened painfully at the memory of her friend.

The last time Ma’ome had seen Maëlys was five years ago—a short span for Elve, but a lifetime for close friends. Maëlys had returned from an Academy mission looking troubled, her usual composure rattled. Yet when Ma’ome asked her questions, Maëlys brushed them off, muttering vague phrases under her breath. Ma’ome knew the mission had involved a sect rumoured to practice dark magic. Though their assignments were usually kept secret, the two friends had always shared the details with one another. But not this time. Ma’ome took her friend’s distance to heart, feeling the sting of her silence. That night, hurt and confused, Ma’ome went to bed with a heavy heart.

The next morning, Maëlys was gone.

All that was found was her bow, left at the edge of the Forbidden Glade—a place that all Elves avoided, haunted as it was by ancient tales of dark magic. Ma’ome had spent months searching for her, the weight of their final conversation heavy on her heart, plagued by guilt that it might have driven her friend away forever.

“Meet me at the circle of stones when the moon is full. M.”

That was all the note said. The letter M was written in the same elegant, hurried script, with the flourishes Maëlys had always loved to add.

A knot of unease twisted in Ma’ome’s chest. Could it really be Maëlys? Why had she vanished all those years ago?

Ma’ome set the dagger aside and rose to her feet. Her gaze swept over the small campsite she had set up late last night under the canopy of a massive tree. There wasn’t much—just a small leather satchel and a warm cloak that had kept her comfortable through the cold night. The embers of her campfire still smouldered, giving off a faint warmth. The note had been carefully tucked under the straps of her bag after she had discovered it that morning, following a quick trip to the nearby stream visible from her resting spot. Someone—perhaps Maëlys herself—had managed to leave the mysterious piece of paper in just a matter of minutes. Despite Ma’ome’s skills as a seasoned ranger, she had found no sign of the intruder or the one who had left the note.

Ma’ome leaned down and picked up the note, her eyes tracing the familiar, winding handwriting of Maëlys once more.

“Meet me at the circle of stones when the moon is full. M.”

The full moon would rise the next night, and the journey to the meeting place would take nearly a day. That meant Ma’ome had to leave immediately if she wanted to make it in time for the mysterious rendezvous with the one who signed the note as “M.” She had only a few hours to make this difficult decision.

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The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the forest would have been impenetrably dark beneath the cloudy sky if not for the clusters of fireflies, lazily drifting in the air and lighting Ma’ome’s path. Less than an hour remained until she would reach the circle of stones, and the full moon had already begun its ascent into the sky, though it was difficult to tell how high it was due to the thick clouds shrouding the night. Ma’ome’s heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and fear as she made the decision to meet at the appointed place, fully aware of the consequences. By doing so, she had effectively abandoned her mission, with no way to inform the Academy’s elders, which could result in severe repercussions.

Each step brought her closer to the circle of stones, and with it, a deeper sense of unease began to creep into her thoughts. Was this really Maëlys waiting for her? Was this some kind of trap? Ma’ome’s mind raced with questions, but she pushed them aside. She had to see this through.

After some time, the trees gradually began to thin, and Ma’ome’s sharp eyes caught movement ahead. The towering columns of ancient stone became visible through the treetops, bathed in a soft, silvery glow. Her heart raced—Maëlys was already there. But then, Ma’ome noticed something else—a cloaked figure, and then another, and another. Her pulse quickened with alarm. Quickly, she slipped behind the nearest tree, freezing in place, her gaze fixed on the stone circle. If she could see them, they could see her, and only her ranger skills could keep her hidden now.

She held her breath, her body pressed tightly against the rough bark of the tree. Ma’ome scanned the figures, counting at least three of them, all cloaked, their hoods obscuring their faces in the dim light. Whoever they were, they didn’t appear to be random travellers. This was planned. Carefully, she shifted her weight, barely daring to breathe as she considered her next move.

She had come for Maëlys, but this was not the reunion she had expected.

“Could this be one of Maëlys’ missions? Or was this all just a trap?” Ma’ome’s thoughts raced, doubting her decision to come. How foolish she had been to fall for that note! Maëlys had vanished five years ago—what were the chances that…

“Ma’ome,” a voice called from the shadows to her left, startling her. “You came.”

Standing just out of the light, partially hidden in the shadow of the trees, was Maëlys. She looked exactly as Ma’ome remembered her, with high, sharp cheekbones, short dark hair tucked behind pointed ears, and piercing gray eyes. She hadn’t changed at all in five years. Then again, what were five years to an Elve? Like mere days to a mortal. But even a few days without Maëlys had felt like an eternity to Ma’ome.

“Maëlys,” Ma’ome breathed, her voice trembling as her gaze locked onto her old friend’s face. “It’s really you…”

She could hardly believe her eyes, her senses, even her nose, which caught the familiar earthy, woody scent of Maëlys. It was undeniably her.

“It’s good to see you,” Maëlys smiled, though she didn’t move from her spot. Ma’ome remained silent, her gaze locked on her old friend as if the world around her had ceased to exist. She had even forgotten about the mysterious figures standing in the circle of stones. Maëlys didn’t look away either, her eyes fixed on Ma’ome in a way that felt both familiar and unsettling.

A few more moments of heavy silence passed before Maëlys slightly turned her head toward the circle. Ma’ome followed her gaze, and a shiver ran down her spine. There were more figures than she had initially realised—more than three, and they stood facing her and Maëlys, their faces obscured by deep hoods. Even though the shadows hid most of their features, Ma’ome could make out enough. None of them were familiar.

But what truly unnerved her wasn’t the fact that they were strangers. It was what they held. Each of the figures clutched a candle, the soft flicker of flames casting a ghostly glow over their faces. Their skin, or at least what was visible, was painted with strange symbols in dark red. Ma’ome’s stomach twisted at the sight, silently hoping the paint was just that—paint, and not blood.

“Come, let me introduce you to my brothers and sisters,” Maëlys spoke softly, and before Ma’ome realised it, her old friend had moved closer, her hand lightly resting on Ma’ome’s shoulder.

Ma’ome’s brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into her thoughts. She didn’t move, her body suddenly tense as she turned her eyes back to Maëlys. Something about all of this felt wrong, deeply wrong.

“Who are they?” Ma’ome finally asked, her voice low, wary. She kept her gaze on Maëlys, searching her face for any sign of deception, any explanation for this eerie gathering.

“They are my family,” Maëlys said, her grip on Ma’ome’s shoulder tightening. Only then did Ma’ome notice the brooch pinned to her friend’s chest—a twisted, thorned vine forged from dark metal. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what it meant.

“The Order of the Black Thorn…” Ma’ome whispered, her eyes widening in shock as she recoiled from Maëlys. “What have you done?” Her gaze darted across her friend’s face, desperate for some sign of denial, some hint that this was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps the brooch only resembled the symbol of the forbidden order…

“Ma’ome, please, let me explain.” Maëlys’s hand slipped from Ma’ome’s shoulder, her face calm, entirely untroubled.

The calmness unnerved Ma’ome even more, a chill creeping down her spine. “Explain? How could you join them? You know what they stand for, what they’ve done!”

The Order of the Black Thorn was not just any organization—it was an ancient sect shrouded in secrecy, whose followers were rumoured to practice forbidden arts, to consort with creatures of dark realms. This was not the Maëlys she knew, the friend she’d shared her youth with.

“You don’t understand,” Maëlys said, her voice soft but unyielding. “The Order has knowledge, secrets… secrets that could save us, could protect Aviaria from threats beyond our comprehension.”

“Protect?” Ma’ome’s voice was thick with disbelief, anger flaring behind her words. “The Order has been banned for a reason, Maëlys. They’re not protectors; they’re—”

“We’re more than just whispers in the dark,” Maëlys cut her off, her tone hardening. “We’ve discovered a way to summon creatures from the Forgotten Plane, beings who could guard our lands from the growing dangers.”

Ma’ome felt her blood turn cold. “Summoning?” Her voice was barely a whisper, the implications settling over her like a heavy fog. “Do you even understand what that means? These creatures… they’re not protectors, Maëlys. They’re monsters, bound only by ancient, brittle magic. If they break free…”

A flicker of doubt crossed Maëlys’s face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a hardened resolve. “They won’t break free. We know how to control them—”

“Control?” Ma’ome took a step back, her voice trembling. “This isn’t like you. The Maëlys I knew would never believe in something so dangerous.”

“Forgive me, my friend, but we have no more time for this,” Maëlys whispered, and Ma’ome felt a thick, warm presence seep into the clearing, deepening the night’s darkness.

“What is this?” Ma’ome murmured, reaching instinctively for her dagger’s hilt, but she was too late—two cloaked figures appeared behind her as if conjured from thin air. Two pairs of strong hands seized her from behind, wrenching her arms back.

“Don’t resist,” Maëlys’s voice was steady, almost cold, but her gaze was conflicted as she watched Ma’ome struggle.

Ma’ome shot her a look, half-anger, half-betrayal. “Maëlys, you don’t have to do this. Whatever power you think they offer—it’s not worth this.”

But Maëlys only held her gaze with a sad, resigned expression. “It’s already done. We are bound to this path, Ma’ome.”

The group in cloaks parted, allowing captors to lead her to the centre of the ritual space, where three bodies lay—young elves, pale and drained of life.

The blood drained from her face as she looked down at the lifeless elves, their once-vibrant forms reduced to mere vessels in this dark ritual. Ma’ome’s chest tightened with grief, rage, and guilt. She should have known better, she should have questioned more, but the hope of seeing her friend again had clouded her judgment.

“Why, Maëlys?” Ma’ome’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with emotion, as she turned to face her old friend, her eyes pleading for an explanation that could somehow make sense of the horror before her.

Now, standing within the stone circle, Ma’ome felt the weight of bitter irony settle over her. She had spent years dismantling the very Order Maëlys had now joined, pursuing its members into the darkest corners of the realm. Yet here she was, ensnared in the centre of their forbidden rituals, the very target she had once hunted.

Maëlys held her head high, her eyes a cold, impenetrable silver as she returned Ma’ome’s stare. Slowly, almost reverently, she knelt beside the lifeless young elves, her hand brushing lightly over the cold, pale skin of one. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell each other in the Academy?” Her voice was soft, as if she were speaking to herself. “We dreamed of protecting Aviaria, of keeping our people safe, no matter the cost.”

“But this?” Ma’ome’s voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper, her heart breaking as she watched the last traces of innocence vanish from her friend’s eyes. “How could this… be worth it?”

“You don’t understand, Ma’ome.” Maëlys’s voice held a chilling edge. “These sacrifices—these few—will save countless lives. The creatures we summon can defend Aviaria in ways our armies never could.”

Ma’ome’s jaw clenched as she fought the nausea rising within her. “You’re willing to kill your own people? To turn yourself into a monster?”

For a moment, Maëlys’s gaze softened, and she looked almost regretful. “I thought you might see it differently,” she said, her voice barely audible. “But I had to try. I thought… you would join me. Together, we could do what we’d always dreamed.”

The cloaked figures slowly took their places in a circle, their quiet chanting resonating in Ma’ome’s mind, a steady pulse of sound that made her head throb.

“But I won’t become a monster,” Maëlys whispered, lifting her gaze to meet her friend’s eyes. “I don’t have the source of power they need to exist in our world. None of us do.” Her eyes roamed over Ma’ome’s face, searching, almost sorrowful. She raised her right hand, and, with a soft, almost tender touch, brushed away the lonely tear that clung to Ma’ome’s strained expression.

“But you do.” Maëlys’s voice was barely audible, a tremor in her tone.

Ma’ome’s heart skipped a beat as she absorbed Maëlys’s words.

“You will be her vessel,” Maëlys’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight that finally broke through the clouds. She took several steps back, joining the other figures in the circle. Ma’ome barely had time to react when two sharp, thorned vines sprouted from either side of her, coiling around her arms and legs, pinning her firmly to the ground. Each tiny movement sent the sharp thorns digging painfully into her delicate skin. An unknown force constricted her throat, silencing her completely. The members of the Order began to chant an unfamiliar song, filling the air with a heavy, oppressive energy.

Ma’ome felt the darkness creeping across the ground toward her, inching ever closer. She tried to shift, to pull away, but the vines held her in place. The shadow slithered up her thighs, inching higher, brushing against her through her clothing. Desperation surged as she struggled one last time, just as the shadow reached her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, invading her every sense and flooding her body with excruciating pain. And then, as quickly as it came, the pain stopped.

The vines released her limbs, and she automatically flexed her hands, loosening her fingers. Fear and anger receded, replaced by an alien sense of calm. She stood, not of her own will, but with a newfound strength she couldn’t control. Someone else was within her.

Someone else stretched her fingers, lifted her body, looked through her eyes at Maëlys, who gazed back with reverence at a Ma’ome who was no longer Ma’ome.

“Hello, sweetmeat,” she whispered.

The words slipped from her lips, but they were not her own. The voice that spoke was layered, dark, echoing with a power that seemed to pulse through the air around her. Her gaze fixed on Maëlys, but it wasn’t with the warmth of friendship or the fear she had felt moments before. It was an expression void of recognition, an icy presence that belonged to the entity now dwelling within her.

Maëlys lowered herself to one knee, her eyes shining with awe and respect. The other hooded figures followed, bowing their heads in silent reverence. The chant quieted, and a heavy, anticipatory silence blanketed the circle, as if the very forest held its breath, awaiting the Black Thorn’s next move.

The creature within Ma’ome’s body flexed her fingers, testing the muscles, almost savouring its new form. The sensation was unfamiliar, strange, yet there was a flicker of satisfaction, a cold amusement in the way her hands tightened into fists, feeling the raw strength of flesh and blood.

“Now… what shall we do with this vessel?” the voice asked, its tone chillingly contemplative, each word lingering in the night air like a dark promise. And Black Thorn smiled to herself.