The tavern in Velendre was quieter than usual. Thick tapestries lined the walls, absorbing the sound of the few patrons who spoke in hushed tones. A single candle stood proudly on a wooden table tucked in the back corner, its flame flickering, casting soft golden hues across the room. The dim light barely touched the shadows, leaving much of the large room in an enveloping darkness.
A woman, seated at the corner table beneath the candlelight, commanded the attention of those few who dared glance in her direction. Her eyes glimmered with an inner fire that betrayed the seemingly tranquil air she adopted. Her vivid crimson hair was styled elegantly—an elaborate updo with loose strands curling strategically around her face, giving her the appearance of both royalty and warrior. The flame of the candle reflected in her gaze, creating the illusion of smoldering embers within her irises.
Her teal bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, textured and patterned with intricate silver designs that whispered of magic and danger. The fabric shimmered ever so slightly with her every movement, mimicking the soft glow of the candlelight. It was clear that her outfit was not crafted for mere aesthetic pleasure; every curve of the garment emphasized her agility and strength. A wide silver-tipped belt rested on her hips, and small pouches hung from it, hinting at mysterious artifacts or vials within.
This was no ordinary woman. This was Selya Fyressan, Fire-bearer of Velendre, one of the most feared sorceresses in the realm. Although she wanted nothing more than to sit in silence and sip her mulled wine, she knew the evening would not pass without incident.
The Intruding Stranger
The door to the tavern swung open with the force of a brewing storm, and a gust of wind followed, sweeping through the room. Every patron’s gaze snapped to the door as a cloaked figure entered. The individual was draped in black fabric that reached the ground and concealed their skin. Though their features were masked by shadow, the tension in the room immediately thickened. Every soul in the tavern knew—trouble had arrived.
The figure walked straight toward Selya’s table, every step deliberate. As the stranger approached, Selya placed her goblet on the table, her fingertips lingering over it. She felt the cold threat of magic hanging in the air, growing stronger with each step the stranger took.
When they were no more than two paces from her, the figure came to a halt. Slowly, Selya lifted her gaze, her entire being bracing for the confrontation that she knew was inevitable.
“You’re not welcome here.” Her voice was soft but layered with steel. It was not a suggestion; it was a warning.
The stranger chuckled beneath the hood, pulling it back slowly. A man emerged, his face pale, sunken with a gaunt sharpness. His villainous grin was as threatening as the dagger strapped to his side. Dark tattoos in the shape of arcane symbols slithered down his neck, disappearing into the folds of his robe. “I’ve come for what was promised,” he said, his tone laced with venom.
A ripple of fear passed through the remaining patrons. Not for themselves, but because they knew anyone going up against Selya Fyressan stood little chance of walking away unscathed.
A Clash of Flames
Selya exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing the air above the table. The room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature as the warmth pulled toward her, centering at the palm of her hand. Flames erupted from her skin, gently at first, then growing with fervor. She stood up, her teal bodysuit briefly reflecting the fire’s light, and the sigils on the fabric emitted a faint glow.
The man’s expression twisted, all traces of amusement gone. He glanced briefly at the flickering flame poised in her hand—the very thing for which he had come—and then down to the candlelight that danced erratically on the table.
“You’ve made a grave mistake seeking me out,” Selya whispered, her voice low but charged with unfathomable power. She raised her hand, and the golden flame in her palm grew fierce, illuminating the intricacies of her suit—the swirling patterns that seemed to shift as if alive.
Without warning, the man moved. He hurled a ball of shadowy energy in her direction, its dark tendrils whipping in the air like a storm of malevolent intent. But before the sphere could make contact, Selya raised her flaming hand. With a flick of her wrist, she sent her fire roaring forward to meet the shadows. The energies collided in a brilliant explosion of light and dark, throwing both of them back several paces.
Selya staggered, her feet catching themselves effortlessly, as if long accustomed to such skirmishes. The fabric of her bodysuit rippled slightly with her movement, its enchanting design shimmering dangerously under the dim lights.
She could hear the patrons gasping, some rushing for the exit, others too terrified to move. None of that mattered. She focused solely on the enemy before her. She had dealt with worse before. With a quick incantation muttered under her breath, her body emitted a warm glow, magic coursing freely through her veins.
The Final Strike
The hooded man recovered and, with a snarl, charged at her again. His hands pulsed with dark energy, desperate for the fire contained in her grasp. But Selya was faster. With a graceful pirouette, she launched a wave of fire from her outstretched hands, her teal bodysuit hugging the graceful movement of her body as if memory to past battles.
The fire struck the man squarely in the chest, engulfing him. Screams filled the air but were quickly drowned by the crackling of flames that hungrily consumed him. Within moments, nothing remained but ashes and the tattered remnants of his cloak.
The room was silent once more, save the soft flicker of the elegant candle at her table. Selya quietly returned to her seat, flicking her wrist to extinguish the fire in her palm. She sighed softly, picking up her goblet and taking a tentative sip of her wine. The taste was sweeter now, knowing her power had once again silenced the storm.
Epilogue
As the tavern returned to its subdued state, a shadow appeared from the entryway. A burly man stepped cautiously toward her, his eyes wide with gratitude—and fear.
“Thank you, Lady Fyressan,” he stammered. “You saved us all… again.”
Selya smiled faintly, tracing her fingers along the rim of her goblet. “Let us hope… I won’t have to again so soon.”
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