Family of strangers

* Family meaning like-minded individuals, for this story.

Part one

She lived alone at the crest of the hill, where the wind spoke in forgotten tongues and the sun rarely touched the ground. The villagers below called her distant, perhaps even cold. Some said she had too much pride. Others whispered she simply preferred shadows to company.

They were wrong.

She wasn't aloof—just misplaced. A soul straddling two lifetimes, tethered to both the present and echoes long buried. She remembered things no one had told her, places she'd never been, faces she had no reason to know.

She was a woman claimed by shadows, and she remembered too much.

The burden grew heavier with each sleepless night. But this morning was different. The visions came not as dreams, but as sudden, sharp flashes—fragments of people she’d never met, eyes that caught hers like mirrors. They spoke her name like a vow.

And somehow, she knew they remembered her too.

Worse yet—they needed her.

Part two

The knock came at twilight.

Not the brisk rap of a neighbour or the uncertain tap of a traveller, but a slow, deliberate knock—three times—like the echo of a long-forgotten promise.

Claira paused over her kettle; fingers still dusted with dried fever root. The sea outside groaned beneath the cliffs, restless as ever, and the flames in the hearth flickered as if it, too, had noticed something shift. The wolf at her side, old and grey around the muzzle, lifted its head and growled low—not from fear, but recognition.

She wiped her hands on her cloak. The fabric was torn at the hem, stained with years of living—but it still carried the faint scent of salt, ash, and wild lavender. She had mended it many times. Just like she had mended herself.

The second knock came. No more urgent than the first, but patient. Like whoever stood on the other side of the door knew she would come. Eventually.

Claira opened it.

There stood a man cloaked in black, travel-worn, and rain-slick, with eyes the colour of scorched copper. His face bore the silence of someone who had forgotten how to speak aloud. But his gaze… it pierced her, like he’d known her in another life. Like he’d been searching since the end of the last world.

“I’ve finally found you,” he said, voice rough as shipwrecked wood.

Claira’s fingers tightened around the doorframe.

Behind him, the sea snarled.

φ to be continued…

- As written by Resigner Luth, June 21, 2025. Introduction of my new fantasy blog: The Huntress

Resigner 💜

🪝Please keep reading at https://resignerluth.space or https://ultraviolet.ink

#justmoveforward