Chapter Text
Persephone
23rd June 1886
Blackwood Forest, Oxfordshire, Terra
The bark of the ancient oak tree was rough and sticky against Persephone's back as she sat perfectly still. Gripping a bundle of arrows tightly in her right hand and a bow in the other. Her eyes darted across the forest floor, alert for any sign of her prey. She had spotted some movement earlier when she first took her position among the branches but had been too cautious to act without a clear target.
A low rumble rolled in her gut. Persephone scrunched her face trying to ignore the hunger that had plagued her since morning. The creek running through parts of the forest was teeming with lampreys, but as ravenous as she was, she wasn't desperate enough to resort to that again. Early on, she had still hoped to hunt something that wouldn't haunt her dreams, but as the sunlight began to dim, she understood the meaning of "beggars can't be choosers."
At the base of the sycamore tree across from her perch, her prey finally stirred. A small brown head poked out from the entrance of what she suspected was a warren, ducking back down before emerging again, followed by another. Persephone watched intently as the rabbits scurried towards the small clearing between the trees, keeping low to the shrubbery.
Slowly, she drew an arrow, finding that familiar spot at the top of her cheekbone with her right thumb, and waited. Her breath caught in her throat as the rabbits triggered the trap.
The second rabbit was faster, darting back towards the warren before the trap closed around the first. Persephone released her arrow, aiming for the hole at the base of the sycamore tree. A dull thunk echoed as the rabbit fell still. Shifting her aim, she maneuvered another arrow to the string, taking less care as she loosed it towards the rustling trap. The movement ceased.
Satisfied with her bounty, Persephone hopped down from the branch of the massive English oak. She tucked the arrows into the quiver strapped to her hip and placed the bow on the hook attached to her pack. She quickly dressed her kills, pinning them to a nearby tree to let the blood drain.
As she dismantled the trap, a twig snapped somewhere behind her, towards the left. She continued working methodically, placing the rope and tarp into her pack, but keeping a firm grip on the hunting knife in her right hand. Her bow lay just a few steps away.
A faint rustling noise came from behind. Persephone closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood, turning as she rose, pointing the large knife upwards. Her eyes snapped open as her knuckles met a firm, warm body. She looked up to find a tall man with a hawkish face staring down at her with startling blue eyes.
The man smiled as she pressed the knife to his chest. He held his hands up and stepped back. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
"You don't," Persephone said firmly. The man was thin, with black hair, dressed in a fine black suit and an even finer cloak. He was tall, much taller than Uncle Dimitri, but not taller than her father or her mother.
The man's face gave him the appearance of a particularly devious fox. Persephone frowned, for a moment, his appearance flickered, and she could have sworn she saw his hair turn white. But when she blinked, his hair was black again, styled in a fashionable way.
"Perceptive," the man said, his smirk unwavering. "I mean you no harm. I'm looking for the village of Blackhaven Hollow."
Persephone eyed the man carefully. He was dressed for a fancy party, very much out of place in this remote pocket of Oxfordshire. The closest major city was Oxford, several dozen miles away. To most, Blackhaven Hollow was a bit of a myth. Those who wandered too close to the magical village would find themselves ushered to the nearest hamlet with no memory of how they got there—magic or non-magic. She lowered the knife but didn't put it away, continuing to eye the man warily.
The man reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a flute made of dark wood. He held it sideways, blowing into the mouthpiece. A soft tune played as he deftly moved his fingers.
"Are you a bard?" Persephone asked.
The man lowered the flute and grinned.
"Of a sort, I prefer the term ‘Worldsinger’," he said, tucking the flute back into his pocket.
Worldsinger? Persephone furrowed her brow. That wasn't a term she was familiar with, but she didn't mention that to the man. She fiddled with the hunting knife, torn between putting it away and remaining vigilant.
"I'm hoping to arrive before the Festival of Litha ends," the man said. "I heard there's a massive bonfire with fireworks on the last night." He reached into his pocket again, bringing out a small metal flask and unscrewing the top to take a quick sip.
"How did you hear about Blackhaven Hollow?" Persephone asked, keeping her eyes on the man.
"There was an advertisement in the Arcane Tribune for entertainers," the man said, clasping his hands together in front of him. It was a subtle gesture meant to show Persephone he had nothing to hide. But there was something strange about this man, something altogether foreign yet familiar.
A sense of calm slowly spread through Persephone. Alarm bells began to sound off in her head. She slid her left foot backward, bending her right knee slightly, making a fist with her left hand and keeping it close to her body.
"Whatever it is you're doing, stop," Persephone said, narrowing her eyes. Slowly, the sense of calm began to subside, and the pit of anxiety within her began to writhe again.
"Very perceptive," the man mumbled to himself. His smile did not falter; instead, he looked at her with keen eyes. "You must be a Blackwood."
"No," Persephone lied. Well, not an entire lie but more of a half-truth. The man's face faltered for a moment, but his serene look returned a second later.
"My apologies then, mysterious young lady," the man said with a chuckle. "I must ask, what are you doing out here on your own?"
"Same as you," Persephone answered. In the silence between the two, a low rumble came from her stomach. Hunger cut through all the alarm bells and anxiety the encounter with this strange man had stirred.
"Well," the man said, "if our interests align, might I be bold enough to offer a truce to the hostilities?"
"I can't help but be hostile when you sneak up on me, then use magic to influence my feelings," Persephone said angrily.
"Now now," the man said, "that's not quite the truth. You heard me from the moment I stepped out of the tree line. No need to be modest."
Persephone flushed at the offhanded praise. It was true; she had heard the man even before he cleared the tree line. "You didn't know I could hear you, yet you still chose not to announce your presence."
The man flushed and rubbed the back of his head. "Well, you got me there, young lady." He sighed, dropping his arms to either side of his body. "I truly don't mean any harm. I'm just trying to get to the village."
“Tell me a story, then. If you’re really a bard.”
The man chuckled, clearly entertained. “Ah, a skeptic. I like that.” He lowered himself onto a fallen log, brushing dirt from his sleeve. “How about this? Once, long ago, there was a girl who wanted to be something she was not. She chased magic like a moth to a flame, never realizing the fire would never be hers to wield.”
Persephone’s fingers tightened around her hunting knife.
“I don’t care for stories like that,” she said coolly.
He only smiled. “Of course not.”
Persephone glanced up at the sky. They had a few hours before sunset. She felt the pangs of hunger deep within her stomach. She’d run out of quick rations hours ago. All she had left was rice.
Mother would help this man, Persephone thought as she glanced at the man standing a few feet away. Fuzzy would put truth serum in his tea. Not that she had any, nor would she know how much she would need to give him.
"I suppose you could tag along," Persephone said finally. "We're not too far, but we will need to stop for the night."
"You have my eternal gratitude, young lady," the man said, smiling brightly. "You may call me Hoid."
"My name is Persephone Sakellarios," she said, walking towards where the rabbits were pinned to a tree. "Come, we've wasted enough time."
Both kills in hand, Persephone walked towards the east, only hesitating when she didn't hear the man follow her. When she glanced towards her right, Hoid walked beside her with that lingering smirk on his face.
~*~
The sky bled red as Persephone finished securing the trip wire around their campsite. She joined Hoid at the fire, where he fed the flames with gathered wood. From her pack, she retrieved a sturdy iron rod, a grill, and hooks, quickly assembling a simple cooking rig over the fire.
Her vision swam as she stood. Hoid noticed.
“Here you are,” he said, offering her the canteen. She drank deeply, the water hitting her empty stomach like a stone.
“Thanks,” she murmured, settling onto her haunches just long enough to set a kettle of water over the flames.
"Can I help in any way?" Hoid inquired, observing her unpacking with curiosity.
The side of her that sounded like Dimitri reminded Persephone that she did not know this man. But the side that sounded like her mother and Lakshmi told her she would be fed faster if she had help.
In the end, hunger outweighed weariness. Persephone reached into the pack, pulling out two small jars and handing them to the man.
"Take these, season the rabbits and put them to cook over this grill," she gestured towards the grill on the rod directly over the flame. "Make sure you season them generously."
The man did as he was told while Persephone busied herself with setting a pot of rice to steam over the flames.
"That's an interesting pack," Hoid said as the meat sizzled while he placed it on the grill. Persephone grabbed the jar of salt, taking a generous pinch and sprinkling it over the boiling pot of rice.
"It's charmed," Persephone answered the unspoken question. "It used to belong to Fuzzy."
"Is Fuzzy your grandfather?" Hoid asked, adjusting the skewers as the flames licked the meat.
"No," Persephone said, stirring the rice before covering it. "Fuzzy is my father. He has a fuzzy brown beard."
"Oh, it's bigger on the inside," Hoid said, peering into the pack. Persephone reached into the pack, bringing out two mugs and two plates, handing them to the man. She reached in for cutlery and a tea strainer before finally sitting on the ground.
"Most of the things my family owns are bigger on the inside. Helps when you're traveling," Persephone said, feeling her head spinning. The smell of the cooking meat was making her stomach's protest nearly unbearable.
"A pocket universe used for a camping trip," Hoid said, wonder clear in his tone.
"It's not just any camping trip," Persephone said with a frown. "It's the Sakellarios Rite of Passage.
"Sounds daunting," Hoid said, a grim look on his face. “So, you’re just dropped in the middle of the woods and have to find your way home?”
“No, you get some supplies and a map,” Persephone said more than a little indignant.
“It sounds like your ancestors wanted fewer mouths to feed,” he said plainly. “The strong survive.”
Persephone's frown deepened. She hadn't thought of it that way. As a child, she heard stories from her father's siblings, Uncle Nikolas and Uncle Dimitri, all the stories were of exciting adventures in the valleys of peat moorland in Northern Yorkshire. Summers spent in Crete.
Papou was the oldest of three children, Persephone's thoughts wandered to her paternal grandfather. Philippos Sakellarios was as vigilant, if not more so, than her father Alex.
The man was a giant in Persephone’s eyes with sun-kissed skin and eyes as blue as the Mediterranean. She had seen her paternal grandparents, Papou Philippos and Yiayia Octavia, last summer when her family visited Crete along with Uncle Dimitri and Aunt Lakshmi. Papou was certainly strong.
A sharp whistle stirred Persephone from her thoughts. She grabbed another iron hook from the pack and used it to bring the kettle off the open flame. She looked up at the sky. The sun was just setting; it would be dark in half an hour.
Hoid removed the meat from the grill, jabbing the skewer into the ground near the campfire to cool. Persephone checked on the rice, deeming it almost done; she pulled the small pot off the open flame to finish steaming. As she turned to retrieve her pack, Persephone noticed Hoid unfurling the thick blanket she typically used for picnics. She watched, intrigued, as the enigmatic man spread the blanket a safe distance from the crackling fire.
Donning a dragon hide glove on her right hand, Persephone poured two steaming cups of tea through the strainer. Hoid carved a rabbit onto one plate. Persephone made to check on the rice, but the man beat her to it once again. By the time she settled onto the blanket, Hoid was already presenting her with a plate piled with fragrant rice and succulent rabbit. But his plate was absent of any meat.
“You don’t eat meat?” Persephone asked through a mouthful.
"You should eat slowly," Hoid advised, his gaze watchful. She scowled but heeded his counsel, slowing her pace. "It’s complicated. But in this context, no, I cannot eat the rabbits you caught. Do you know any stories?"
Persephone didn't fully understand Hoid's response, but she let it slide for now.
"What kind of stories?" Persephone inquired.
"Perhaps one about your namesake?" Hoid suggested.
"No," Persephone said, her nose wrinkling in distaste.
"Ah, I take it the classics are not to your liking?" Hoid chuckled.
"Do you know the story behind Blackhaven Hollow's founding?" Persephone asked, sidestepping his query. Hoid shook his head.
"Only that it was established to safeguard the Blackwood Forest," Hoid replied. "I had hoped to learn more upon reaching Blackhaven Hollow."
"Is this what you do?" Persephone asked. "Travel and collect stories?"
"I seek to spread understanding through the art of storytelling," Hoid said, his tone reverent.
"Oh, like Homer," Persephone nodded sagely. "Except you're not blind."
"We all bear our own burdens, Miss Sakellarios," Hoid said, his eyes holding a depth of sorrow. She eyed him curiously, each new sliver of information only served to deepen the mystery surrounding the stranger.
"I suppose you're right," Persephone conceded, her mind briefly wandering to the Elderae Academy letter she did not receive on her eleventh birthday. But just as quickly as the melancholic thought surfaced, she dismissed it, locking it away in the furthest recesses of her mind.
Persephone took a deep breath, the light of the fire illuminating her face as she began the tale.
"The story of Blackhaven Hollow starts with a dark sorcerer, known simply as The One Who Was. With the power to manipulate people's emotions, he amassed a large following. This was before the Magical Revolution. The One Who Was lured anyone to his side—magic or non-magic—they would all be equals under his rule. But what he said and what he did were vastly different.”
"Why do they refer to him as ‘The One Who Was’?" Hoid inquired, prompting a sharp look of annoyance from Persephone at the interruption.
“Why don’t Anglicans name their children Judas?” Persephone responded.
“Do you know his real name?” Hoid continued to prod. She pursed her lips, remained quiet for some time before she finally responded.
“His name was Sayer.” Persephone whispered. Though the warmth of midsummer was in the air a sharp gust of wind washed over the pair. Her flesh prickled and she scooted closer to the fire before continuing her tale.
“Sayer spoke of unity, a world where magicfolk and Aenoths alike could thrive under his rule. His followers believed in him, adored him. But beneath the silver tongue lay a darkness that whispered of supremacy—magic above all. His words weren’t just persuasive; they twisted minds and hearts, binding them to his will. He had the ability to manipulate the hearts and minds of his followers, granting them a touch of his own dark power.”
“He stoked their passions?” Hoid asked, a strange look on his sharp face.
“That’s one way to say it.” Persephone said, nodding. “He could whip them into a frenzy with his words, inciting them to tear apart their own homes and turn on any who dared to disagree with him.”
“Where did he come from?” Hoid asked in an eerily calm voice.
“They say no records of him remain, but I’ve been to the library in Blackhaven Hall. The first record of Sayer appears in 1219 in the village of Aldworth at the age of five years old.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a Blackwood. How did you get access to their ancestral library?” Hoid asked.
“Master Blackwood is a very generous man; he lets anyone in the village access the library.” Persephone said. “If you bring him a hot honeycake he will let you see the private collection.”
“That’s very good to know.” Hoid said.
Persephone's brow furrowed as she fixed Hoid with an annoyed look.
"Will you allow me to finish, or do you have more questions?" she asked. Hoid raised his hands in a placating gesture, indicating for her to continue her story.
“My apologies, please continue.” Hoid said, his ever-present easy smile softening his words. Persephone narrowed her eyes slightly but then continued her tale.
"According to the records, a courageous group of sixteen individuals, led by the formidable sorceress Meilina, united to defeat the dark wizard by sealing him away. Their names are inscribed in silver within the Blackwood family archives," Persephone explained, pausing momentarily to poke at the crackling fire with a stick. "After a lengthy and arduous battle, they were successful in vanquishing The One Who Was and lifting his influence."
“But they didn’t seal him away.” Hoid stated.
"No," Persephone replied solemnly. “They destroyed his physical form, causing his dark essence to flee into the nearby forest. It’s said that The One Who Was cursed these woods and that’s why the wraiths haunt this forest. He is still out there and that’s why Blackhaven Hollow was founded. To protect the world when The One Who Was returns.”
“When,” Hoid stated.
Persephone nodded gravely. “That's why Prudence Aldworth and Bartimaeus Blackwood founded Blackhaven Hollow—to keep watch over the dark power that escaped, and to be ready when The One Who Was eventually returns."
Persephone looked up, meeting Hoid's gaze. "To this day, their descendants—the Blackwood descendants still stand guard, protecting the forest from the wraiths that linger there—the remnants of that dark wizard's power.”
“Or something else,” Hoid said thoughtfully. He pulled a lute from his pack and began to pluck the strings absentmindedly. “Have you heard the story of the Shattering?”
“Oh yes, I know that one,” Persephone said setting down her plate. “Once there was a God just and kind. He created the wind and skies. My Papou used to tell us this story.”
Hoid smirked enigmatically, “Want to hear it again?”
Persephone regarded the man for a moment before nodding.
~*~
Persephone woke to the sound of a nearby toad. She stared at it for a few moments before she moved to begin dismantling the campsite. She looked around, finding Hoid still fast asleep in his bedroll. She watched the natterjack toad for a few minutes. This one has been following me.
Persephone dug around in her pack for the leftover rice and rabbit from the stasis box. In a few minutes she had a crackling fire. She quickly warmed up the food, after serving herself she placed a generous serving of rabbit and rice in front of the toad.
She turned to wake Hoid but found him watching her with a curious look on his face.
“That is a strange toad,” Hoid said watching the toad with a sharp eye.
“You’ll find them all over the Blackwood Forest,” Persephone explained. She turned and watched the toad eat the food offered before it hopped away. “Come on, we need to get going.”
After eating they dismantled Persephone’s traps and began the final leg of their journey.
After a few hours the trees thinned, revealing glimpses of the village in the distance. Persephone slowed, her heart beating faster with every step. This was it—the culmination of years of training. She knew that she had more to learn, of course, but she couldn’t help but feel like this was the final chapter of her childhood.
What comes next? Persephone chewed her bottom lip and fiddled with her dagger. What will I do now?
“Your thoughts are loud,” Hoid said as he fiddled with his flute, a lute was strapped to his back. “What’s on your mind Miss Sakellarios?”
Persephone bit the inside of her cheek before she decided to answer. “I’m just … nervous, I suppose. I’ve been training since I could walk for this moment, and it feels a little…final.”
“Every ending is a new beginning,” Hoid chuckled. He blew a few notes on his flute, Persephone watched the melody drift through the trees in various shades of colors. “This is just the first chapter of your story Miss Sakellarios.”
“You can call me Persephone,” she said lightly but the churning in her gut only worsened. “It’s not just that though…”
Hoid played a soft tune as Persephone gathered her thoughts, he seemed to sense that she needed a moment to collect herself.
“I didn’t get my Elderae Academy letter on my eleventh birthday.” The words tumbled out of her mouth with less grace than she had intended. She felt the knot in her throat tighten, but she took even breaths until the feeling subsided. “I’m an Alathrin.”
Persephone fell silent as the truth she’d been running from finally caught up to her. Hoid paused his playing and turned to face Persephone, his expression softening with understanding.
"An Alathrin, you say. Born into a magical family without any magic.” Hoid began to play the flute again.
“It wasn’t a surprise.” Persephone explained. “I’ve tried every day since I was five to do magic, but nothing ever worked. So, I’ve trained with every weapon my uncle Dimitri has placed in my hands since I could walk. All my life I’ve been preparing for this moment and now that it’s come, I just don’t know what’s next… it’s not like I have any prospects in magical society. I’m also a girl, so the options for women outside of traditional roles are still quite limited in the world. Especially a role with my skill set.”
“That’s quite a predicament, Persephone.” Hoid said thoughtfully, his fingers dancing across the flute, coaxing out a soothing melody. “Maybe you’ll run face first into your next path.”
"I won’t hold my breath,” Persephone said with a sigh. They continued the walk with Hoid occasionally playing a few notes as they approached the gates of Blackhaven Hollow.
The gates were guarded by a pair of tall teenaged boys with the same striking silver hair and indigo eyes that ran in the Silver family—the wardens of the Forest. Persephone took a deep breath as she approached the gates.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the other Sakellarios.” Darius said with a wolfish grin.
“Thought you’d be eaten by the wraiths by now, wildling.” Cyrus drawled, his posture languid as he propped himself against the spear with an air of indifference.
“Well, I’m still here, so let me in before I sic Fuzzy on you,” Persephone crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at the two.
“Hold on there, who’s this then?” Darius asked looking at Hoid with a raised brow.
"This is Hoid," Persephone said, gesturing to the man beside her. “He’s looking to take Jack Thompson’s job.”
“Oh, he’s sick again, isn’t he?” Darius asked Cyrus who shrugged watching Hoid with a curious expression.
“Yes, so are you going to enjoy a pint at the Ravensong without any music? Or are you going to let us through the gates?” Persephone huffed at the two guardians.
“Alright, alright,” Cyrus said carving a glyph with his hand to unlock the gates.
Without sparing another glance at the Silvers, Persephone led Hoid into Blackhaven Hollow.
The village's main thoroughfare carved a straight path through the heart of the village, leading directly to the grounds of Blackhaven Hall, the site where the eight annual sabbat festivals were held like clockwork.
Most of the winding streets were paved with cobblestones, their surfaces etched with the echoes of countless footsteps. Persephone had always found a peculiar delight in the rhythmic clacking of her boots against the stones, the sound reverberating and bouncing off the rows of houses that encircled the village like ripples on a still pond. The bustling main street was lined with an array of shops, from quaint apothecaries to dusty bookshops tucked away in the village's nooks and crannies.
Yet, on this day, the familiar echoes were drowned out by the festive cacophony that filled the air. It seemed as though the entire village, and the surrounding hamlets, had converged to celebrate the summer solstice of Litha. The main thoroughfare was adorned with a kaleidoscope of banners and vibrant wreaths woven from blooming flowers.
Persephone couldn't help but grin at the sight of the revelers milling about, their infectious energy and excitement palpable. The noise and sights were almost overwhelming, causing her hair to prickle, but the joyous emotions were contagious, and she found herself grinning at the children darting through the streets. Persephone pointedly ignored the pitied look from the adults as she wove through the crowds.
"That's the Ravensong," Persephone pointed out the imposing tavern that stood as the centerpiece of the village, its presence commanding the intersection of all roads. "It's famous for its whiskey and the massive English oak tree that grows through the heart of the tavern. It's also home to a flock of ravens. During Litha, the flock roosts in the branches, and the night fills with their song. Hence the name."
"So that's why the roof is so white," Hoid remarked as they came to a halt before the tavern, his gaze fixed on the building's distinctive feature.
"Yep," Persephone nodded, her eyes lingering on her companion.
"It seems our paths must diverge here," Hoid said, his expression warm and sincere. Persephone met his gaze, a sense of gratitude welling within her. "Without your guidance, I would have been hopelessly lost. You have my deepest thanks, Miss Sakellarios." A genuine smile graced Persephone's lips as she returned his sentiment, grateful for his kind words.
"May we meet again, Hoid." Persephone watched as Hoid turned and melted into the bustling crowd of revelers.
Persephone stood for a moment, watching the crowd swirl around her. She took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scents of the village—the earthy aroma of freshly baked bread, the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, and the rich, slightly saccharine fragrance of oak from the surrounding forest.
With a renewed sense of purpose, she squared her shoulders and made her way towards the festival grounds, eager but apprehensive to reunite with her family and join in the festivities of Litha.
Persephone neared the festival grounds, the air was thick with the sounds of merriment, music, and laughter. Vibrant tents and stalls encircled the perimeter, each one displaying an array of tempting goods and treats. Children weaved through the crowds; their faces adorned with vivid designs as they chased after the dancing glow of lanterns.
Persephone's gaze swept across the crowds, her eyes scanning for any sign of her brother or cousins. She knew they would be gathered close to the central bonfire, where the festival's rituals took place. Navigating through the throngs of revelers, Persephone caught glimpses of the dais where the Blackwood siblings and the heads of the eight families presided.
The Blackwood siblings—Demeter, Josephine, and Byron—stood clustered in quiet conversation.
Persephone’s eyes drifted to the Heir and Spare table. There sat her cousins: Bellamy and Brutus flanking their older sister Jasmin, who was deep in a game of poker with Arion. Nearby, Roseline—Jasmin’s inseparable friend—offered commentary between rounds.
Laughter rang out from where Persephone’s uncle Felix and father, Alex, stood watching the game. But for Persephone, the weight of nerves returned like a stone in her gut. Without thinking, she turned from the square and followed the familiar path toward her family home.