Young Writers Society

Twelve minutes wasn’t long, and I used the time to change out of my formal robes, slipping into something simpler--a deep-gray tunic and leggings, paired with my worn leather boots. Upkeep the polished image of a princess was tiring, and Basil would never let me hear the end of it if I showed up overdressed.

I found her exactly where I’d expected: leaning against the old willow in the courtyard, her arms crossed and a half-smirk tugging at her full lips. She straightened when she saw me, brushing a stray lock of wavy chestnut hair out of her face.

“You’re late,” she said.

“You’re early,” I shot back.

“Only because I knew you’d be late.”

We fell into step without another word, wandering past the courtyard’s edge and into the shaded path that wound through the lower gardens. This was where we always came when the walls of the Silver Keep felt too tight.

Basil’s life had always been simpler than mine, at least on the surface. She didn’t bear the weight of titles or the suffocating expectations that came with them. Born to a family of low-ranking wardens, her path had been carved in stone from the moment she could hold a sword. Her days were filled with drills, patrols, and the promise of a life spent in service to the House.

Yet… Basil never seemed bitter about it--if anything, she embraced it. She spoke of duty like it was an old friend, something I rarely did. But even as she wore her practicality like armor, I knew there was a part of her that longed for something more. Basil would never say it aloud, of course. She had too much pride for that. But I could feel it.

“So,” Basil began, glancing at me, “what’s got you dragging me out here this time? Another council meeting gone sour? Or are you finally ready to admit I was right about House Ithis all along?”

I gave her a sharp look, “Don’t start.”

She laughed, the sound light and easy, but her gaze lingered on me a moment too long, “You’ve got that look again. The one where you’re trying to solve the mysteries of the universe with sheer willpower. What is it?”

I hesitated. Basil wasn’t just my closest friend; she was the only person who knew about the visions. But telling her about this one felt different. The Rift wasn’t just any ordinary memory.

“It’s nothing,” I said finally, “Just thinking.”

Basil raised an eyebrow, “Thinking’s dangerous, Lyssa. That’s why I avoid it whenever possible.”

I laughed, though it faded quickly. My gaze drifted upward, toward the faint shimmer of the Wyrd in the sky.

“Do you ever wonder,” I began softly, “what’s out there? Beyond the Rift?”

Basil stopped walking, “Out there? You mean in the Wastes?”

I nodded.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “And neither should you.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Wastes are death, Lyssa. Whatever’s beyond the Rift doesn’t belong to us, and we don’t belong to it. The Wyrd keeps us safe here, in the Ascendant Houses. That’s enough.”

"What if it’s not enough?" I murmured, almost too softly for her to hear.

Basil frowned, tilting her head, "You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you? You’ve been restless before, but this--this feels different. What’s going on?”

What could I say? That I had seen the Rift not just in my visions but in a way that made my own memories feel fragile and unreal? That it called to me? Before I could attempt an answer, the soft rustle of leaves caught our attention. At first, I thought it was just the wind stirring the garden, but then I caught it--a faint shimmer, just at the edge of my vision.

“Did you see that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Basil’s expression shifted from concerned to alert, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger she always kept strapped at her side, “See what?”

I turned toward the glimmer, but it was gone. A trick of the light, maybe.

“Never mind,” I said, shaking my head, “It’s probably nothing.”

“Probably,” Basil echoed, though her hand remained on the hilt of her dagger. She took a step closer, scanning the trees, “Listen, I don’t know what’s eating at you, but you need to tread carefully, Lyssa. The Rift isn’t some storybook adventure. It’s a wound on the world, and nothing good comes from poking at wounds.”

“I know,” I said, dropping the topic.

We continued to walk in silence for a while, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound between us. The path wound deeper into the garden, the air growing cooler as the trees and brush thickened.

And then we heard it--a low, rumbling growl.

Basil froze, her hand tightening around her dagger, “Did you hear that?”

This time, there was no mistaking it. The sound came again, louder and closer, sending a shiver down my spine.

“What is that?” I whispered.

Basil’s eyes darted around, “Stay behind me.”

The growl came again, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. The bushes ahead of us trembled. And then it stepped into view--a creature unlike anything I had ever seen. Its form was vaguely wolf-like, but its eyes glowed; and its fur shimmered like stars. The Wyrd pulsed around it, wild and untamed.

“Great,” Basil muttered under her breath. “Just what we needed--a stray wyrdhound.”

The creature’s glowing eyes locked onto us, its growl deepening as it bared its teeth.

“What do we do?” I asked, barely whispering.

Basil didn’t take her eyes off the wyrdhound, “We back away. Slowly. And hope it’s not hungry.”

We began to step back, one cautious movement at a time, but the creature snarled and lunged forward.

Without thinking, I reached out, my hand instinctively grasping at the currents of the Wyrd. Heat surged through me, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I felt the memory of the Rift crashing over me like a wave. The scent of damp earth. The weight of a blade. 

The air around us crackled with energy. Basil shot me a startled look, “Lyssa, what are you--”

Before she could finish, the wyrdhound skidded to a halt, its glowing eyes narrowing as it sniffed the air. It took a step back, then another, its growl fading into a low whine.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it turned and bolted, disappearing into the trees.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

“What was that?” Basil finally demanded.

I didn’t have an answer. My hand was still outstretched, my fingers tingling with the lingering heat of the Wyrd.

“I don’t know,” I said,  “But I think it has something to do with the Rift.”

Basil stared at me.  And for the first time since we’d met, I saw something in her eyes that I’d never seen before.

Fear.