Chapter 36: The Girl in the Hood

The familiar comfort of his own bed greets Giroud as consciousness returns. No hard ground or cramped alcoves - just the simple pleasure of proper rest. His muscles still ache from days of riding, but the pain feels distant now, manageable.

The wooden floors creak beneath his feet as he pads to the kitchen. Morning light streams through the windows, casting long shadows across the worn counter tops. He fills the copper pot with water and sets it over the hearth fire, measuring out coffee grounds while the flames lick at the metal bottom.

The rich aroma fills the kitchen as he waits for the water to boil.

The streets of Whitespire are already bustling when he steps out for fresh bread. The baker’s shop sits one block away, its windows steamed with warmth from the ovens. The crusty loaf he selects is still hot to the touch.

Back home, he finds Aya curled in her favorite chair, a steaming cup of tea between her hands. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, still mussed from sleep.

“You got bread!” Her face lights up at the sight of the wrapped loaf. She sets down her tea and follows him to the kitchen counter.

“Fresh from the oven.” He tears off a piece, steam rising from the soft interior.

“We still have those jellies in the pantry,” Aya says, already moving to retrieve them. She returns with three small jars - strawberry, blackberry, and their shared favorite, apple-cinnamon.

Giroud watches Aya skip ahead of him on the worn dirt path through the King’s Woods, her dark ponytail swinging with each step. The morning dew still clings to the grass, creating a silver sheen across the meadow.

“So the potion,” Aya turns to walk backward, facing him. “Will it be like having two daggers instead of one? Double the power?”

Giroud steps over a fallen branch. “Not exactly. From what I understand, it makes your magic more ... efficient.”

Her brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“Instead of using all your energy for one spell, you might only need half.” He pauses, realizing he’s not entirely sure himself. “Though I could be wrong.”

“But then—” She stumbles slightly on a root but catches herself. “Wouldn’t that mean I could cast more spells? Which is kind of the same thing?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “You know what? Why don’t you tell me exactly how it works after we win the battle?”

Aya’s face brightens. “Deal!” She spins back around, continuing down the path. “But you have to promise to listen to my whole explanation, even if it’s really long.”

“I promise.” He watches her dart ahead again, marveling at how she can maintain such lightness despite the weight of what’s coming.

Giroud watches with pride as Aya’s dark tentacles crush the marked trees. Not a single target escapes the writhing mass of shadows, each one splintering with satisfying cracks. Above them, her barrier holds steady, a shimmering ceiling of protective energy.

“Excellent,” he calls out. “Now try twelve.”

Sweat beads on Aya’s forehead as she extends her reach. More shadowy appendages emerge from the earth, coiling around fresh targets. The barrier holds as she maintains both spells simultaneously.

Snap. Crack. Crunch. The trees collapse one after another in quick succession, reduced to kindling. Giroud nods in approval at her precise control - no wasted energy, no wild destruction.

“Again,” he instructs. “Shield up, twelve targets.”

They repeat the exercise until Aya’s movements become fluid, almost instinctive. Each repetition builds her endurance, her ability to maintain multiple spells growing stronger.

“Perfect form,” he says as Aya completes another destructive wave of tentacle attacks with effortless efficiency, then immediately regrets his choice of words as his mind threatens to apply them differently.

When her steps begin to falter, Giroud calls for a break. They settle in the grass, sharing the remaining bread from breakfast. He watches as she gulps water from her waterskin, her chest still heaving from exertion.

After a few minutes of rest, Giroud reaches into his bag and retrieves the wooden box. Its surface is cool to the touch. He meets Aya’s eyes.

“Ready?”

Giroud can’t contain his laughter at the surreal scene before him. Aya stands, five feet two, surrounded by an army of nightmarish fel beasts. Their massive forms - larger than any he’s seen her summon before - tower over her slight frame, twisted horns and glowing eyes a stark contrast to her innocent features. The creatures’ muscles ripple beneath dark, scaled hides as they pace around her, yet she appears completely at ease.

“What’s so funny?” Aya plants her hands on her hips, trying to look stern but failing to hide her own amusement.

“Just ... this.” He gestures at the bizarre tableau. “You look like you’re hosting a tea party with demons.”

She sticks out her tongue at him. “They’re not that scary once you get to know them.”

One of the beasts, easily twice her height, nuzzles against her shoulder like an oversized pet. The sight only makes Giroud shake his head in wonder. The angel and her demons...

“You’re absolutely certain you remember the incantations?” He asks for what must be the tenth time. “I don’t want to know what else is waiting to come out of any portal opened from the relic.”

Aya rolls her eyes dramatically. “Yes, Giroud. I can read the tome, you know? I’ve memorized every single word, exactly as written, in the precise order needed, with the correct pronunciation and proper magical resonance.” She counts off each point on her fingers. “Would you like me to recite them backwards while standing on my head?”

Her sass brings a smile to his face. “Could you do that?”

She feigns frustration while smiling. “I’m going to put you in the portal in a minute!”

“Okay. Okay.”

He holds the wooden box carefully. Walking a few paces away, he sets the relic down on a flat stone, its bronze surface seeming to absorb the light rather than reflect it.

Giroud watches intently as Aya begins the incantation, her voice taking on an otherworldly resonance that makes the hair on his neck stand up.