Bella Santini in the Troll War

In the shifting shadows of the night, Bella awoke to a nightmare. The air in the room felt heavy, thick with an unfamiliar tension that pressed against her chest. A sliver of moonlight streamed through the window, casting jagged shapes across the walls, making everything look distorted and strange. She tried to shift under the covers and realized, with a jolt of fear, that she couldn’t move. Her breath caught in her throat. Something was wrong . . . terribly wrong. A chill skittered down her spine as her eyes darted around the room, her heart pounding. This wasn’t just the unease of being in a new place. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting. Looking down at her coverlet, Bella saw she was bound with a series of ropes, pinning her to the bed. Panic surged in her chest as she gave an experimental tug. Nothing budged. Whoever had done this knew what they were doing. The ropes were enchanted; she could feel the faint tingle of magic woven through the fibers. Her mouth went dry. This wasn’t some prank. This was deliberate. Dangerous. “Mmphf!” Bella tried to shout an alarm to Shibohna, but her friend was bound and gagged as well, her dark hair spilling across the pillow as she slept on, oblivious to the danger. Bella’s pulse thundered in her ears. Who had done this to them? And why? Turning her head as far as the ropes would allow, she caught, out of the corner of her eye, a flicker of movement beyond the glass. Her breath hitched. Wings, dark and unmistakable, cut across the sliver of moonlight. She froze, forcing herself to stay utterly still, her breath shallow and silent. As she watched through half-lidded eyes, Novaq emerged from the shadows, suspended in midair just outside the window. His face was set in a cold mask of focus, his lips moving in a low chant that sent a ripple of dread through her bones. The tone was harsh and discordant, like the grinding of stone. Magic. Dangerous magic. She began to panic, unsure of how she and Shibohna could defeat him. Feeling into her heart, she called out to Matteus, willing him to come down to their room. Shibohna was still blissfully snoring. Bella kept her watch on the window, observing the behavior of Novaq through half-closed eyes. As Bella watched with growing dread, two more figures emerged from the shadows, gliding silently into view beside Novaq. Their silhouettes were sharp and angular, more shadow than substance in the pale light. One was tall and wiry, with a shock of red hair that flared like fire against the night; the other was shorter, broader, his face obscured by a hood drawn tight over his brow. Both hovered outside the shattered shimmer of the disappearing window, their eyes glinting with cruel amusement. They joined Novaq in his chant, their voices weaving into his like some dark, discordant choir. The sound scraped against Bella’s nerves; low, guttural tones that vibrated in her chest, setting every instinct in her body on high alert. It didn’t sound like any spell she’d ever heard, it sounded ancient. Feral. Wrong.