The child returned by death (part I )

Long ago, people spoke of a witch consumed by hatred, vengeance, and a desire for destruction. No one knew the origin of the demonic force that dwelled within her.

On a night of the full moon, the witch unleashed her armies upon all living things. Not only humans suffered—animals and plants were slaughtered as well. The world fell into chaos. Forests were consumed by flames, countless creatures perished in the fires, children’s cries echoed across ruined lands, and entire villages were reduced to ashes.

Yet a hero whose name has been lost to history finally defeated the witch. Using a powerful spell, the hero restored the world in an instant. Forests grew once more, villages were rebuilt, and even the dead returned to life.

But legend says that before her death, the witch cast a resurrection curse. Since that day, no one has known when or how she might return. Only one thing remained certain: if she ever came back, the world could once again be plunged into darkness.

Centuries passed, and the tale of the witch became nothing more than a bedtime story told to children.

And yet, on certain nights when the moon was full, strange events occurred.

Travelers crossing the Forbidden Forest claimed they could hear whispers coming from the trees. Animals vanished without a trace. Even stranger, black flowers began to bloom in places where nothing should have been able to survive.

Then, on another full-moon night, in a small village on the edge of the great forest, a child was born without making a single sound.

The healers did everything they could, but nothing worked. Her heart did not beat. Her eyes remained closed. At last, they delivered the devastating news to her mother:

The baby was dead.

The entire village mourned.

For three days, the little girl’s body lay motionless inside her coffin. Her mother refused to leave her side, spending every moment beside her daughter, silently weeping and hoping for the impossible.

On the morning of the funeral, the villagers gathered to say their final farewell.

But when the father entered the room to join his wife, he froze.

His wife lay lifeless on the floor.

Her face looked peaceful, as though she had merely fallen asleep.

Beside her sat the little girl.

Alive.

Her large eyes silently observed the room.

The father could not comprehend what he was seeing.

His wife was dead without a single wound or sign of illness.

Yet the daughter who had been declared dead three days earlier was breathing once again.

No one could explain it.

Some elders called it a miracle.

Others believed a bargain had been made with an unknown force.

How else could a child return to life at the exact moment her mother drew her final breath?

That day, the village buried a mother.

And welcomed a child many had already begun to fear.

The elders named her Nysera, a word from a forgotten language meaning:

“The one whom death returned to the world.”

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For several years, life seemed almost normal.

But slowly, strange patterns began to emerge.

Everyone who loved Nysera eventually disappeared from her life.

Shortly after her fifth birthday, her father succumbed to a mysterious illness unknown to any healer.

Years later, her grandmother vanished during a journey and never returned.

Following their deaths, Nysera was taken in by her grandfather.

The old man lived alone high within the mountains, far from cities, villages, and travelers.

His home stood in a place so remote that few dared approach it.

For many years, Nysera believed her grandfather simply preferred solitude.

But as she grew older, she began to wonder.

Was he truly hiding from the world…

or was he hiding from something else?

Something that had been following them all along.

A secret he could never reveal.

The years passed.

By the age of nine, her grandfather was all she had left.

He was her family.

Her teacher.

Her protector.

And the only person who had never abandoned her.

Then came that night.

A cold, silent night beneath a full moon.

Nysera awoke to her grandfather shaking her shoulders.

The moment she opened her eyes, she felt her stomach tighten.

For the first time in her life…

she saw fear in his face.

“Nysera,” he said urgently. “Listen carefully. You must leave. Right now.”

The girl sat upright.

“Leave? Why?”

“Go to the forest at the foot of the mountain. Hide there and wait for me.”

His voice trembled.

“I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Nysera shook her head.

“No. If you’re staying, then I’m staying too.”

A faint smile crossed the old man’s face.

He gently placed a hand against her cheek.

His eyes overflowed with sorrow.

“My little flower…”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“It won’t take long. There are a few things I need to take with me before I come after you.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you no matter what.”

“But—”

Before she could finish, he stopped her.

For a moment, his gaze seemed impossibly heavy.

As though he carried the weight of years of regret.

Then he spoke words she would never forget.

“This was never your fault, my little flower.”

The words confused her.

But before she could ask what he meant, he turned away.

With a heavy heart, Nysera disappeared into the forest.

Hidden among the trees, she watched as dark figures climbed the mountain path.

Men dressed in black robes.

Dark mages.

Moments later, flashes of brilliant light tore through the night.

The mountain shook.

The battle lasted only minutes.

Then…

silence.

A terrible silence.

Her grandfather never came.

Panic seized her.

Nysera sprinted through the forest, branches whipping against her face as she climbed toward the summit.

When she finally arrived, her breath stopped.

Her grandfather lay motionless upon the ground.

The world seemed to freeze around her.

Her legs refused to move.

Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside him.

Her hands trembled.

She waited for him to speak.

To smile.

To place his hand upon her head one final time.

But nothing happened.

There was only silence.

Cold.

Cruel.

Endless silence.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Why…?”

Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Why him?”

Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his cloak.

“Why is it always the people I love who disappear?”

The wind howled through the trees.

Then, from somewhere within the darkness, a voice answered.

“Because they were never the ones we wanted.”

Nysera froze.

Slowly, she turned around.

Moonlight illuminated the faces standing behind her.

And in that instant…

something shattered within her.

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