Lessia Spiriotwind - Shisk Witch
Four-year-old Lessia Spiritwind froze as tiny claws gripped her shoulder, her heart hammering against her ribs. The bat’s whisper came like wind through cave tunnels—impossible sounds that somehow formed patterns in her mind. “Karesh-viin,” it breathed, and suddenly the mountain air around her shimmered with silver threads only she could see. When Elder Moora found her, Lessia was still standing transfixed, the small black creature nestled against her neck. “Shadow,” Lessia named him, watching the women exchange knowing glances. That night, they led her to the hidden grotto where dried herbs hung from the ceiling and ancient texts lined rock shelves. For thirteen years she crushed moonflower petals under moonlight, memorized forgotten incantations, and learned to read the future in scattered bones—her fingers now stained with the secrets of her ancestors.
The young shisk witch’s shadow stretches longer than her five-foot frame as dawn breaks over the World’s Edge peaks. Lessia’s fingers trace the silvery bone feather tucked behind her ear while her lips form words no human tongue could pronounce. Shadow, her bat familiar, hangs upside-down from her shoulder, occasionally twitching a wing or whispering something that makes her adjust the angle of her hands. The villagers of her flock watch from a respectful distance, their expressions a mixture of pride and unease. When merchant caravans had visited their mountain settlement, the elders had presented intricately carved stone figurines and polished crystal pendants, haggling fiercely until their wooden chest held enough coin for the Academy’s tuition. Now Elder Kirak’s weathered hands cup her face, his forehead pressing against hers until their breath mingles. “Return with wisdom,” he murmurs, his voice breaking.