57. Sacred Circle

Shaman Orun moved with grace, his expression stoic but focused. He reached for a smoldering bundle of sage by the edge of the bonfire. It's smoke curling like spectral fingers into the night air, and it began smudging Aria in slow, sacred sweeps.

Then, without a word, he raised the sage high and circled the perimeter of the mountain ash ring.

Aria stood still near the center of the octagram. Her eyes followed Orun’s every move, her heart pounding like a war drum.

From beside the fire, Orun retrieved a small, dark-glass jar. He began to chant, his voice low but thunderous in its weight.

“From the bones of my ancestors, from my own blood, let a shield be made. Nihil nocere potest. Darkness that seeks to harm, fall back. Lux et terra me protegat. In this sacred circle, I remain untouched!”

His hand dipped into the jar, pulling out what looked like crystalline pink salt, and with a sharp flick, he cast it into the fire.

A sudden whoosh burst from the flames, it was brief but powerful.