The Rowan Tree stood at the centre, a bloody handprint upon its trunk–the only reminder of the promise that had been made and broken.

Alika remained silent as the screams of the murdered flooded the air. The magic whispered in her mind. A constant, eternal reminder. To heal, but not harm even at the risk of death. Running had always been the only choice.

Until him…
Fight or flee.
Live or die.

Once, it had been an easy choice. Now… her heart warred with her mind. The magic churned within. The enemy approached, a sickness spreading across the world, devouring all it sets its eyes upon.

They offer three choices:

• Conversion.
• Slavery.
• Death.