In a village deep in the forest, a boy lived alone with his sister. With thick, unruly hair and wild eyes like those unique to only forest dwellers, he was known as Declan. Like all other villagers, they were the poor sort of folk, unlike the rich aristocrats who occupied the neighboring fertile valley. But each day, Declan reminded himself that he had his little sister, Nora, and she was all he would ever need.

And then Nora fell ill.

The whole village scurried about, ducking in and out of their crude huts, hauling water, supplies and herbs for the little girl they were all so desperate to save, but their attempts were to no avail. With each day, Nora became sicker and sicker, and Declan became more and more desperate. The village healer still had yet to understand what was wrong with her, and nearly two months had passed since she first became ill. But what could Declan do? He was just a peasant after all, possessing no more magic, wealth or power than the next average mortal.

And then he met Tove.
_

“Declan,” someone urged. “Dec, get up.”

He groaned, swatting away the voice that had disturbed his sleep.

“Get up.”

Declan peeled his eyes open but immediately snapped them shut. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the room so brightly that he found his eyes watering. He heard the faint, impatient tapping of someone’s foot, and Declan at last looked up to see Maggie, the healer, glaring down at him.

“Mornin’, Mags,” he mumbled sleepily.

“I need you to get me more herbs.” She shoved a worn page of scratchy parchment in his face.

Scanning the list of her scrawly handwriting, Declan cried, “But these are all found on the edge of the forest! It’ll take me a day to get there and come back.”

“Exactly,” said Maggie. Her icy eyes softened. “You need to get out, Dec. You’ve been sitting at Nora’s side for almost six days straight. It’s not healthy.”

His jaw clenched. “But staying here’s the only thing I can do for her,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have no magic, no money to hire a wizard, nothing.”
“I know, but think about her.” Maggie threw a pointed look at the young comatose girl lying lifelessly on the cot. “Do you really think Nora would want you not moving from her side for days? She’s not getting better any faster, even with all the time you spend here.”
“But don’t you understand? Maggie, I can’t do anything– nothing at all!– but give her my support and my company when she’s–” He broke off, not daring to finish that sentence, as if completing that thought would seal the young girl’s fate.
“Say it,” Maggie hissed, “say it. You need to accept it as a possibility, Dec. The sooner you wrap your head around what may happen–”
“She’s not going to die!” Anger burned inside his heart. “I won’t allow it.” With that, he stormed out of the room. When she yelled after him, questioning where he was going, he snarled, “To get your stupid herbs!”

Declan stomped out of the cottage, past the flustered villagers and into dense woodland. As he stalked through the thick undergrowth, all he could think about was how he couldn’t let Nora die. Wouldn’t let Nora die. After all, she was all he had left– his father had fallen in war and his mother had died of grief. It’s you and me against the world, kiddo, he would tell Nora. But now, he realized, it was Nora who stood alone at nature’s mercy, and all Declan could do was watch.
He walked through the woods for hours, fueled solely by his frustration and helplessness. Sunlight could hardly filter through the tightly clustered treetops, and Declan wondered if this cold darkness would be what it felt like when Nora died. Thick roots curled at his feet, and vines tangled wildly along his path, but Declan never once rested. When he finally reached the outskirts of the forest, he collected Maggie’s herbs swiftly and began his trek back home.
All around him, the birds sang and the river splashed and the wind blew. But even the biting chill of the brisk autumn air was no match for Declan’s blazing anger. Its flames kept him warm even as the sun began to drop. It was nearly nightfall when Declan walked past him without even realizing it.
“Psst.”
Declan nearly jumped out of his skin. What was that noise?
“Psst! You, with the slumped shoulders and the angry footsteps.”
Declan turned blindly in circles, trying to locate the disembodied voice.
“Up here.”
Declan’s head snapped upward, and he spotted the faint outline of an elderly man entangled in a strange, glimmering net twenty feet off the ground. He couldn’t make out the man’s face, but, judging by his posture, he figured it was one contorted in discomfort. “Can I, uh, help you?”
“Would you mind helping me down, boy? I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a situation.”
“I, uh, sure, I guess.” Declan scaled the nearest tree and cut the man free from the netting. Much to his surprise, the man gracefully– and seemingly magically– floated to the ground instead of falling. Which could only mean one thing. “You’re a-a wizard?” he choked.
Brushing off his rumpled tunic, the man straightened up proudly and nodded. His bright green eyes glowed in the fading light. “In fact I am. My name is Tove, and I am indebted to you for freeing me…” Tove trailed off, scratching his neck sheepishly, “…from my own trap. See, I was setting it to catch my runaway unicorn but seemed to have gotten caught in it myself. I specifically magic-proofed it so my unicorn couldn’t escape, thus preventing my own escape once I–”
“You’re a wizard.”
Tove furrowed his eyebrows. “Why, yes, I believe I already covered that–”
“So you can help me!” Declan exclaimed.
“I’d be delighted. Your choices range from wealth, to power, to immortality– anything but bringing back the dead– but choose wisely, for you only have a single choice.”
The idea of having wealth, power and immortality made Declan pause. He could very well become the next richest man. He could hardly imagine life without having to haggle for food each day! Or with unlimited power, he could rule the very people who had stolen all the fertile land and make them his personal slaves. Or immortality– he could live forever. Fantasies swirled in his head of all the possible ways Declan could live his life anew with a single granting of a spell.
But then he remembered Nora. Dying, bed-ridden Nora. How could he even think about all of these things when his little sister was at home, fighting for her life? More importantly, how could Declan even think he could live happily with his riches, his power, his immortality, when he didn’t have the one person he wanted to share it all with?
“I don’t want anything you mentioned.”
Tove didn’t even try to hide his shocked expression.
“Instead,” Declan continued, “tomorrow morning, I’d like you to come back to my village with me. If you would heal my sister, I would be forever in your debt.”
Tove’s eyes twinkled at the boy’s selflessness. He bowed deeply, dried leaves rustling beneath his feet. “I would be honored to.”

With that, the odd pair made their way through the forest until it became too dark to see where they were stepping. They pitched camp swiftly, but Declan was restless, and so they were off again five short hours later. Though he hardly got a moment of sleep, Declan was fueled by renewed energy, but it was different than before. He felt light, lighter than he had in weeks. Cooling and refreshing, a new sensation glided through his veins and dampened any lingering anger.
For the first time in too long, Declan let himself hope.

When he and Tove burst through the clearing, his eyes shone brightly. Immediately, however, they dimmed. Slowly, the smell of grief filled Declan’s eyes, lungs, nose, and, without another thought, he lunged at the closest person and shook her shoulders violently.

“Where is she? Where is she?” He screamed again and again, but, whether from fright or sorrow, the woman only shook her head.

A hand pulled Declan off of her. “Take it easy, Dec,” a deep voice consoled. “you have to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snarled. “I won’t ask again– where is my sister?”

The man and woman were silent. Declan let out an inhuman growl and sprinted to his and Nora’s humble cottage, only to be stopped by Maggie. She was in tears.

“Oh, Dec.” Her voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m so, so, so sorry–” her voice broke.

Declan dropped to his knees. The ground was cold and hard, but he didn’t notice. His face in his hands, he howled as only a wild and pained beast can. He yelled and cried and wailed until his voice went hoarse and his eyes swelled shut, and even then, he still kept sobbing. No one approached him, no one consoled him, no one tried to tell him it was going to be all right. Declan wouldn’t have listened anyway.

When Tove did finally approach him, Declan hadn’t moved from his spot. Tove laid his hand gently on his shoulder, eliciting a quiet whimper from Declan. “What can I do, Dec? You still have that spell left– tell me what you want to do.”

“I want my sister.”

Tove’s expression softened further. “You know I can’t do that.” He sighed. “Listen, I’ll give you some time to think it over. But once you come up with something, come find me, alright?” Tove turned to leave, but Declan’s hand snatched his sleeve. Eyes bloodshot, his broken voice came out firm, decisive.

“Death.”