Chapter 52: The Witch

Azura’s POV

The room felt heavy, the kind of air that pressed down on your chest and made it hard to catch your breath. I sat beside Genevieve on the long, cushioned sofa, my hands folded tightly in my lap, trying to hide how much they were trembling.

The velvet fabric beneath me was soft, worn smooth from years of use, but I couldn’t relax. Not with the weight of what we’d discovered at the stream still hanging over us. The memory of those creatures, their terrifying strength, and the way they had dragged the children away was burned into my mind.

Rhydor sat across from us in a large, heavy oak armchair, his posture so rigid he looked like a statue. His face was carved from ice, giving away absolutely nothing. He hadn’t said much since we had returned to the pack house. He just sat there, staring at the wall like it held all the answers to our problems.

Silas and Axel were nearby. Silas leaned against the back of a chair positioned in front of a low wooden table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression serious and dark.

Axel had given up on sitting properly and was perched on the edge of the table itself, one leg swinging lazily, though the frantic way he was tapping his foot showed his face was anything but relaxed.

Torin stood by the window, his hands tucked into his pockets, staring out at the pack grounds. The afternoon light filtered through the thick glass, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. He seemed too calm, too easygoing for a situation this dire, but I was beginning to realize that was just who he was.

No one spoke for a long moment, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire in the corner.

Then Genevieve broke the silence, her voice calm but firm, holding the room together.

"We can’t waste time searching blindly," she said, looking around at everyone. "If those creatures came through a portal, the children could be anywhere. Maybe another realm like Torin said. Another territory. Another time, even. We need to find their location first before we can plan a rescue."

Rhydor’s eyes shifted slowly to her. "And how do you suggest we do that, mother? We don’t have mages who can track portals."

Genevieve met his cold gaze without flinching. "We consult someone who can."

"Who?" Rhydor asked flatly, clearly skeptical.

Genevieve hesitated, just for a second, looking at Torin’s back before speaking. Then: "A friend of mine. She lives in the human village, on the edge of the Whispering Woods."

Everyone turned to look at her, shocked.

"A friend?" Silas asked, raising an eyebrow, his tone suspicious. "Luna Genevieve, humans don’t have power like that. Are you sure?"

Genevieve nodded, looking perfectly serious. "She’s... skilled in these matters. She’s not human, not entirely. She’s a witch. If anyone can find where the children are, it’s her."

Rhydor leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "And if we find her, she’ll just help us? No questions asked? Humans fear our kind, and she’s a witch, which makes her dangerous."

"Tell her I sent you," Genevieve said simply, as if that was all the guarantee we needed.

Axel straightened up on the table, a look of determination on his face. "When do we leave?"

Rhydor stood up, bringing an end to the discussion. "Now."

Torin turned from the window, a small, playful smile playing on his lips, seeming delighted by the idea of danger. "Finally. Some action. Sitting around is making my legs stiff."

"We don’t have time to waste," Rhydor said, his voice cold and clipped, already walking toward the door. "We leave immediately."

I stood as well, my heart hammering in my chest. I knew I couldn’t just sit here and wait. "I’m coming too."

Rhydor stopped at the door and looked back at me. His eyes scanned my face, searching for fear or weakness. Then he nodded once, a sharp, quick movement. "Get your cloak. Let’s go."

****

The journey to the human village was tense, the atmosphere suffocating.

Only three of us went, Rhydor, Torin, and me. The others stayed behind to protect the pack and continue searching the nearby woods, just in case.

We rode on horseback, the heavy clatter of hooves on the dirt path the only sound. Rhydor had, of course, insisted I ride with him. Not asked, insisted.

I sat in front of him on his massive chestnut horse, feeling the immense heat of his body behind me, his arms on either side as he held the reins. He didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t make a single comment about the weather or the route. Just rode in total, suffocating silence.

Torin rode beside us on his own horse, a smaller gray mare that seemed far too delicate for someone his size. But he handled her with ease, sitting relaxed in the saddle like he’d been born there, whistling a cheerful tune that seemed completely out of place given our mission.

"So," Torin said, breaking the silence with that easy smile of his, looking over at us. "Does anyone want to take bets on how dangerous this witch is? I’m thinking she’s got a jar of eyeballs somewhere."

I chuckled, the image was too absurd to ignore.

"I’d say moderately dangerous," he continued, clearly enjoying his own monologue. "Maybe she’ll turn us into frogs. Or make us dance until our feet fall off. That would be a sight, wouldn’t it? Rhydor, dancing."

"Torin," Rhydor said flatly, not looking at him, his voice warning.

"What? I’m just trying to lighten the mood, little brother. You’re too tense."

Rhydor said nothing. Just urged the horse forward, faster, putting distance between Torin and us, his jaw set hard.

I felt a flicker of frustration. Why did he always do that? Why was he so cold?

Torin called after us, still grinning, unintimidated. "You’re no fun, Rhydor! Honestly!"

But Rhydor didn’t slow down. Didn’t respond. Just kept riding, his face a mask of concentration.

The rest of the journey passed in a tense, uncomfortable silence.

****

The human village was small, tucked into a clearing surrounded by dense, dark forest. Wooden houses with thatched roofs lined narrow dirt paths that were turning into mud.

Smoke curled lazily from crooked chimneys, bringing the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat into the air. The air smelled different here, not like the pine and wet earth of the pack grounds, but like baked bread and chores.

People moved about their daily routines, carrying heavy baskets, tending to animals, and talking in small groups. No one paid us much attention, assuming we were just travelers passing through. We looked human enough, I suppose, if you didn’t look too closely at the way Rhydor carried himself.

We dismounted and tied our horses to a low-hanging branch near the edge of the village, away from the main path.

"Now what?" I asked quietly, looking around nervously. "Do we just ask where the witch lives?"

Rhydor scanned the area, his expression unreadable, his eyes searching for a place to start. "We find someone who looks like they know things."

I looked around. Most people seemed too busy with their chores to talk. But then I saw a little girl, maybe five or six years old, sitting on the ground near a small, broken-down house. She was playing with a wooden doll, humming softly to herself, unaware of the world around her.

Before I could say anything, Rhydor walked straight toward her.

Oh no.

He stopped in front of her, his tall, broad frame casting a massive shadow over her small body, blocking out the sun.

"Where is the witch of this village?" he asked, his voice flat, direct, and completely devoid of kindness.

The little girl looked up, her eyes wide.

And froze.

She stared up at him, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.

And then she started crying, a loud, terrified wail that echoed in the small clearing.

I groaned and hurried over, shoving Rhydor aside with my shoulder. "Can you talk to a child without scaring her to death? Honestly, Rhydor!"

Rhydor frowned, looking genuinely confused, like he hadn’t done anything wrong. "I just asked a direct question."

I knelt down beside the girl, ignoring him completely. "Hey, sweetie. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, it’s okay."

She sniffled loudly, tears streaming down her chubby cheeks, terrified to look at Rhydor again.

"Crying too much makes you ugly," I said gently, trying to distract her. "Do you want to be ugly and have all your friends laugh at you?"

She shook her head quickly, stopping her wail to stare at me.

I smiled, offering her a reassuring look. "Good. Because you’re way too pretty to be ugly. You know that? You have lovely hair."

She sniffled again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, looking a little more comforted.

"Can you help me with something?" I asked softly, keeping my voice low.

She nodded slowly, looking toward Rhydor suspiciously.

"Do you know where the witch lives?"

Her eyes widened again, but this time with excitement instead of fear. She leaned closer and whispered, "We only have one witch. She stays far from the village. In the forest. The scary part."

"Where in the forest?"

The girl pointed toward the dense, dark trees behind the village. "Over there. But..." She lowered her voice even more, looking around as if the trees were listening. "You’re not supposed to go there. It’s scary. She eats people. That’s what my brother says."

I bit back a smile, feeling a little bad for scaring her, but it was necessary. "Don’t worry. I’ll eat her first."

The girl giggled, a tiny, high-pitched sound.

I ruffled her hair and stood up, turning to face Rhydor. "Thank you, sweetie."

She waved as I walked back to Rhydor and Torin, who was looking amused.

"Well?" Rhydor asked, his voice impatient.

"The witch lives in the forest. That way," I said, pointing toward the direction the girl had indicated.

He nodded once and started walking immediately, his stride long and purposeful.

The forest was darker than I expected, the trees growing so close together they seemed to choke out the light. Their branches were tangled overhead, blocking out most of the sunlight and turning the afternoon into a gloomy twilight. The air was cooler here, damp and earthy, smelling of decaying leaves and something sweet, like old fruit.

We walked in silence, following a faint, barely visible path deeper into the woods, the silence heavy and oppressive.

And then we saw it.

A small hut, nestled between two massive oak trees, looked like it had been grown rather than built. It looked ancient, the wood weathered and dark, the roof covered in thick moss and strange, glowing mushrooms. Smoke curled from a crooked chimney, bringing the scent of herbs into the damp air.

Rhydor approached the door and knocked, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet woods.

Nothing happened.

He knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He glanced at Torin, a look passing between them, then pushed the door open, not bothering to wait for a welcome.

We stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of dried herbs and something metallic.

The hut was small and cluttered. Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of strange liquids, dried herbs, and things I didn’t want to identify. A fireplace crackled in the corner, though the room was small. But the room was empty.

"Where is she?" I whispered, looking around nervously, feeling eyes on us.

Before anyone could answer, something snapped.

Rhydor and Torin were yanked off their feet, lifted instantly into the air.

I gasped, taking a step back.

Ropes, thick, glowing ropes had wrapped around their ankles and lifted them into the air. They hung upside down, swaying slightly, looking completely ridiculous.

"What the..." Torin grunted, trying to reach his ankles.

Rhydor pulled a knife from his boot with incredible speed and tried to cut the rope.

It didn’t work. The knife slid off the rope as if it were made of metal.

"Torin, cut it!" Rhydor shouted, frustrated.

Torin tried. Same result. The rope wouldn’t break, no matter how hard he pulled.

"Who," a voice said from the doorway, "is snooping around in my home?"

I turned slowly.

A woman stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp and intelligent. She looked about thirty, but I could tell she might be the same age as Genevieve, and she carried herself with a terrifying confidence.

Blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and her eyes, bright green glowed faintly in the dim light, looking right through me.

"We’re not here to steal," I said quickly, stepping forward to explain. "We just need your help. We’re from the pack."

She looked at me, really looked, her green eyes narrowing. Then she snapped her fingers loudly.

The ropes vanished instantly.

Rhydor and Torin hit the floor with a grunt, stumbling for a moment.

The witch studied me for a long moment, a strange expression on her face. "How come you weren’t caught in my trap, little wolf?"

I blinked, confused. "I... I don’t know."

She tilted her head, then turned and sat in a wooden chair by the fire, looking perfectly calm.

Another snap of her fingers.

Three chairs appeared out of thin air in front of the fire.

Torin kicked his cautiously before sitting, testing it.

Rhydor sat without hesitation, his expression stone-cold. "Genevieve sent us."

The witch’s eyes flicked to him, and a small smile touched her lips. "I can see the resemblance. You have her nose and hair."

Then she looked at me again, her gaze intense. "Explain."

I took a breath, trying to calm down. "Three children were taken from our pack. Strange creatures came through a portal and took them. We can’t find them. We need to know where they are."

The witch’s expression shifted to one of grave seriousness. "A portal?"

"Yes."

The witch studied us, her green eyes moving from face to face. "It’s been a long time since I’ve heard of something coming through a portal. That kind of magic is dangerous."

I pleaded with her, feeling the desperation rising in my throat. "Please. We need to find where the children are."

"So you want me to help you find them?" She said with a smirk on her face, leaning back.

"Please. We’ll repay you, whatever you want."

"I don’t need payment," she said, waving a hand dismissively.

With that, she stood and walked to a table. On it sat a large crystal ball, its surface cloudy.

She began chanting, her hands moving in slow circles over the crystal, her green eyes glowing brighter and brighter.

Then she stopped.

Looked up.

"The Wraithfen."

Silence fell over the room.

"What’s that?" I asked, a cold dread filling my stomach.

"A cursed forest," she said, her voice grim. "Poisonous plants. Hallucination fog. And the Borne."

"The Borne?" Torin frowned, leaning forward.

"Creatures," she said, looking right at me. "Once human. Now... something else. Dead, but moving. If they bite you, you become one of them."

My blood ran cold.

"But it’s impossible," she added, her voice dropping.

"What do you mean?" Rhydor asked, his voice tight.

"No one who enters the Wraithfen survives. Not for long."

"We don’t have a choice," I said, my voice shaking but firm.

Rhydor stood up. "Thank you. But we don’t need your opinion on whether we should go."

We turned to leave, but the witch spoke again, her voice echoing in the small room.

"The hook is set. The line is pulled. And you, little wolf, are already drowning."

We all froze.

I turned slowly, terrified.

She was staring right at me.