The wind screamed across the ruins of the forgotten grove as if mourning something that had yet to be lost. Aelira stood at the edge of the moss-covered stones, her cloak snapping behind her like the wings of a fallen crow. The air was thick with frost and magic, heavy with memories that didn't belong to this life—yet clung to her bones like they had always been hers.
Kaeln stood beside her, silent, his eyes locked on the arcane carvings etched into the stone altar ahead. The moon above bathed everything in silver, and for a moment, the ancient world stirred beneath their feet.
"This is where it began," Aelira said softly, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "Not the fire. Not the execution. Before that. The night we swore an oath."
Kaeln didn't speak, but she felt him tense beside her.
Aelira reached into her satchel and pulled out the partially restored pages of Saelwyn's Grimoire. Symbols glowed faintly under her touch, humming with recognition. She opened to the page marked with an aster sigil—a sign of binding. Of blood. Of promises made in darkness.
"You remember this place?" she asked.
"Too well," Kaeln muttered. His voice was hoarse, worn. "We were children pretending to be gods."
"No. We were witches. We were power," Aelira said, her eyes burning.
The altar pulsed beneath them, reacting to their presence. Aelira stepped forward, laying her palm against the stone. The sigil on her hand flared with heat, and the stone drank it in.
"The blood pact still binds us," she said. "Even after death."
Kaeln joined her. His hand hovered over the altar, hesitating. She caught his gaze, and for a moment, saw the man he once was—not the killer, not the protector, but something in between.
"Why did you do it?" she asked, barely more than a whisper.
He didn't look at her. "Because I was told you betrayed us. Because I thought I was saving the coven. Because I was a coward."
The truth hung between them. Heavy. Real.
Aelira closed the Grimoire. "Then let's find the one who made you believe it."
---
Elsewhere, in the depths of Bloodroot House, Nessa stirred.
She lay on a bed of cold stone, her wrists bandaged but sore. Candles burned around her in a circle, casting flickering shadows on the ritual chamber's cracked ceiling. Whispered chants echoed through the walls—not directed at her, but unsettling nonetheless.
Mother Vyra had summoned the Council.
Nessa sat up, her breath visible in the icy air. Her dreams had been filled with voices not her own—voices calling her by names she didn't understand. There were flashes of fire. A woman's scream. And always, the scent of lavender and ash.
The door creaked open. A young witch entered, cloaked in dark green, her eyes wary.
"You shouldn't be awake," she said.
"Then put me back to sleep," Nessa snapped.
The girl flinched, but didn't leave. Instead, she approached slowly.
"They say you were chosen," the witch said. "That your blood reacted to the altar."
"I didn't ask to be chosen."
"None of us did."
There was silence for a moment. Then the girl leaned closer.
"Some of us want things to change. We've seen what Vyra does. The secrets she keeps. The lies."
Nessa studied her. "What are you saying?"
The girl glanced toward the door. "You're not the only one with memories that don't belong."
And then she slipped out, leaving more questions than answers.
---
The Council of Seven gathered that night under the red moon.
Mother Vyra stood at the center of the high chamber, flanked by her closest guards. The other high witches—those who had watched Saelwyn burn, who had helped erase her name from the coven's history—watched her warily.
"She is awake," Vyra said. "The mark burns again."
"Then the prophecy is unraveling," murmured a tall witch with silver-threaded hair.
Another witch leaned forward. "You promised this would not happen."
Vyra's gold eyes narrowed. "I promised we would be ready."
A murmur spread across the room.
"And if she regains full memory?" asked the youngest of them, voice trembling.
Vyra smiled coldly. "Then we remind her why we were right to burn her."
---
Aelira and Kaeln stood now at the edge of the old wellspring—a site long abandoned, long forbidden. Here, Saelwyn had once tried to save the dying magic of their land. Here, Vyra had accused her of stealing it.
Kaeln looked at the ruins. "The truth is buried under all this."
Aelira lifted her hand, and the sigil glowed again.
"Then let's dig it up."
But from the shadows, something watched.
Not witch. Not human.
Something else had awakened with her.
---
The wind shifted. The forest fell silent.
And far above, where the moon watched with a mournful eye, the curse stirred again.