Kaeilth stepped into his father's office, the door clicking shut behind him. His father, Alpha King Klaevan, sat behind his desk, a stack of neatly arranged reports at his side. His expression was grave, his eyes following Kaeilth with the weight of an unspoken urgency.
Kaeilth's beta, Xavier, stood off to the side, his stance crisp, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He gave a short bow. Kaeilth nodded in return before lowering himself into the chair across from his father.
He didn't need to ask why they were here—Xavier had been gone, scouting the fallen territories.
"Well?" Kaeilth said at last, turning to him, breaking the silence.
Xavier's voice was even but carried the grit of what he'd seen. "We swept the area. It was… brutal. Clean. Not a single survivor. No tracks, no trails—just deliberate destruction, like someone wanted to erase it entirely. Same as before."
Kaeilth's jaw tightened, posture locked in a predator's stillness. "And the neighboring territories? They heard or saw nothing?"
"Not a sound," Xavier replied with a quiet exhale. "Though they didn't seem too surprised by Moren's fall—the Alpha had a reputation. Said he was cruel. The rest of his pack wasn't much better."
Klaevan leaned forward then, forearms resting on the desk, his gaze sharp as cut obsidian.
"Any signs of the Doomwitch?"
Xavier shook his head. "None, Your Majesty. As always—she left nothing. No scent, no trace."
A muscle ticked in Kaeilth's cheek. Doomwitch had been a shadow over their world for the past year—deadly, unpredictable. An enemy that had left a trail of devastation in her wake. The rogues had been a growing problem too, but she was something else entirely.
The king shifted his focus to his son. "What do you think? Could she be the one pulling the rogues' strings?"
Kaeilth didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his father, where the skyline burned in shades of gold and steel against the night. He did think of that possibility at the start, but it didn't sit well with him.
He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "If she is," he said finally, "then she's more dangerous than we thought," he said, his eyes sharp and distant.
"But I don't think she's the one behind them. The rogues' attacks have been sloppy compared to her work. She doesn't leave messes. They do, no matter how organized they become."
It wasn't a mere hunch. He had questioned various captured rogues directly, pressing them if they knew the Doomwitch. They'd denied knowing anything about her—and he could always tell when someone was lying. It was one of his gifts being a royal.
Xavier stepped in, tone steady. "Alpha Kaelith is right on that. It's possible that rogues might not leave traces to track them, but they can't cover their stench no matter what they do. Whoever she is… rogues aren't working for her."
King Klaevan's brow furrowed, but he only gave a slight nod. Then his gaze turned solemn, voice low, "Then the question isn't when she'll strike again… It's how close she already is."
Kaelith and Xavier stepped out of the office after a while, the door shutting behind them with a light thud. Their footsteps echoed down the long corridor, the air still charged from before.
"You've got something in mind?" Xavier asked after a beat, glancing at Kaelith as they walked.
Kaelith kept his gaze ahead. "Maybe. But it doesn't add up. Witches can't just appear and vanish without a trace—teleportation needs sigils, and it drains a hell of a lot of energy."
"I've found nothing unusual," Xavier admitted, then paused. "Except… there is one thing that's been bothering me."
Kaelith finally looked his way. "What?"
Xavier paused, maybe trying to compose his thoughts, then said, "The timing of the attacks. A lot of the territories fell on the same day. Sometimes four in one day, sometimes three. And they weren't even close to each other—insanely different regions. According to what we know, no witch, no matter how strong, could teleport so swiftly and still cause that much havoc. The toll could kill them."
Kaelith's expression hardened, all trace of thought giving way to a cold, unreadable mask. "Then it means we're dealing with either an extremely powerful, deadly witch… or something else entirely."
Xavier's brows lifted slightly, but he didn't press. He'd seen that edge in Kaelith before—an edge that usually meant trouble was coming.
They turned a corner, the muted hum of conversation giving way to the sharp clang of steel and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground. The scent of sweat and dust thickened the air as the corridor opened into the sprawling training grounds.
"But seriously," Xavier muttered, his voice dropping. "I've seen my share of carnage, man, but this…" He shook his head, a faint shudder running through him. "It's like she comes out of nowhere—kills, and then—pufff." he gestured with his hands.
Kaelith said nothing, only exhaled slowly. The air was thich with sweat. His gaze lingered at the warriors drilling under the fading light then it drifted across the open expanse, landing on the far courtyard—on a spot burned into his memory. His jaw tightened, muscles ticking beneath the skin.
"If she wanted fear," Xavier added with a grim nod, "she has it."
"There's something we're missing," Kaelith said at last, his voice quiet but edged with steel. "There's a pattern here—we just don't see it yet. She isn't attacking at random. There's a reason, a connection tying every strike together." His eyes stayed locked on the courtyard, unblinking.
Xavier straightened, sensing the shift in his Alpha's tone.
"Check the records," Kaelith continued, turning to face him. "All of them. Packs, covens, nests—every territory she's destroyed. There has to be a thread, something we may have missed."
"I'll pull the records right away," Xavier said, giving a short bow before heading off.
Kaelith didn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on the four daggers still embedded in the dirt, their steel glinting faintly in the dusk. A grim reminder of the night the Doomwitch sent her message—written in the most grotesque way possible.
Kaelith moved across the field towards the courtyard as his mind jogged through the memory. That night was carved into him, sharp and unyielding—the courtyard drowned in silence, the word DOOMWITCH burning across the marble in blood. Four messengers, barely breathing, staring at them with eyes wide, blood dripping from them. Their voices had been hollow when they whispered, She's coming. She won't stop. She won't spare.
And then… chaos. Bodies twisting, snapping, splitting open in ways no one could imagine. Black smoke had screamed its way free from their throats, and a heartbeat later, the four had imploded, leaving nothing behind but blood, dust… and four gleaming daggers.
His jaw tightened. It ticked him looking at them as if they were taunting him. A mocking reminder by the witch that they haven't been able to find anything. High Seeress Sereyna told them not to try moving them as they were cursed, even though not with dark magic.
He stared at the daggers for a moment before turning and leaving.
——
"IZZY!" Ivan yelped, tossing his book into the air as his little sister popped into existence right beside him.
Isaldora laughed, a bright, bubbling sound, her small frame practically glowing with mischief. "I'm getting better," she grinned, eyes sparkling.
"That's not better, that's annoying," he groaned, stomping off toward the royal garden. "Mom! She's doing it again!"
Isaldora's mother, Queen Dorathe Aetherwyn, radiant in a flowing emerald gown, looked up from her book, her serene smile dimpling her ageless face.
"Isaldora," she called, her voice soft but amused, "must you always startle your brother?"
"I'm practicing," Isaldora said with a twirl, her golden hair catching the light. "Besides—" she vanished in a blink and reappeared behind her mother "—he's fun when he's mad."
Ivan tackled her from behind, making her squeal. "Got you!" tackling her to the grass. She squealed and teleported a few feet away without missing the beat, reappearing with a triumphant giggle.
"Cheater!" Ivan laughed, lunging again, and the two tumbled across the garden until a tall shadow fell over them.
Her father, King Doewan, stood watching them with silver eyes that softened at the sight.
"So fierce, until your brother catches you," he teased as Isaldora scrambled into his arms, still breathless with laughter.
"She's too powerful for her age," Ivan huffed, brushing grass from his tunic.
"Ah, but power is nothing without spirit," Doewan said, resting a hand on his daughter's head. "And she has more spirit than all of us combined."
Isaldora's smile was so bright it seemed the whole garden basked in it. The golden warmth of that moment lingered—her family's laughter echoing like music—until the edges of the memory began to dissolve. The colors bled into shadow, the sounds fading into silence.