Chapter 3 - (Chapter Three: The Witches’ Bargain)

The sun was already dipping westward by the time the Lycan Brothers reached the front steps of Lycan Manor. The stone walls of the old fortress loomed over them, casting long shadows across the cobbled courtyard. Brasco halted at the door and turned, his heavy hand landing squarely on Lev's shoulder "Listen, brother," he said, his voice stern but edged with fatigue. "There's nothing we can do about that sewer fiend until the dark returns. But we've got another fire to stamp out in the meantime." Lev arched a brow. And what fire would that be? "The potion said lev." Brosco's gaze hardened. "Go to the witches' swamp. Ask why the price is climbing and why it fades faster each week. People are restless. Desperate. Desperation breeds rebellion." Lance frowned, folding his arms. "Why don't you come with us? Three pairs of fangs are better than two." "Because someone needs to keep watch here. And because, Lance, if every time we left the manor together Fableville went to pieces, we wouldn't be guardians at all. Now move. Both of you." Lev and Lance exchanged a look—equal parts frustration and understanding—before heading down the worn path that led into the misty marshes beyond the town. Brasco disappeared into the manor's stone halls, his silhouette swallowed by firelight. The witch's swamp always reeked of secrets. Thick fog curled low over stagnant waters, and trees with bark as black as coal stretched toward the gray sky. Glimmers of will-o'-wisps bobbed between the roots, their eerie glow lighting the path. Lev's boots sank into the mud with each step, while Lance muttered curses under his breath, slapping at clouds of insects that seemed determined to eat him alive. "I hate this place," Lance said, swiping at a mosquito. "Every time we come here, I swear the trees are starin' at me." "They are," Lev muttered, brushing aside a hanging vine. "Don't let it get to you. Witches love their theatrics." At the heart of the swamp rose a hut on stilts, crooked and covered in moss. Smoke poured from a bent chimney, and the faint sound of cackling drifted across the water. The door creaked open before they could knock. Inside, three figures emerged—the Swamp Witches, cloaked in patchwork robes, faces half-hidden by veils of tangled hair. Their voices hissed as one. "Ahhh… the wolves have come to bark." Lev stepped forward, steady as ever. "We're not here for games. The potion. Why does it cost more? Why does it fade faster? Fables are suffering, and you three hold the answers." One witch with eyes like molten gold leaned on her crooked staff. "Brewing grows harder each moon. Ingredients are rare, harder to find." "Scarcity," another added, her voice like snapping twigs. "And danger. The forests don't yield like they once did. That is why your people pay." Lance scowled. "Sounds like a fat pile of dung to me. You lot never seemed to have trouble before." The third witch chuckled, low and rasping. "Trouble finds us all eventually, wolf pup. Perhaps you should worry less about our brew and more about the shadows above your heads." Lev's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of the shadows?" The witches said nothing. Their smiles—sharp, knowing—were all the answer he received. After a tense silence, Lev grabbed Lance's arm. "We've heard enough. Let's go." The witches called after them as they left, their voices rising together like a chant repeating the same phrase. "Keep watch, wolves, for night will come early. And when it does… blood will fly." The swamp path was darker now, the fog closing in. Lev's instincts prickled. Something was wrong. "Lev," Lance muttered, glancing upward, "the witches were stalling. You felt it too, didn't you?" "Yeah." Lev's hand hovered near his blade. "They weren't lying about scarcity. But they weren't telling us everything either." That was when the sky tore open with a screech. From the clouds above, the massive shape of the Night Terror dove, its leathery wings blotting out what little light filtered through the swamp canopy. "Not possible!" Lance shouted, eyes wide with horror. "It's not even night yet!" The beast plunged toward them, talons outstretched. Lev shoved Lance aside and drew steel, slashing upward. His blade glanced off one leathery wing, tearing it but not slowing the monster. "I don't know!" Lev roared back, slashing again as the creature wheeled around for another pass. "Just move!" The air shook with the sound of its wings. The Night Terror swooped again, this time striking with its talons. Lev ducked, but Lance wasn't fast enough. The creature's claws clamped around his shoulders, lifting him into the air "Lance!" Lev's voice tore from his throat. He lunged, grabbing his brother's arm. For a heartbeat, he thought he could pull him free. But the Night Terror's wings beat like thunder, dragging them both upward until Lev's grip slipped from Lance's wrist. "Lev!" Lance screamed, thrashing against the claws that held him. His voice echoed through the swamp. "Don't let it take me!" Lev's heart split as he leapt, his blade flashing, but the beast rose higher, too fast, too strong. The last thing he saw was Lance's face, pale and terrified, as the Night Terror vanished into the clouds with him. The swamp fell silent, save for Lev's ragged breathing and the fading echo of his brother's cries.