The next day, Mark returned to the forest, only to find emptiness where the witches had once stood. For a moment, he thought he had been tricked. Frustration surged through him, and he hurled his sword into the ground—only to hear a low chuckle drift from above.
He looked up.
There, perched upon a branch, was the masked witch—Rossetta.
"So impatient," she murmured, her voice both mocking and amused.
Mark looked away, ashamed at his outburst. Rossetta leapt down gracefully, landing before him. With a wave of her hand, six sacks of gold materialized, thudding softly onto the mossy earth.
"I think that's enough to start your guild. Protect the boy. Nurture him in the shadows," she said firmly.
Mark's eyes widened at the sight of the wealth, though suspicion lingered.
"Will this be all?" he asked cautiously, still amazed but uncertain if this was the last of her generosity.
"No," Rossetta replied, her tone sharp yet calm.
"I won't ask you for free labor. But this… this will be the last time we meet."
Her words unsettled him.
Confused, he pressed,
"The last time?"
"I'll arrange merchants to help your guild rise, to make your money source less suspicious. After that, you're on your own," she added.
Mark's heart pounded. If this witch could casually summon gold, command merchants, and vanish like mist, then she was no ordinary witch. Immortal, perhaps—ancient. He promised himself that his lineage would cling to her memory, that his children and grandchildren would look back at him as the man who secured their wealth by seizing her blessing.
"I'll protect the boy," he vowed solemnly.
"And when my guild rises in power, I'll support him unconditionally."
Rossetta only nodded, disinterested in his ambitions. Her only concern was the boy's survival. With a flicker of light, she vanished into the air, leaving Mark alone with his future.
Rossetta's teleportation was limited to five places at a time. Each mark had to be etched in her blood, binding her body to the land. If she wished to abandon one site, she had to create the same mark elsewhere, dissolving the bond. More than five strained her body to the brink, and Rossetta had long decided not to waste herself on excess.
This time, she returned to Marian's humble farm. Marian greeted her with food, though her eyes were filled with questions.
"Do you think you can trust them?" Marian asked quietly.
Rossetta gave a cold laugh.
"I told you before—you can't trust humans. Giving them gold is one thing. Giving them trust is another. You can't trust a man who would beat a child to death over a handful of coins." She sat down, eating as if the matter were settled.
Marian fell silent, haunted by the memory of the boy's broken body.
"Then why not leave him in the hands of the Moonlight Merchant or Duke Cid?" Marian pressed gently.
"Why make kidnappers his shield?"
"Not yet," Rossetta replied.
"If we hand him to them now, suspicion will bloom. Those kidnappers will think we're tied to nobility. And that would put him in greater danger. No—we don't need him to be powerful. We just need him alive."
Marian sighed, letting the conversation die. After two centuries at Rossetta's side, she had long learned that her sister's mind was labyrinthine, woven from betrayals, centuries of survival, and sharp instincts no one could rival.
One month passed.
Every lash of a whip, every pang of hunger the boy endured, Rossetta felt upon her own flesh. Pain became her companion. While Marian tended herbs, Rossetta lay sprawled on a bed of leaves, silent and pale, her body wracked by the curse's connection.
Their fragile peace shattered when restless birds erupted from the trees, scattering into the sky. Marian stiffened, clutching her herbs.
"They've found us," she whispered, fear lacing her voice.
Rossetta remained calm, clutching the blood-red necklace that signaled danger. She cursed under her breath.
"They're already at Moonlight. It isn't safe to return there."
Together, they fled. Rossetta burned with power, but she matched her pace to Marian's, unwilling to leave her behind. For seven long days, they dodged knights scattered through forest and village until they found an escape. But safety was fleeting.
"Do you think it's Mark's doing?" Marian asked one night, exhaustion in her voice.
"I heard his guild is thriving."
Rossetta gave no answer, though doubt clouded her eyes. She knew betrayal was inevitable, but not so soon.
And indeed, Mark had betrayed her.
Moonlight, the guild Rossetta secretly built long before, had been her silent hand. To mask her involvement, she funneled gold to Mark through a small merchant. Mark, blinded by pride, believed his own genius had earned Moonlight's support. In arrogance, he tipped off the knights about the
"wandering witches" in the forest, believing himself untouchable.
But Moonlight saw his treachery.
They withdrew their backing, spreading whispers of his shady dealings. Investo
rs fled. His guild collapsed overnight.
"This is retribution from the witches," one of his men muttered as ruin spread.
Desperate, Mark ran to the small merchant Rossetta had once used. But the building was abandoned, stripped bare after knights raided it under suspicion of witchcraft. Rage consumed him—rage at himself for tipping them off, rage at the witches for letting him fall.
When he returned, knights awaited him. Gold with no traceable source had been discovered. He claimed it was earned by saving a noble, but he could not name the child without drawing the wrath of a powerful family. His tongue tied, his lies useless, Mark was dragged to the stake.
Flames consumed him and his men.
The man who once dreamed of legacy became nothing but ash.
Far away, Rossetta's necklace flared blue. She grasped Marian's hand, and together they vanished, reappearing on a private floor of Moonlight's tower.
The Vice President of Moonlight awaited them, bowing deeply.
"Forgive us, my lady. It took time to shake the knights from our trail."
"What happened?" Rossetta asked, sinking into a velvet sofa, her tone sharp yet weary.
The man sat only when she gestured.
"Mark's guild was seized. They found traces of gold they could not explain. With no defense, he was tried and burned."
Rossetta only nodded, her face unreadable. "We'll settle here for now."
The VP bowed again and left. Alone at last, Rossetta entered her chamber, shadows flickering across her face.
For all her cunning, for all her centuries of survival, the chain of fate had tightened. The boy's curse bound her deeper than any scheme or betrayal. Whether it would save them—or destroy them—only time would tell.