Baba Amhera's hut, which was usually filled with the scents of herbs, smoke, and ancient incantations, was now permeated with fear.
Even though the sky had returned to its usual black, a whitish scar, the mark of supernatural lightning, still streaked across the clouds like a suspended threat.
No one in the Village of the Blue Rose dared to approach. People whispered behind closed doors.They watched their children more closely than usual.
Even the dogs were silent.
However, Baba Amhera did not waste a second.
She quickly gathered dried herbs, protective talismans with dull beads, bone powder, and the bare minimum of provisions: hard bread, a gourd, and three meager roots.
Her only priority was not survival.
It was distance; she wanted to put as much space as possible between her grandson and the entity that had just reappeared.
She crushed a bluish moon root in a mortar and added a few drops of black poppy juice.
The mixture turned into a viscous, deep, almost luminescent green paste.
She handed the bowl to Hayden.
"Drink," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument."It won't cure you, but it will stifle the fever for a few hours. We must be far away before dawn."
Hayden took the bowl without protest.
The mixture was excruciatingly bitter, but a delicious coolness spread through his chest as if an icy hand were extinguishing the internal furnace consuming him.
His breathing became more regular.
He was able to straighten his back, even though his limbs were still trembling.
"Where are we going? Baba?" he asked weakly.
She continued tidying without looking up.
"Far away."
Her voice was too neutral.
"To a place where neither the elites nor what lurks will find us. A place where the Church has no eyes."
Hayden nodded, not insisting.
She found him when he was six years old, naked and lost with no memory, at the edge of a ravine. Since that day, she had been his only truth. He would follow her anywhere.
Baba knelt in front of him.
"Let me check your bracelets."
Hayden looked down at his ankles.
They were a necessary anchor. Without the spell cast on them, he couldn't walk.
He floated.
It was an anomaly that Baba had always feared a priest would notice.
She ran her wrinkled fingers over the knots slowly and with almost painful precision.
"Hayden," she said in a low voice. "You know the rule. You must check these bracelets every day."
She took a deep breath.
"But especially tonight. If anyone discovered your gift, they would come for you. They would tear you away from me. They would take you to the church."
She didn't mention the truth:
It was not a gift.
It was proof that he did not belong in this world.
He was a Voyager, a being that the Earth refused to hold.
The old witch stood up and strapped her bag of herbs to her hip.
"Let's go," she said."Time is running out."
She opened the door of the hut.
An icy wind blew in, carrying dust and whispers.The distant torches of the village flickered.
Somewhere, a crow cawed, as if marking the beginning of a long exile.
Baba placed a hand on Hayden's shoulder.
"Keep your head down. Don't talk to anyone. If you feel your body becoming too light, let me know immediately."
Hayden took one last breath of air in his home.
Then, he followed Baba outside into the wind-swept night.
Thus began their escape.
With it came the first movement of destiny.
The prophecy was not just a mystical whisper.
It was a shockwave.
As Baba and Hayden disappeared into the night, the Eastern City was already in turmoil.
The Master Prophet, still trembling from his vision, ran through the long marble corridors of the Tower of the Virgin; his footsteps echoed under the arches. The priests stepped aside in silence, surprised to see the usually calm man so agitated.
He arrived at Dame Maria's private apartments.
The silver doors opened on their own, and blue night lights illuminated the stone walls.
Maria, the supreme leader of the Tower of the Virgin, was already waiting for him. She stood Upright. She had just returned from a mission.
She was draped in a white cloak, her long blond hair tied in a long braid, and her eyes were as cold as polished iron.
She did not utter a word.
She let the Prophet speak.
As he described the breaking of the seal, the stretching of the threads of destiny, and the threat of a forgotten entity, her face remained as impassive as marble, except for her trembling fingers on the edge of the table.
"We are mobilizing," she said simply.
The world began to move.
The alert had already crossed the sacred walls. War trumpets blared from the tops of the towers, divine bells sounded the state of emergency, and the immense White Heart Square was ablaze with fires, helmeted figures, and iron-clad horses.
The Five Marshals, the Church's warlords, were ordered to immediately converge on the Imperial City. Their escorts, adorned with religious symbols and golden banners, departed the cities swiftly.
Convoys of steel and armed figures covered the main roads, while horses neighed under the strain.
Though calm, the night seemed to hold its breath at this display. In the villages along the main roads, lights turned on one by one.
Doors opened. Wrinkled and young faces appeared in doorways.
Everyone watched the procession pass by like a metal and prayer snake.
"Look, it's Ashford's convoy," whispered an old woman with parchment-like, leathery skin.
Another villager, clutching a baby to her chest, added in a trembling voice,
"That flash near the Blue Rose wasn't natural. The witch has awakened something."
"They say a demon has come up from Hell to seek revenge," said a young shepherd, gripping his staff tightly.
"Shut up," spat an old man."Demon or not, the church isn't mobilizing for a witch hunt. If they're bringing out the marshals, it means war is coming."
The convoy passed, raising dust and silence.
Further away, in a neighboring village, near the main market now plunged into darkness, three figures hurriedly packed their belongings.
The White Lily stall was recognizable by the symbol engraved on the wheat crates, as well as on different parts of the villagers' bodies. These tattoos determined which village each villager came from.
Uncle Joe was stocky with a mustache. His back was broken from years of carrying sacks and tough bargaining. He wiped his hands on his oil-stained apron.
"Did you hear that, Elijah?" he asked, looking up at the road where the helmeted horsemen had just passed."The Marshals! In the middle of the night! I'm telling you, it smells like sulfur. Calamity is coming."
Daniel, Elijah's best friend, carried a crate of dried fruit, rolling his shoulders slightly.
He nodded gravely, his clear eyes fixed on the shadows cast by the convoys.
"It's either this or starvation. We know the drill, Joe."He shrugged."The church is hungry for blood, and we're hungry for wheat. The world keeps turning the same way."
Elijah, the youngest and quietest of the three, tied a rope around a sack of flour.
In the light of the lanterns, his expression remained cold and almost blasé.
"Uncle Joe," he sighed. "If the Church wants to attack the witch of the Blue Rose, good for them. It won't affect our sales tomorrow. We still have twenty sacks to sell at the fair, and your back isn't going to bend itself."
Joe burst out with a nervous laugh.
"You'll see when they come to requisition your wheat for the war!"
Elijah didn't answer.
His gaze wandered toward the horizon where a flash of lightning had streaked earlier that day.
He didn't like magic.
He liked war even less.
He wanted a simple life: his village, his market, Daniel, and his family. Perhaps it would be laborious, but it would be simple. No prophecies. No Marshals. No church.
To the rhythmic creaking of their goods-laden cart, Elijah, Daniel, and Uncle Joe made their way home. Invigorated by the rumors, Uncle Joe couldn't keep quiet.
"I'm telling you, guys, something fishy is going on! This wasn't just a storm. The witch of the Blue Rose was brewing dark magic. Could this be the return of the war against the black forest's witches ?"
Daniel, being more pragmatic, rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Joe. The Black Forest 's witches were sealed under stone two centuries ago. You know that. It's just the Church getting worked up because a farmer found gold or an old woman predicted a bad harvest!"
The debate between the two men took on a familiar and amused tone. Elijah watched them with a smirk. These arguments and teasing were the simple life he cherished. He hated wars and wanted only happiness and serenity for his village.
They were his reason for being. He became a merchant to help feed his community. Yet, he could not ignore the possible threat. Even if he dismissed the legends, the fact that the Marshals were rushing through the night spoke volumes: something big and terrible was brewing.
They finally arrived. The Village of the White Lily was a relatively peaceful place, its modest mud houses lit by warm-colored lanterns. The white lily, their emblem, was painted on the doors and embroidered on the clothes.
They were greeted with big smiles, the comforting smell of stew, lively discussions, and the laughter of children playing in the lantern light. Seeing the white lily tattoo on his neighbors' bodies and hearing the women gossip was Elijah's refuge. Tonight, fear was a distant concept, contained by the warmth of the community.
Meanwhile, Baba Amhera walked briskly, guiding Hayden through steep paths and undergrowth. They were gradually moving away from the Blue Rose.
Thanks to the potion, Hayden was able to keep up, but he still felt a strange lightness in his body. He mechanically checked his ankle bracelets. He knew that if one broke, a force would take over and pull him upward. Then, the fate he was trying to avoid would catch up with him.
He didn't dare ask Baba where they were going, but he could see the panic in her eyes. He knew it wasn't the church she was fleeing, but something far more terrifying.
In the Imperial City, the throne room of the Church's central power was filled with icy tension.
Ancestor Gao Xia Ming, the supreme leader, stood on the throne. Surrounding a massive marble table were the Five Marshals, Eto Valez, Dame Enola, Henpton Lee, Ishan Var, and Lady Deville, as well as high priests, supporters of the Tower of the Virgin, and imposing warlords.
An eerie silence reigned, broken only by the scraping of the guards' boots.
The Master Prophet, still shaken, rose to his feet. He described what he had felt in detail: the breaking of the seal, the violence of the magic, and the echo of the apocalyptic vision.
Dame Maria broke the silence.
" It's the witch! I remember her, Old Baba Amhera! She alone practices such powerful and dangerous fortune magic. She is the source of this anomaly."
However, the priests were more concerned about the origin of the phenomenon.
"Who cares? The seal is broken! That's the real danger! Is this a another war against the black forest's witches? The ones who practiced the occult, and were sealed under stone two centuries ago? Or is it a new threat? Who they are ?
"The question is not who they are, but how many!" one of the warlords interjected, his voice resonating like bronze. "If the prophecy foretells seven forgers, are they already among us? What are their identities? They must be found and killed before the prophecy is fulfilled!"
"The Weaver of Fate, the Voyager, the Death Seller, the Healer, the Fallen Angel, the Frost Eater, and the Sand Maker," the master prophet repeated, describing what he had seen. He emphasized that they were indeed among them, but he had not seen any of their faces.
"So, we're going to hunt down people whose faces we don't recognize?" That's absurd!"
"From what I know about prophecies" one of the priests interjects, "if you haven't seen any of their faces, it's because the future is still uncertain. The entities you've seen are still dormant. They are not yet aware of their destiny."
"...Which means that if we kill or control them before they awaken, we can change fate."
"That still doesn't change the fact that we know nothing about their identities."
"I did not see their faces," the master prophet added, "but I saw their gifts, their powers. We are looking for young men and women."
"What were their gifts?"
"The thread of destiny, similar to that of the Moirai; transdimensional gravity; lava technopathy; world tree magic; the melody of souls; frost magic; and sand creation. I cannot say if these are their exact gifts, but they are the closest description."
The discussion became lengthy, challenging, and difficult. The Marshals, accustomed to conventional warfare, were unsettled by this mystical threat.
Dame Enola, draped in scarlet veils, slammed her fist on the table and said,
"Time is running out! Send scouts from the Tower of the Virgin to survey the Blue Rose and the surrounding villages. Show no mercy. Any sign of an abnormal gift or occult magic must be eradicated. We cannot give this prophecy a chance!"
"As for us, we will send a few soldiers to the Black Forest. They will go deep into the forest where no light penetrates, where the witches' village once stood, to ensure it remains deserted, ruined, and abandoned. Most importantly, they must verify that the witches are still locked in stone.
"...Listen to the villagers' gossip; it may provide a clue."
It was a critical moment. Panicked by its own past, the genocide of the Black Forest's witches, and this strange prophecy about the forgers of evil, the Church had just given the green light to a blind hunt. This hunt would inevitably lead its warriors to innocent people. Blood would be shed, unaware that their decisions would lead to the very destinies they were trying to avoid.