Gwenllian knelt beside the struggling witch and began tying her wrists together with practiced efficiency.
Miyako stepped closer to Mikhail, her voice low.
"My Lord... she is so—"
"Weak?" Mikhail finished. "Weaker than you expected?"
Miyako nodded.
Mikhail watched the witch struggle uselessly against Gwenllian's grip.
"There are many witches who rule these lands. It's common to find ones this weak toward the outskirts of Blackfen." He paused, his gaze distant. "But it will get worse from here. The deeper we go, the stronger they become."
Miyako's expression remained calm, but her hand shifted slightly toward her sword.
"I understand, my Lord. We'll need to find a solution soon."
Mikhail glanced at her, then nodded once.
The party settled in for the night as originally planned.
The witch lay bound near the edge of their camp—wrists and ankles tied tightly together, mouth gagged to prevent any chanting or spellwork. She writhed occasionally, testing the ropes, but Gwenllian had done her work well.
The fire crackled softly between them. Miyako sat with her back against a tree, eyes half-closed but alert. Gwenllian remained on watch, her hand never straying far from her sword hilt.
Mikhail sat apart from them, staring into the darkness beyond the firelight.
The forest was silent. Too silent.
When the morning sun broke through the canopy, pale and cold, the party prepared to move.
Mikhail mounted his horse and adjusted the reins, ready to depart.
Gwenllian stood beside the bound witch, her expression tight.
"My Lord... this witch refuses to cooperate."
Mikhail looked down at the prisoner. His eyes were cold, empty.
"You want death?" His voice was quiet, but it cut through the morning air like a blade. "You're welcome to try."
The witch stopped struggling. Her breathing quickened, visible even through the gag.
Mikhail gave Gwenllian a single nod.
Gwenllian pulled a chain collar from her saddlebag—simple, iron, meant for animals. She fastened it around the witch's neck with a sharp click.
Then she handed the chain to Mikhail.
He wrapped it once around his gloved hand, testing the weight. Then he yanked it—sharp, deliberate.
The witch stumbled forward with a muffled cry.
"Now," Mikhail said, his tone flat "Let's begin our journey."
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.
"You will walk in front of my horse. So that you cannot lead us into a trap without dying first." He paused. "And keep a steady pace. If you don't want to get trampled beneath my horse."
He turned his gaze to Miyako and Gwenllian. Both nodded in return, mounting their horses without a word.
Mikhail jerked the chain again, harder this time.
"Keep moving."
The witch stumbled forward, her hands bound, her footing unsteady on the uneven ground.
And with that, the party began.
As the forest swallowed them whole.