The mournful howl of the wind lashing the Impassable Mountain Range seemed to penetrate the invisible cracks in the rock, carrying with it a cold that not only froze flesh, but also seemed to petrify souls. Inside the cave that served as a refuge for the Witches' Cooperation Association, darkness was fought only by the weak, dying crackle of a few pine-sap torches, their orange flames casting monstrous, elongated shadows against the damp stone walls.
Cara, the Witch of Serpents and unquestioned founder of the Association, lay reclined upon an improvised bed of furs and straw.
Every breath she took was an agonizing battle against her fractured ribs; every beat of her heart sent waves of searing pain through her crushed chest. Yet her face was carved into a mask of merciless coldness.
She had summoned the hard core of the Association, the most experienced, lethal, and influential witches in the camp. The fate of the younger ones, those who possessed neither combat magic nor survival skills, would be sealed that night.
Slowly, the heavy canvas covering the entrance to the makeshift tent was pulled aside, and the eight most important witches of the Association entered the enclosure, bringing with them a palpable aura of apprehension and magical power that made the cave air vibrate with tension.
They positioned themselves around their wounded leader, their appearances standing in stark contrast to the dimness of the surroundings, forming a war council where life and death would be decided with the coldness of an accounting ledger.
The first to stand out in the half-light was Windseeker. Her short, deep dark-blue hair was tightly bound in a high ponytail, swaying with every predatory step she took. She wore a thick leather-and-fur coat designed to withstand the worst blizzards. Her face was twisted into a fierce, distrustful expression, her teeth slightly clenched. Windseeker was the embodiment of the Association's tactical aggression, a lethal scout who viewed the world in terms of predator and prey.
Beside her, a painful contrast appeared in the figure of Wendy. Her long brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, framing a face that naturally wore a gentle, maternal smile, but which was now disfigured by exhaustion and fresh, silent tears. She wore a white off-the-shoulder blouse, far too delicate for the harsh winter, held in place by a belt and a brown soft-leather corset. Wendy kept her hands clasped over her chest, close to her heart, as though desperately trying to contain the very soul that was shattering inside her. Wendy's innate kindness radiated from her, but it was being crushed beneath the weight of guilt and the psychological manipulation Cara had just inflicted upon her.
Right behind Wendy, moving with a silent grace reminiscent of leaves rustling in an ancient forest, stood Leaves. Her long, vibrant natural-green hair caught what little light there was, falling loose over a yellowish cloak tinged with moss. Leaves's face bore a calm, almost melancholy smile, but her almond-shaped eyes were sharp and observant. She was the backbone of the camp, the one who extracted roots from the frozen earth, yet she knew all too well the cruelty of the cycle of life and death.
The group's most imposing and intellectual presence, however, was Scroll. Her deep midnight-blue hair was meticulously tied into an immaculate ponytail, reflecting her orderly mind. She wore a pristine white high-collared shirt beneath a dark-blue vest adorned with a sapphire brooch, giving her the appearance of a noble scholar displaced at the end of the world. Her eyes displayed an absolute and painful seriousness; she was the guardian of memory and logic.
To Scroll's left, radiating a feverish heat that fought against the cold of the cave, stood Red Pepper. Her incandescent red hair was tied up hastily and rebelliously. The witch's face was twisted with open fury, her teeth bared like those of a cornered wolf. She wore a heavy, rustic brown fur coat, and a dark reddish aura, almost like ember smoke, emanated from her body. Red Pepper was raw emotion, distilled rage against the world that hunted them, and she made no attempt to hide her displeasure at the summons.
Closing the circle, the second group of high-ranking witches took their positions on the opposite side. Beatrice carried with her an ethereal and, at the same time, melancholy beauty. Her long pink hair cascaded over her shoulders, adorned with a small rose at the side. She wore a delicate, feminine dress with a burgundy-toned corset and bare shoulders, defying the logic of the extreme cold. Despite possessing combat magic, her green eyes reflected deep insecurity; she was a force of nature who did not trust her own leadership, preferring to rely upon the wisdom of others.
At the center of this second group stood Cecilia Selda. Her appearance was the very definition of untouchable elegance. Silky silver-white hair covered one of her eyes, while the other surveyed the surroundings with an icy, unwavering calm. Dressed in refined, soft-beige garments adorned with Victorian lace and high collars, Cecilia was a high-society lady who, because she was a witch, now found herself in a damp cave. There was a frightening serenity about her, a pragmatic acceptance of the world's cruel rules, devoid of Red Pepper's raw emotion or Wendy's fragility.
Finally, completing the circle of judgment, there was Catherine.
The cold invading the cave seemed to bend and obey her presence. Her long, snow-white hair matched her calculating almond-shaped eyes. She wore a heavy, brilliant light-blue coat, adorned with abundant white fur around the neck, fastened with a large blue bow.
She possessed manipulation magic, manifesting as currents of glacial air and whirling blue ice spiraling from her open hands. Catherine was the blizzard incarnate: beautiful, majestic, and utterly merciless in her worldview.
Silence reigned for long, torturous minutes.
Eight witches.
Eight worldviews.
Eight fragments of the overwhelming power of the Witches' Cooperation Association.
Cara moistened her cracked lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood, and spoke.
Her voice, though hoarse and physically weakened, carried the same iron authority that had kept the group together through pyres and persecution.
"You know why you are here," the leader began, her eyes sweeping across the faces illuminated by magical auras and torchlight. "Our camp has been compromised! A traitor fled with the help of an intruder, and the Association has lost four vital days of travel because of my injuries. The Sacred Mountain is still our destination, but reality is knocking on our door with the winds of the Demon Months. We have no supplies. We have no way to protect forty inexperienced women while crossing the dark mountains, with demonic beasts on our trail, and with me unable to fight on the front line."
Cara paused deliberately, allowing the weight of her words to settle upon the eight women.
"Nightingale has filled the younger girls' heads with fairy tales about a Border City ruled by a human prince who supposedly offers us shelter, food, and warmth, and it is almost certainly an illusion, or perhaps a trap. However..." She lowered her voice, adopting a false façade of pain and sacrifice. "If we remain together, our weaker sisters will die of hunger, cold, or the claws of demonic boars. That is why we need to reduce the number of people in the camp. The veterans and combatants will march west with me. The non-combatants, whose magic is useless even for support, will be guided east, toward the Border Village."
The air in the cave seemed to freeze even further, not because of Catherine's magic, but because of the shockwave caused by that declaration. Cara was not suggesting a rescue; she was suggesting a surgical purge of the "useless mouths."
The Nightly Scrutiny had begun.
The reaction was immediate and volcanic.
Red Pepper was the first to object. The red aura around her darkened, and the temperature near her rose abruptly, carrying the smell of sulfur and scorched fabric.
She took a violent step forward, striking her fur-lined boot against the stone.
"This is madness, esteemed Mentor! It's murder disguised as mercy!" Red Pepper roared, her voice echoing loudly against the cave walls, her eyes filled with blazing outrage. "You want us to throw our sisters into the jaws of the Church's hunting dogs? We are the Witches' Cooperation Association! We swore that we would not abandon a single witch who followed us to the Sacred Mountain! Sending defenseless girls into the claws of a human lord is exactly what the Inquisitors would do to us!"
"Lower your voice, Pepper," Cara intervened coldly, showing not a trace of intimidation. "Indignation does not fill stomachs."
Wendy, trembling, squeezed her own hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The gentle smile that usually adorned her face had been replaced by a mask of pure despair and agony.
The manipulative words Cara had used against her moments earlier still echoed through her mind, trapping her, but her kind heart could not accept the veiled slaughter.
"Mentor... we can ration," Wendy's voice was a choked whisper, filled with pain and pleading. Scroll's magical light illuminated the bright tears beginning to stream down her pale face. "We can carry more weight. I'll hunt day and night if necessary, so please... They trust us. They look to us as their protectors. We cannot simply discard them because the journey has become difficult. If the prince is a monster, we will have sent lambs to the slaughterhouse. There is no honor in surviving at the cost of our younger sisters' blood."
Before Cara could refute Wendy's plea, Scroll's firm, cutting voice filled the chamber.
The dark-blue-haired witch slightly raised her head, her calculating eyes flashing with a rebellion grounded in logic.
"This is not merely a matter of honor, Cara. It is a matter of brutal reality," Scroll said, her voice resonating with scholarly authority, firm and resolute in her opposition to the leader. "I am aware of the metabolism of starvation, but sending the non-combatants south without adequate protection amid deep snow is the same as signing their death warrants. And even if they reach this supposed Border Village... human lords do not give refuge to witches. They sell them to the Church or hang them in the public square. The idea of reducing the camp destroys the very foundation upon which we were created. We are stronger together. Division means the annihilation of one side. Therefore, I am categorically opposed to this absurdity."
The threefold opposition of Red Pepper, Wendy, and Scroll seemed to form an impenetrable wall of morality and resistance within the cave. However, the other side was immersed in a far more sinister and pragmatic logic, forged by the relentless horrors of winter.
Catherine stepped forward.
Her boots cracked softly against the ground, leaving faint footprints wherever she stepped.
The icy aura surrounding her swirled violently, lifting the edges of her heavy blue coat. She looked at Scroll with a mixture of cold respect and pity.
"You say that, Scroll, but you ignore the most basic reality," Catherine's voice was cold, monotonous, and utterly devoid of empathy. "If we all march together to the Sacred Mountain, we will be slow. The non-combatants will slow the scouts' pace, we will expend our magic warming them and protecting them from every demonic beast, and in three weeks, hunger will cause the weakest to collapse in the snow. And we will have to carry them. When the pack of mutant wolves arrives, we will not have enough magic even for ourselves. We have already lost several days here. If we want the witches' legacy to survive, we need to ensure that the strongest live. Sending them to the Border Village gives them a chance, even if it is one in a thousand, of survival. But if they stay, we will all die, dozens of us dragged down by dead weight. The best thing to do is to separate."
Beside her, Windseeker made an audible clicking sound. She crossed her arms over her fur coat, her dark eyes fixed upon the flames of the torches, gleaming with an animalistic instinct for self-preservation and military pragmatism.
"Catherine is right," Windseeker said, agreeing without the slightest trace of guilt as she shook her dark-blue ponytail. "I make the rounds. I see the size of the beasts' tracks coming down from the north. They're bigger this year. If I have to divide my attention during an ambush to defend a little girl who only knows how to fuse metals, the demonic boar will tear me in half, and then it will eat the girl anyway. The Association is not an orphanage. It is an army in flight, and an army does not survive by dragging the incapacitated along. They must seek their luck elsewhere. If Nightingale thinks the lord is wonderful, then let him feed them. I vote in favor of getting rid of the weak."
The shock caused by Windseeker's brutal words made Wendy cover her mouth with her hands in horror. Yet before Wendy could protest, Cecilia Selda spoke. Her voice was as soft and polished as the silver silk of her hair.
Elegant and motionless within her beige Victorian clothing, she displayed no aggressive aura; her weapon was the coldness of pragmatism.
"My dear Wendy, your compassion is admirable, but fatally naïve," Cecilia said, her silver eye gleaming with quiet conviction. "You see death in these girls, but you cannot see the greater responsibility we carry. We are the flame that will keep the hope of the Sacred Mountain alive. We cannot extinguish that flame by sacrificing ourselves to a romantic ideal of unbreakable unity. Sending the girls to the Border Village is a test. A painful test, yes, but if Providence has truly prepared a shelter for them, they will find it. If they find death, then that was the necessary price for Cara and the stronger sisters to continue the legacy and establish a true kingdom on the Sacred Mountain. I fully support the Mentor's decision. Reducing our numbers is an urgent necessity."
With three votes vehemently opposed and three votes coldly in favor, the cave was submerged in an agonizing silence.
Everyone's eyes then turned toward the two witches who had yet to speak, trapped in the moral abyss between salvation at any cost and the protection of the innocent.
Folha, wrapped in her green cloak, felt the texture of the stone beneath her boots, connecting with the dormant life of the world.
She looked at Cara, her face paling with sadness, and then turned toward Scroll.
"I abhor this idea," Leaves murmured, her voice trembling with pain, her empathetic nature crying out against the abandonment of human lives. "Cutting away the weak branches so the tree can survive is the law of winter. We are not trees, Cara. We are women fleeing the pyre. And yet... I know that hunger is a beast that cannot be defeated with speeches about morality. The earth is frozen. My magic will not sustain the camp for another two weeks. I fear for the souls of these girls, but I trust Cara's judgment, so I will accept whatever the Mentor decides. Her mind is what has kept us fed and organized until now."
The pressure immediately shifted, multiplying its weight absurdly, onto Beatrice's shoulders, the only voice remaining.
The pink-haired girl had always been devastating in combat, possessing the power to copy the magic of others, but inside, she had a gentle and friendly heart.
She looked at Red Pepper, who stared at her expectantly, hoping for an ally, but Beatrice lowered her gaze to the floor.
"I... I don't want to be responsible for sending them to their deaths," Beatrice whispered, anguish accumulating in her large green eyes, fear visible in every feature of her delicate face. "But Catherine isn't lying... We are slow with them. I wouldn't know how to protect them if twenty beasts attacked at once. It's unfair, and it hurts like hell. I hate this. I hate having to choose. I just want everyone to live." She swallowed hard, looking desperately toward the dark-haired woman who represented the wisest figure she knew. "I'm also... terrified of all this, but I will follow whatever the Mentor says. She is experienced, and she understands the situation we are in. So if she says there is no other way... I will bow my head and accept the pain."
The cave sank into deadly stillness.
The stalemate had been broken.
Three witches demanded blood in the name of survival, while three others pleaded for mercy in the name of love. And two, terrified of the consequences of any choice, had placed the future of dozens of girls in the hands of their guardian.
The perfect plan.
Responsibility for that choice rested entirely in Cara's hands, and everything was unfolding exactly as she had predicted and desired.
Wendy's sentimental opposition and Scroll's moral disagreement had been expected, as had the rational support of Catherine, Windseeker, and Franja, who saw the cold logic behind the purge. She also knew that Beatrice and Folha would never oppose her decisions.
The only surprise in the entire equation had been Red Pepper's audacity in openly confronting her.
Cara had expected a pragmatic position from her in the face of the crisis, but instead found direct defiance.
An icy tone crossed the Association leader's gaze. Later, when the time was right, she intended to "educate" Red Pepper severely for that insubordination.
Impassive amid the tense atmosphere of the cave, Cara held her companions' gazes without displaying a single trace of doubt.
The Nightly Scrutiny had reached its critical point, and the fate of forty souls would be sealed according to her implacable will, leaving no room whatsoever for emotional concessions.