CHAPTER 106: CHAPTER 105: THE MARCHIONESS

Kael woke before dawn.

The mist still clung to the stone circle, pale ribbons coiling between the pillars. Fires had burned low, leaving red embers that glowed faintly in the dark. Most of the men still slept, their breaths heavy. Only a few guards were awake, their armor damp with dew, spears in hand.

Seris sat exactly where she had been when Kael closed his eyes—back straight, sword across her lap, watching the trees. She hadn’t moved.

He pushed himself up quietly and rubbed his eyes. The forest was different now. Not silent, but too full of silence between sounds. No insects. No birds. Just the faint drip of water from leaves and the groan of heavy branches.

He stood and stretched once, then walked toward the edge of the circle. Seris rose and followed without a word.

At the boundary stones, Kael stopped. His breath made faint clouds in the cool air. He looked into the forest. The mist was thick, but through it, he thought he saw faint blue lights moving deep between the trees. They shifted slowly, like lanterns carried by invisible hands.

"Do you see it?" he asked.

Seris narrowed her eyes. "Yes."

"They’re watching," Kael murmured.

He stayed there until the first gray streaks of morning broke through the canopy. The lights faded with the coming dawn.

When he returned to camp, Leonard was awake. He was already armored, cloak thrown over his shoulders, speaking with Bram and Darien near the central fire. He stopped when he saw Kael.

"Is she coming today?" Leonard asked.

Kael nodded. "At moonrise. She said not before."

Leonard exhaled once through his nose. "Then we prepare until then." He turned to his men. "Double the sentries. No one strays beyond the stones."

"Yes, my lord."

Kael said nothing. He poured water from a pot, washed his face, and sat with Seris near the fire. His thoughts weren’t on the Witch anymore. They were back in the basement. On the black box. On the other hooks—eleven, all empty.

If there was one, there had been more.

And if his grandfather had kept one promise for decades, what had happened to the rest?

He pressed a hand briefly against his coat. He still felt the weight of that room.

"Kael."

Seris’s voice brought him back. She handed him a strip of dried meat. "Eat something."

He took it, chewed slowly, then looked at her. "You stayed awake all night?"

"I don’t need much," she said. "I’ll rest when it’s safe."

He wanted to tell her it was unnecessary, but he knew better. That was her way of protecting him. He only nodded.

By midday, the camp had shifted into its rhythm. Guards rotated. Fires smoked lightly with thin meals cooking. Adventurers sharpened blades, checked arrows, adjusted packs. Leonard spoke with his captains, voice steady, though Kael could see the tension in his shoulders.

Lysandra came once, offering Kael a polite nod before returning to her tent. She didn’t ask questions. She already understood some truths weren’t hers to touch.

The sun lowered. Shadows stretched long across the clearing.

And then—just as the first star appeared in the sky—the Witch arrived.

She walked out of the forest as if the trees had parted for her. Her hair caught the faint silver light. In her hand, she carried the black box, bound with its red thread.

No one moved at first. The guards shifted uneasily, but Leonard raised a hand. "Stay."

The Witch stepped into the circle. Her eyes swept the camp once, but her expression didn’t change. She walked straight to Leonard.

"Take me to her," she said simply.

Leonard bowed his head. "This way."

The camp broke apart into motion. Horses were saddled. Torches lit. In less than ten minutes, the caravan was moving again—back toward Ginip, toward the Marquis’s palace, where his wife still lay dying.

Kael rode near the center, Seris beside him. The Witch walked on foot, steady, never tiring. She carried the box under one arm, and no one dared ask what was inside.

They reached Mangort before dawn. The palace gates opened without question when they saw the banner of the stag.

Inside, the Marquis himself waited in the courtyard. He looked older than Kael remembered from the banquet—eyes hollow, shoulders heavy. When he saw the Witch, his lips pressed thin. But he didn’t argue. He only bowed once and said, "This way."

The group moved quickly to the inner chambers. The air smelled of herbs and sickness. Maids stood back, frightened, eyes wide. The woman on the bed—the Marchioness—looked almost gone. The holes in her skin had spread, hollow pits climbing her neck and chest. Her breath rattled shallow and faint.

The Witch stepped forward, placed the box on a low table, and set her hand gently on the woman’s forehead.

"Bring water," she said.

No one moved.

"Now."

The Marquis himself fetched a jug. The Witch poured it into a wooden bowl, dipped her fingers, and traced symbols across the Marchioness’s skin. The water glowed faint green as it soaked into the wounds.

The holes began to close. Slowly at first—then faster. Skin knit. Color returned faintly to her cheeks. Her breathing deepened.

The Marquis’s hand gripped the bedpost so tightly his knuckles whitened. Leonard stood stiff as stone, eyes locked on his mother’s chest rising and falling.

Within an hour, the holes were gone. Only faint marks remained, like scars after fire.

The Witch stepped back. Her face was calm, but Kael saw a hint of strain in her eyes. She tied the red thread on the woman’s wrist. "She will sleep. Do not cut this string. Do not wash it. In seven days, it will fall off. She will wake whole."

The Marquis fell to one knee. "You have my eternal debt."

The Witch shook her head. "You owe nothing. The debt was already paid."

Her gaze flicked once toward Kael. Then she turned and walked out, the black box tucked under her arm.

The room remained silent for a long time. Only the Marchioness’s steady breath filled the air.

Finally, Leonard exhaled. "She lives."

The Marquis nodded slowly. His shoulders shook once, but he mastered himself. He stood tall again. "She lives."

Kael said nothing. He only looked at the red thread on the woman’s wrist.

And he thought of the Witch’s words in the forest: Stop feeding the rats in the tunnels of your other house.

Because even here, with a life saved, he felt it—something moving, hidden, waiting for him back on Earth.