Chapter 214 - Power, Knowledge

The girls saw the witch with clear eyes, their minds fully their own again.

She was…smaller than they had imagined. Less.

Vell and Targe gave them a moment to steady themselves. 

Then, after a pause, a young witch spoke. "Are you the witch of Targe?"

Her voice wavered. 

Targe scoffed. "What kind of question is that? And what would you do if I said no?"

The girl had no answer. 

"A moot question from a moot girl."

"Don't talk to her like that," the witch in green said.

Targe turned, stepping in close, too close. "Or what?"

The green witch seemed to shrink under the scrutiny of Targe's gaze.

"A time of firsts, both bright and bold,

Yet often reckless, brash, or cold.

Though time may shape me, make me tall, 

For now, I am delicate, fragile, and small."

"A child," the green witch answered—then stiffened. "Wait… a weakness."

Targe simply smiled. "A weakness?" she repeated, tilting her head. "How very telling, little sprout."

The green witch clenched her fists. 

Vell sighed, weary of her antics. "Targe—"

A bony finger silenced him. Her sharp eyes never left the young witch. 

"You hear a riddle, and your first thought is weakness? Tell me, girl, is that what you fear? That you are small? That you are weak?"

"I'm not afraid," the girl said slowly.

Targe cackled, stepping away. "Oh, how many times I've heard that from young ones like you." She turned toward the others, eyes sweeping across them. "And what about the rest of you? You came all this way, braved the dark, and fought off the unknown. But now that you stand before me, do you truly understand why you came?"

Silence.

The young witches shifted uneasily, glancing at one another. No one spoke. 

Then—

"They came for answers," Sonder said.

Targe turned to her, eyes glinting. "Ah. Answers." She tasted the word. "And do you think I have them?" 

Sonder hesitated. Then, she met the old woman's gaze. "I think you have something."

Targe chuckled, pleased. "Clever girl."

She moved to the table, dragging a finger across its dust-coated surface, tracing invisible patterns.

"Well, then. If it is answers you seek, tell me—what question will you ask?"

The witches remained still. The weight of the moment pressed down on them. This was real. Not just a legend, not some story whispered in the dark. They stood before the Witch of Targe—the one who knew things no one else should.

And now that they had the chance, they found themselves unsure.

Vell interrupted before anything could be said. "Wait. Before any of you ask anything… I'm going outside."

The green witch frowned. "Why?"

"Because I prefer surprises. Knowing ruins the fun."

And with that, he left. 

Targe turned back to the remaining girls. "So? Who's first?" She waved a hand dismissively. "And before you ask something tired, like 'What will happen to me?'—I'll tell you now. You all die. Sooner or later." She smirked. "Be specific. Ask something I can actually answer."

The green witch readied herself. There was one question burning within her.

"I want to be strong—a powerful witch. Is there a future where I become one? And if so… how do I follow that path?"