Waken Burrow

Agatha couldn't explain the worry she felt as she stared at the towering structure of Waken Burrow. She swallowed hard, hoping this attempt would turn out well. Slowly, she walked toward it, carrying a black box containing a glass of blood.

Her knees shook, impeding her walk. Still, she forced herself forward, repeatedly telling herself that everything would be alright to provide some comfort. She caressed the dagger hidden at her waist, trying to fool herself into feeling safe.

She didn't care about the intricate design of the structure or the sophisticated embellishments inside. Fear dominated her thoughts. Whenever someone glanced at her cautious walk, she flinched, feeling as if they knew what she was about to do.

"Stay calm, damn it," Agatha muttered to herself.

In a corner, she leaned against a nearby wall, trying to calm her breathing. She couldn't afford to act like this when facing the person who would receive the blood. She had to be brave—for Aiden.

For the tenth time, she adjusted the black cloak she was wearing. It hid her entire figure, making her look like a shadow.

Agatha wanted to cry. She wondered why all of this had to happen. Before, she and Aiden had lived peacefully alone, but now their lives were in chaos. What had she done to deserve this suffering?

She gritted her teeth. She wanted to kill Nysander so badly herself, to ensure he would never hurt them again, but she knew she couldn't fight him. She was weak—always had been, always would be. But that didn't mean she would give up easily.

She had to be strong because Aiden depended on her. She couldn't afford to be weak now, not here.

Once Agatha ensured she could walk without stumbling in fear, she finally moved. She kept her head down while taking the lift. There were many people inside, most of them happily chatting with each other. Some were families visiting Primotheus Capital for vacation.

In a corner, Agatha felt envious. They were so happy with their lives, without significant worries or concerns about where their next meal would come from.

At a tender age, Agatha already understood that the world was unfair and cruel. Some people were inherently lucky, born into families that loved them dearly and could raise them well. They didn't have to work to eat, nor did they have to run away, as they had support and protection.

For a brief time, Agatha had experienced those things. Although they weren't wealthy, her parents loved her very much. She hadn't needed to work just to eat. But suddenly, that life had been taken away from her—her home, her family, everything.

The world, she realized, was not kind to those who easily trusted. Because of everything that had happened to her, she had become wary, for the sake of saving herself. She knew that even those she considered friends were capable of harm. She never wanted to experience betrayal again, so she resolved not to trust, believing it would only lead to hurt.

Agatha sighed. She didn't want to trust, but here she was, doing just that. She was trusting them. Why?

She composed herself. There was no time to dwell on such questions. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. She would think about these lingering doubts later.

When Agatha reached the 9th chamber, she couldn't help but be puzzled. She wondered how so many rooms could fit in a structure that didn't seem as tall as those in wealthier cities.

Despite her confusion, she pressed on, growing more nervous. "You can do this, Agatha," she told herself. "You've done worse things than this. You can do this!"

She tightened her grip on the box while staring at the number mounted on the door. 9th chamber.

With a shaking hand, she finally opened the door.

Agatha didn't know what to expect inside. She thought someone might grab her arm and pull her in, or perhaps daggers would be thrown at her, or arrows would fly her way. She expected to see many creatures, but once the door opened, only darkness and silence greeted her curious, weary face.

She double-checked the number to ensure she was in the right chamber according to the letter. She was. But she couldn't sense anyone's presence. She was alone.

She breathed in the thick air. "I am here," she said, trying to keep her voice firm to mask her dread, but she was failing.

Agatha carefully stepped inside. Nearby, she found a candle, which she immediately lit. Soft light dispelled the darkness. She looked around for the person who had told her to come here, holding the box carefully while keeping her eyes sharp for anything strange.

She was already in the living room when the candle she was holding fell from her hand in surprise. Not far away, sitting in a huge chair, was a woman with rose-colored hair. The vibrancy of the color made her recognizable even in the dim light.

"The Witch," Agatha whispered, breathless.

Anger surged through her. Leonel had told her that the Witch was the reason Aiden was poisoned. She wanted to hurt her more than the Witch had hurt Aiden. She wanted revenge for the pain inflicted on him. But although every fiber of her being screamed to kill the Witch right now, Agatha restrained herself. She needed to stay calm to succeed in her goal.

Slowly, she reached for the fallen candle, not taking her eyes off the motionless Witch. The Witch scrutinized Agatha from head to toe, as if searching for something.

The Witch's lips curved into a smirk. "So you're the bitch…" Her voice was gentle, almost lulling.

Instead of reacting, Agatha raised an eyebrow.

"What does Liam see in you, and why is he protecting you?" The Witch's eyes pierced into Agatha's. "You're nothing but an ugly piece of trash."

Anger struck her heart. Who the hell was this woman, and how did she know Liam? She must be one of Nysander's companions.

"Well, I know for sure that he'll get tired of you," the Witch continued. "So this talk is pointless."

Agatha was unable to speak, though she had many questions. She reminded herself not to be swayed by emotions. She needed a clear and sound judgment if she wanted to end this victoriously.

"The cure," Agatha demanded firmly.

The woman raised an eyebrow and smiled mockingly. Her skin was fair and smooth, her nose sharp, and her eyes sparkled red. Agatha couldn't help but wonder how she knew Liam.

"Isn't that dirty blood already dead by now?"

Agatha's hands clenched into fists. The Witch's smirk widened when she saw how affected Agatha was. Agatha trembled with anger, wanting to bash the woman's head against the wall until she no longer knew pleasure from pain. She wanted her to bleed for insulting Aiden.

"Did he scream in pain?" the woman asked curiously. "Must have been a delight to hear, don't you think?"

Agatha tightened her grip on the box. "Where's Nysander?" she asked nonchalantly. "I have what was asked, so where's the cure?"

Laughter filled the enclosed space. "Do you think Nysander is a fool? He doesn't trust you." She scoffed. "He's not here."

Agatha had anticipated this possibility but had still hoped Nysander would be here so she could avenge all the harm done to her and Aiden.

Agatha sighed. "If he's not here and you won't give me the cure…" She stared at the woman closely with a serious expression. "I must leave."

Agatha turned to go, but before she could step away, she was thrown into the opposite wall. The box she was carrying slid far away with a thud.

"No…" Agatha said.

Smiling, the Witch approached Agatha. She shook her head slowly. "Tsk tsk tsk," she muttered. "Weakling." She sneered, stepping on Agatha's open hands.

The Witch was about to reach for the box when Agatha swiftly retrieved her dagger and gracefully buried the tip in the Witch's foot.

Pain surged through Agatha as the Witch screamed and ran like a madwoman. Without hesitation, Agatha dashed to the box and tried to open the door, but it remained locked, resisting her kicks and pushes.

A cold wave of energy enveloped Agatha, lifting her off the ground without any physical contact, and hurled her across the room. She landed on a wooden table, which collapsed under her, searing her side as she hit the ground.

Agatha scrambled to her feet as quickly as possible, clutching the box tightly.

"You dare to hurt me, bitch?!" The woman before Agatha had transformed. Her once-beautiful skin was now twisted into something different. Her hair stood on end, and her eyes shifted colors. Her teeth became sharper, adding to her frightening appearance.

The Witch lunged at Agatha, but she darted away, finding herself in the kitchen with no clear escape routes. The Witch conjured a spell, causing all the kitchen tools and equipment to levitate and float menacingly behind her. Sharp knives pointed at Agatha with the Witch's silent command.

"Not so courageous now, are you?" The Witch's melodic voice had transformed into a deep, broken sound of age.

"Not so beautiful now, are you?" Agatha retorted with a smirk, quickly angering the Witch.

Enraged, the Witch's face contorted with fury. She gestured, and the knives flew toward Agatha. She dodged them by a hair's breadth, feeling the wind of their passing on her cheeks before they embedded into the wall behind her.

Agatha struggled to regain her composure and catch her breath when the Witch attacked again. Electrifying balls of energy were hurled at Agatha, who dodged them with graceful movements. Agatha's speed was such that she could barely see where she was going, relying on instinct to keep her alive amidst the chaos. Stumbling on scattered tools was her only hindrance from avoiding the Witch's attacks entirely.

As Agatha tried to rise, the Witch delivered a powerful kick to her jaw, momentarily knocking her unconscious. When she came to, the Witch had grabbed the box, but Agatha held on tightly, trying to wrestle it back. Another kick landed on her ribs, the sickening sound of bones breaking ringing in her ears.

The Witch's laughter filled the room as she mercilessly kicked Agatha. "You whore. You dared to hurt me, huh? You have no chance against my power. Nothing…" Her laughter grew louder, fueled by Agatha's soft whimpers. "You're dead."

Agatha fought back, trying to inflict pain, but she was no match for the Witch's magic. It felt like an invisible force was holding her down, preventing her from retaliating. Her movements were sluggish, as if a heavy weight pressed down on her.

She tasted the metallic tang of blood, coughing it out from her mouth.

"No one is more foolish than you!" the Witch screamed. "Do you really trust us to give you the cure? The boy will die. There's no cure for Shadowbane…" Her mocking laughter echoed in Agatha's ringing ears.

Agatha felt her strength waning, slowly losing consciousness, but she fought to hold on. She couldn't allow her weakness to defeat her now.

Struggling to stay awake, Agatha stared at the Witch who was laughing and ridiculing her. She could no longer comprehend her other wounds as her ears seemed deafened, pain overpowering all her senses. Her vision blurred.

The Witch's face was filled with glee as she opened the black box. Agatha lay on the cold floor, unable to move an inch, her gaze fixed on the Witch's figure. Though her consciousness was fading, she kept staring, resigned to witness whatever would happen.

Time seemed to slow down as the Witch opened the box, and a warm light emanated from within, blindingly bright. Before the Witch could react, she vanished from Agatha's sight, leaving only Agatha's ragged breathing echoing in the room.

The box fell to the floor as Agatha's eyelids met.

When Agatha woke, her body ached painfully, a drumming sensation in her head and a constant blast of sound in her ears threatening to deafen her.

Agatha couldn't remember why she was suffering like this. All she wanted was for the pain to go away, to rest.

"Aggie…" A voice full of concern called out to her—it was Aiden. He repeated her name a few more times until darkness consumed her again.

"Agatha… Aggie… wake up…"

Once more, Agatha was roused by a gentle voice calling her name. Try as she might, her body wouldn't move. Opening her weary eyes proved difficult. Everything felt unbearably heavy.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been unconscious. All she knew was that it was still dark when she regained consciousness. Upon opening her eyes, she saw Liam's concerned face looking at her.

Agatha couldn't decipher the expression on Liam's face before he disappeared from her sight.

"Drink this," Liam said, helping Agatha sit up against the bed wall and handing her a glass of water with an unusual taste.

Agatha tried to speak, but Liam interrupted, "It will help with the healing."

Confused, Agatha stared at him. As a Fae, wounds on her body would heal on their own in time. Liam was also a Fae, so why the need for water?

Though the room was dim, and the cold breeze suggested it was still night, Agatha could still make out Liam's face. He appeared annoyed, bordering on anger, yet also filled with concern and worry.

"We shouldn't have done it," Liam muttered angrily, his forehead creased. "You're in pain because of us."

Agatha remained silent. Despite his disagreement with their plan, they had proceeded anyway. It was a risky plan, but one they had all agreed upon except for him. And despite everything, it seemed the plan had turned out quite well, at least for the moment.