Looking for a witch

The road east was desolate, stretching far into the horizon beneath a gray and unforgiving sky. The wind howled around me, carrying the stench of death from the villages I left in my wake. The weight of my sword felt heavier with each passing step, but the burden on my soul was heavier still.

I had no destination in mind—only a direction. East. That was where they said I would find the Witch of Hell, the one who could give me the answers I sought. She held the key to my past, my future, and the power I needed to avenge Elaine. But as I journeyed deeper into the wilderness, the line between revenge and madness began to blur.

I cut down anyone who dared cross my path, whether they were enemies or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bandits, mercenaries, even innocent travelers—none were spared. Each time my blade struck, I felt less and less, the act of killing becoming as natural as breathing.

Blood stained my hands, my clothes, and the earth beneath my feet, but I didn't care. There was no room for regret, no place for sorrow in my heart. Only a cold emptiness that consumed everything else.

The Witch of Hell was said to live in the wastes beyond the great mountains, a land where even the bravest feared to tread. But fear had no hold on me anymore. I had left that behind, along with everything else that made me human.

My only companion was silence. The silence of the dead, the silence of the world around me, and the silence within my soul.

It was on the third week of my journey that I first noticed the change. I caught my reflection in the still waters of a pond, and at first, I didn't recognize the person staring back at me. My hair, once dark as the night sky, had begun to turn white. It wasn't much—just a single lock, faint and almost unnoticeable—but it was there, a stark contrast to the rest of my hair.

I ran my fingers through it, feeling the strange sensation of something shifting within me. It wasn't just my appearance that had changed. It was something deeper, something I couldn't quite explain. A part of me—perhaps the last part of me that still clung to the man I once was—had died.

But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Each day was a blur of violence. Each night, I was haunted by dreams of Elaine, her face twisted in pain as the flames consumed her. I would wake up in a cold sweat, her name on my lips, only to find myself alone beneath the cold, uncaring stars.

As I traveled further east, the world around me seemed to reflect the darkness that had taken root in my soul. The land grew harsher, more unforgiving. The skies were perpetually overcast, and the sun seemed to have forgotten how to rise.

Villages along the way were abandoned, their inhabitants either dead or fled from the constant threat of raiders and monsters. I fought them all—human and beast alike. It didn't matter anymore. My sword became my only voice, my only way of communicating with a world that no longer made sense to me.

I lost track of the days, the weeks. Time meant nothing. All that mattered was the east, the Witch of Hell, and the answers she held.

One night, as I sat by a dying fire, I felt something break inside me. The warmth of the flames seemed distant, no longer reaching me as it once had. It was as if my body had forgotten how to feel warmth, how to feel anything at all.

I stared into the fire, the light flickering in my dead eyes, and realized that I was truly alone. I had lost everything—my love, my friends, my sense of self. All that remained was this hollow shell, driven by nothing but the desire for vengeance.

The journey east had stripped me of what little humanity I had left. I was no longer Reimer Rose, the boy who had dreamed of love and happiness. I was something else now—something darker, something colder.

But even as I sat there, staring into the flames, I couldn't help but notice that small, white lock of hair. It had grown larger, more pronounced. The change was slow, but it was happening, bit by bit, as if the darkness inside me was consuming everything else.

I reached up, running my fingers through the white strands, and for the first time in weeks, I felt something other than anger or numbness.

I felt fear.