Escape

Eileen spun around as a low, guttural growl echoed through the trees, accompanied by the rustling of leaves. Those weren't ordinary hunting dogs—they were trained trackers, bred to sniff out the so-called "scent of witches."

The old woman's expression darkened. Without hesitation, she pulled a bundle of dried herbs from her belt and pressed it into Eileen's hand. "They're coming. There's a dry riverbed two miles north. It'll mask your scent. Go—now!"

Eileen turned to follow, but then her gaze dropped—dark stains bloomed along the hem of the midwife's dress, a trail of blood marking their path. A cold dread coiled in her chest. "She's leaving a trail," she whispered.

Before the old woman could respond, firelight flickered through the trees, dancing in the darkness like ghostly embers. The inquisitors had moved faster than expected. Black-robed figures emerged from the forest's edge, their armor glinting under the torchlight, the rhythmic clink of spurs against the damp earth filling the silence.

"Take her and go!" Eileen thrust her wand into the old woman's hands, her voice firm, unyielding. "I'll lead them away."

The old woman's grip tightened on Eileen's shoulder. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Your wand—"

"I can still fight." Eileen cut her off, tearing a strip from her skirt to bind the wound on her leg. She met the old woman's eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Go. And remember—every girl saved is defiance against this madness."

A beat of hesitation, then the old woman nodded grimly. With the midwife supported against her, she vanished into the tangled underbrush.

The first volley of arrows rained down just as Eileen broke into a run. She swung her wand, and a pulse of blue light erupted, shattering three shafts midair. But then—cold, searing pain. A splash of liquid against her neck, like molten iron burning into her skin.

She staggered. The cloth wrapped around her shoulder slipped, revealing the raw, blistering mark left by the holy water.

"The witch's tricks won't save her now!" A voice rang out—steady, pitiless.

Eileen lifted her gaze. A figure on horseback stepped forward, his black cloak stirring in the wind. The inquisitor's blade gleamed, and in his other hand, a shattered vial dripped remnants of holy water onto the ground.

"This water purges all traces of the devil's filth."

Eileen clenched her jaw, forcing her shaking fingers to tighten around the wand. She slammed it against the dirt. The ground trembled. Roots burst forth, thick and gnarled, wrapping around the hunting dogs' legs, dragging them down as they yelped in terror.

But the inquisitor merely scoffed. With a sharp crack, he hurled another vial onto the ground. Holy water seeped into the soil, and in an instant, the roots blackened, shriveling into dust.

Her knees hit the earth, hands sinking into the damp ground. Three days—three nights—she had run, fought, bled. The red gem on her wand flickered, its glow waning.

And now she stood at the cliff's edge.

Behind her, the sea raged, waves crashing against jagged rocks. Before her, the inquisitor advanced, his soldiers fanning out behind him.

Her wand flashed one last time, a crimson arc slicing through the air. The force sent an axe spiraling from a soldier's grasp, but not before its blade caught her side, tearing through fabric and flesh.

"A witch without her wand is nothing more than a lamb for slaughter."

The inquisitor loomed over her, his sword raised. He struck.

She twisted—too slow. The blade tore into her calf, a sharp, searing pain that sent her collapsing into the mud. Blood pooled beneath her.

And then, as the sword lifted again, she did the only thing she could.

With bloodied fingers, she pressed her palm into the earth and growled the words the old woman had once murmured to her in secret.

"Mother of the earth, hide me."

The ground roared in response.

A geyser of thick, churning mud erupted, surging outward with the force of a tidal wave. Soldiers staggered back, blinded as the muck coated their faces, their armor. The inquisitor cursed, swiping at the filth clogging his vision.

Eileen didn't wait. She crawled toward the cliff's edge, every muscle screaming in protest.

Wind howled against her skin, sharp with the scent of salt. Below, the ocean churned, whitecaps splintering like shards of broken glass.

"You think the abyss will spare you?"

The inquisitor's voice cut through the storm.

She turned—just as his blade drove toward her back.

At the last moment, she thrust her broken wand forward, jamming the jagged end into the back of his knee.

The inquisitor howled, stumbling as a spray of shimmering holy water burst from the wound.

Now.

Eileen didn't hesitate.

She stepped back—

—and let herself fall.

Wind tore at her, the roar of the sea swallowing everything. The world blurred into darkness, the rush of air a hollow lament in her ears.

Her fingers loosened. Her wand splintered against the rocks.

And then—

Heat.

Blazing, searing heat at her collarbone.

Eileen gasped as fire licked at her skin, as if something long buried was clawing its way free. Through the haze, a vision flickered—

A blackened pyre.

A woman's hand reaching for hers.

A voice, soft as smoke, heavy as regret.

"Elaina… this time, do not choose wrong."