Chapter 12 – The Old Witch

They reached the edge of the Veil Forest just before dawn.

The air was thicker here, heavy with fog and the sharp scent of magic gone stale. Vines curled low around their boots. Trees bent at strange angles. The sun didn't rise here. It just… faded in slowly like it was asking for permission.

"This place is cursed," Cael muttered.

"No," Seren said softly. "It's warded."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "You've been here?"

She nodded. "Once. When I was little. My mother brought me. She said we were only allowed to visit if we stayed quiet, didn't stray from the trail, and never looked her in the eyes."

Cael's eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"The witch."

They walked in silence for a moment.

Then Cael said, "You sure she's still alive?"

Seren looked at the twisted trees around them. "She was old when I was a child. But she wasn't the kind of old that dies."

They reached her hollow by midday.

A squat house half-swallowed by roots and vines, sitting in the middle of a blackened grove. It didn't look like it had been built — it looked like it had grown from the forest, the trees cradling it like a secret.

Smoke drifted from the crooked chimney.

The door creaked open before they could knock.

A woman stood there.

Thin. Pale. Wrapped in shawls stitched with bones and tiny, whispering trinkets. Her eyes were milky white, but they saw more than most.

"Seren Vale," she said in a voice like cracked glass.

Seren flinched. "You remember me."

"I never forget blood." Her gaze slid to Cael. "And you… You're still running."

Cael stiffened.

The witch smiled — but it wasn't kind.

"Come in before the trees get curious," she said.

They followed her inside.

The witch's home smelled like lavender, rot, and smoke. The ceiling hung low with dried herbs and bundles of roots. Tiny cages dangled near the walls — each one holding a flickering light, like trapped fireflies.

"Sit," the witch commanded, pointing to a low table.

They obeyed.

She dropped a bundle of twigs into the hearth and stirred the embers until they hissed green.

"You're with child," she said, not asking.

Seren nodded.

"It's not your mate's."

Another nod.

"And yet… You were marked again."

Seren hesitated. "Not fully."

The witch's pale eyes flicked to Cael.

"You fight the bond?"

He didn't answer.

She cackled. "Fools. You think you're resisting fate. You're only feeding it."

Seren leaned forward. "We came for answers."

"I know."

"I need to know what I'm carrying."

The witch picked up a bowl and began to mix crushed leaves and ash into a thick paste.

"You're carrying what was forbidden," she said. "A child born from blood that was never supposed to cross."

Seren's mouth went dry. "My bloodline?"

"Three lines — vampire, seer, wolf. Each sworn to stay separate. Each feared what the mix might become."

Cael leaned in. "Then why did it happen?"

The witch smeared the paste across her palm and reached out — pressing her cold, damp hand to Seren's stomach.

The child stirred inside.

And the fire flared green.

"Because something older than blood wanted it to."

Seren gasped.

The room blurred around her.

Then it shattered.

She stood in a forest lit by blue fire.

Before her stood three figures — one cloaked in shadows, one wreathed in flames, and one made entirely of bone and light.

They didn't speak.

But she understood.

They were watching her.

Waiting.

Then the child appeared.

Not in her arms — but standing beside her.

A boy.

Eyes silver.

Hands glowing.

He reached toward the fire—

And the world went white.

She gasped and fell back, panting.

Cael caught her.

The witch cackled again.

"You saw it."

Seren nodded, too shaken to speak.

"The child is a bridge," the witch said. "He — or she — will stand between the bloodlines. But bridges can be walked both ways. Creation… or destruction."

Seren's voice cracked. "I don't want that."

"It doesn't care what you want."

She stood, moving toward a shelf stacked with glass jars.

"You came for the truth," she said. "But truth has a price."

Seren stood. "What do you mean?"

"Your bond. It is half-formed. If left unsealed, it will burn you both."

Cael stepped forward. "And if we seal it?"

"Then the child will choose."

"Choose what?"

"Who they become."

Seren's heart stuttered.

Cael's voice was low. "So we mark each other, and the child… locks in?"

The witch nodded.

"But if we don't…"

"Chaos," she said simply.

"Who started this?" Seren asked. "Who planned this?"

The witch turned slowly.

"There is no plan," she whispered. "There is only balance. And you are tipping it."

They left before dusk.

The witch didn't say goodbye.

They just closed the door behind them and vanished into the dark.

Seren walked in silence for a long time.

Her head ached. Her heart felt too full.

Cael broke the quiet.

"What did she mean… bridges go both ways?"

Seren stopped walking.

She turned to him.

"She meant the child could save us — or destroy everything."

He didn't speak.

She took a breath. "We're running out of time."

"I know."

"And if we don't choose each other soon…"

"I know," he said again.

They stopped in a narrow clearing where the light barely reached the ground.

Cael knelt and pulled something from inside his coat.

A small, leather-wrapped blade.

He held it out to her.

"For the mark," he said.

Seren stared.

"You're sure?"

"I'm done running."

She took the blade.

And everything changed.