First message
Night had settled heavy over the camp, broken only by the crackle of fires and the distant laughter of warriors celebrating another victory. Kaelen sat inside his tent, methodically dragging a whetstone along the edge of his greataxe. Steel sang beneath the slow, practiced strokes. Outside, boots pounded against damp earth before the tent flap was thrown aside.
“A witch.”
The words were enough to still his hand.
One of his warriors stood at the entrance, rain dripping from his cloak. “The scouts caught one in the forest.”
Kaelen rose without a word, towering as he ducked beneath the canvas and stepped into the chill night air. Warriors had already gathered in a loose circle, their voices low, curious.
At the center stood the prisoner.
Not some horned beast or cloaked sorceress.
Just… a girl.
Barefoot. Mud streaked her clothes, smoke clung to her hair, and exhaustion bowed her shoulders more than the ropes around her wrists ever could.
She looked like she’d been running for days.
And for all that he’s heard of these supposed witches that are a plague to the isles, this girl looked too young and too frightened to be such a threat.
The camp waited for its chief to speak.
Kaelen’s gaze lingered on her a moment, before crouching slightly to be closer to eye-level.
Who, he asked quietly, is chasing you?