Oryen watched the girl standing before her, amusement flickering faintly in her sea-blue eyes. Poor child. She truly had no idea what she was—or what slept inside her. Dydra's fear was written plainly across her face, every movement cautious, every breath uncertain. Oryen returned her attention to the vegetables on the chopping board, her knife moving in steady, rhythmic strokes, as though the moment were ordinary.
"It wouldn't stop," she said casually, breaking the silence. "The nightmares. No matter what you do, they never stop."
The knife struck the board with a dull thud.
Dydra froze.
Her heart skipped violently as a cold wave rolled through her chest. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Oryen's back, staring as though she were looking at a ghost. How could she know that? She hadn't told her. Not once. Her fingers curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Was this woman… reading her thoughts?
"What are you?" Dydra whispered.
The words were soft, almost lost in the quiet kitchen, but Oryen's ears caught them easily. A small smile curved her lips, and without turning around, she answered calmly, "I am the same as you."
The knife paused mid-slice.
Dydra frowned, confusion twisting her features. The same as her? What did that even mean? Her thoughts raced, colliding with a memory she couldn't silence. Jerry's voice echoed in her mind, loud and hateful.
Your kind needs to die.
Her kind.
Her throat tightened. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice unsteady, spinning like a compass without north. "How are we the same?"
Oryen finally set the knife down and turned. She studied Dydra closely, her gaze sharp yet patient, as though she had waited a long time for this moment. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, almost reverent.
"Dydra," she said softly. "We are witches."
The word struck like a blade released from a bowstring.
Silence swallowed the kitchen whole.
Dydra stared at her, stunned. For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then disbelief flooded her face, and a smile tugged at her lips. The absurdity of it all washed over her, and before she could stop herself, laughter burst from her throat—sharp, breathless, uncontrollable.
Oryen's brow creased.
"This isn't a joke," she said firmly.
That only made Dydra laugh harder. She clutched her stomach, shaking her head. "O-okay," she managed between gasps. "Sure. I believe you."
The sarcasm was unmistakable.
Something dark flickered in Oryen's eyes—gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a sly glint Dydra failed to notice. Slowly, Oryen raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
The world shattered.
In a blink, the kitchen vanished.
Cold air rushed over Dydra's skin as the scent of earth and pine filled her lungs. Her laughter died instantly, replaced by a scream torn from her chest. Trees surrounded them, towering and endless, their leaves whispering ominously in the wind. The ground beneath her boots was uneven, damp with moss and fallen leaves.
"How—how did we get here?!" she demanded, stumbling back, her eyes wide with terror.
Oryen stood calmly before her, utterly unbothered, the forest light catching in her dark hair. "With a snap of my fingers, dear," she replied simply.
Dydra's pulse thundered in her ears. "How did you do that?" she shouted. "What are you—some kind of witch?!"
She raised her fists instinctively, trembling, ready to fight or flee or do anything that might keep her alive. Oryen burst into laughter, deep and genuine.
"Yes," she said once she'd recovered. "I am a witch. And so are you."
"No." Dydra shook her head fiercely. "That's impossible. You're lying. You're sick. You're—" Her words faltered as panic tightened its grip. She spun around, searching desperately for the cottage, but the trees stretched endlessly in every direction. Trapped.
"I don't want trouble," she pleaded, fear shining in her eyes. "Please. Whatever you did, undo it."
Oryen studied her carefully—the shaking hands, the shallow breaths, the raw terror. Realization settled heavily in her chest. The girl truly knew nothing. Not a single spark of understanding.
"Alright," Oryen said at last. "Okay."
She snapped her fingers again.
The forest vanished, replaced by the warm glow of the kitchen.
The moment Dydra reappeared, her legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees with a strangled cry, clutching her stomach as searing pain tore through her veins. It felt as though a thousand blades were stabbing her at once, twisting and burning from the inside out. Veins bulged against her skin as she gasped for breath.
Oryen rushed forward. "I knew this would happen," she said, alarm flooding her voice. "But not this intense."
"Don't touch me!" Dydra snarled through clenched teeth, crawling backward. "What did you do to me?!"
"This is normal," Oryen insisted gently. "The first time magic is used on a witch—or by one—it reacts. I can take the pain away."
She reached out.
Dydra slapped her hand aside. The pain surged violently, ripping a scream from her throat. Her vision blurred, red bleeding into the edges.
"I said don't!" she cried.
Oryen ignored her protest and grabbed her wrist.
The air trembled.
Something snapped.
A force exploded outward as Dydra wrenched her arm free, her fingers curling unnaturally like claws. The ground shook. Oryen was lifted off her feet as though seized by an invisible giant and hurled across the room. She slammed into the wall with bone-jarring force, the wooden boards rattling violently. A harsh cough tore from her lungs as she hit the floor, blood spilling from her mouth.
Shock and terror flooded Oryen's face.
How was this possible?
She hadn't cast a spell. She hadn't spoken a word.
Dydra rose slowly to her feet, one arm wrapped tightly around her stomach, the other raised toward Oryen. A golden light blazed from her eyes, brilliant and terrifying. Her hair lifted on its own, shifting from reddish-brown to deep blood red, glowing faintly as power rippled through the room.
Oryen's heart sank.
This was far worse than she'd feared.
"This isn't you," Oryen whispered hoarsely, forcing herself upright. "This isn't the girl."
She knew the signs. Legends she had dismissed as myths clawed their way into her thoughts. Possession. No—something older. Stronger. She shut her eyes, ignoring the pain screaming through her ribs, and focused.
Think.
There was one spell. Only one.
Gathering every fragment of strength she had left, Oryen spoke the words with trembling resolve.
"Rithadon jujinin mlathro."
The air shattered.
A violent surge of energy burst through the room, slamming into Dydra like a living force. The golden light flickered, then vanished. Her hair fell back into its natural shade, her body crumpling as her strength drained away. She collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Silence followed.
Oryen sagged against the wall, breath ragged, blood staining her lips. Her eyes remained fixed on the girl sprawled on the floor, fear and awe warring in her chest.
So it was true after all.
And if Dydra awakened again… the world would never be the same.