The Impassable Mountain Range was a monstrous scar on the face of the world.
It wasn't just a chain of snow-covered mountains; it was a labyrinth of stone, despair, and ice.
Even walking through the shadowy spectrum of the Mist World, the journey demanded the utmost of Nightingale's mental strength.
By her side, the warm and unshakable presence of William's hand was the anchor that kept her from succumbing to magical exhaustion. They had crossed kilometers of lethal terrain in a fraction of the time a normal person would take, avoiding colossal beasts and precipices thanks to the witch's senses and the short, crucial jumps of the Commander's Teleportation.
Late into the cold morning of the third day, Nightingale stopped abruptly.
The shadows of the mist around them narrowed, and they were standing before a gigantic fissure carved into the side of a rocky mountain.
The path leading to the opening was nothing more than a steep ledge half a meter wide, flanked by a gorge whose bottom was a pit of absolute darkness.
— "It is here." — Nightingale whispered, her voice panting. She let go of his hand, and the magic of the spell dispelled.
Reality hit them with a biting wind that whistled through the gorge.
The sky was just a silver thread squeezed between two titanic rock walls high above their heads, but the temperature there, curiously, wasn't as lethal as on the plains; gusts of damp, slightly less cold air rose from the ravine's black abyss, but the feeling of isolation was oppressive.
William cracked his neck and looked at the gigantic cave at the end of the ledge.
— "So, this is the secret lair." — he analyzed, tacitly approving the isolated and hard-to-reach location. He took a step forward, naturally assuming the lead to enter the darkness. — "Let's go. I'm curious to personally see the face of this Mentor Cara."
— "No, wait." — Nightingale placed her palm flat against the chest of his doublet, stopping him immediately. — "You need to stay outside, hidden in the shadows of this entrance. At least for a few minutes."
William frowned, confused. — "Why? I came all the way here precisely to protect them from Cara's ego."
— "I know, and I will be eternally grateful for that." — Nightingale softened her tone, her purple gaze laden with a protective instinct. — "But understand, William: most of my sisters inside have been hunted, violated, constantly persecuted, and have seen others of our sisters killed at the stake by ordinary men, bishops, and nobles. The amount of resentment and trauma they have with your gender is something that cannot be reversed with minutes of conversation, even if you are 'one of us'. If they see an unknown, tall, armed warrior enter their hideout out of nowhere, they will go into absolute panic. The survival instinct of frightened witches is to attack to kill, and I don't want them getting hurt trying to attack you."
William let out a sigh, understanding the seriousness and the extreme psychological delicacy of that moment for the witches. He wasn't an impulsive child; he knew full well that Nightingale's cautious conversation would be the best weapon inside, and that entering abruptly would only cause chaos. He leaned back against the freezing stone wall at the cave entrance, adopting a vigilant posture.
— "Alright. I will stay here and wait." — he agreed, his voice sounding thoughtful. — "But remember what we talked about: do not lower your guard just because you are among your sisters. The cave is immense and the wind out here is loud; I definitely won't be able to hear what you are discussing deep inside. Therefore, if the situation gets out of hand with Cara or if she decides to use her magic, do not hesitate to retreat. At your first scream or sign of real combat, I will teleport and go in to get you out."
Nightingale nodded, a comforted smile appearing on her lips at his promise of protection.
She activated the Mist World once again and walked alone along the narrow ledge. The feeling of being watched by the abyss disappeared under the mantle of her magic.
Upon entering the monumental cave, the mist dissipated the glow of a faint distant campfire.
When Nightingale considered herself to be at a safe distance from the entrance, she undid the spell, her boots touching the hard, visible rock.
Immediately, the temperature around her dropped.
The air suddenly felt thick, and a dense rectangular wall of black smoke, with the asphyxiating smell of coal, sprouted from the stone floor with the speed of a falling guillotine, blocking the sight of her path toward the inner camp.
But the lethal wall lasted only the blink of an eye. As soon as the invisible sentinel in the shadows recognized the silhouette, the smoke dissipated, and a young, relieved, and trembling voice echoed through the cold cave.
— "You're back!"
It was Smoke, one of the Association's youngest and most defensive witches. Nightingale broke into a smile, her heart warming with the heat of a home that wasn't made of stone, but of people.
— "Yes, Smoke, I finally came back." — Nightingale replied, walking toward the girl.
However, when Nightingale got closer, her smile died. Tied around Smoke's thin arm, over the rustic fabric of her cold-weather clothes, were two strips of raw cloth.
Mourning bands.
Nightingale felt her breath fail. Her mind, newly healed with the hopes of Roland and Anna, was thrown back into the pit of reality.
— "Two bands?" — Nightingale whispered, pain sharpening her voice. — "More sisters are gone..."
Smoke hesitated, lowering her head, tears blurring her young eyes. — "Ah, yes. Airy and Abby. The twins. They reached the Day of Awakening four days ago... And they didn't survive the night. The magic devoured both of them almost at the same time."
Nightingale felt her knees weaken. Airy and Abby were two sweet girls who had left the financial security of a wealthy noble family in Fallen Dragon Mountain just because they were born with power. They fled so as not to be drowned in the river by their parents, only to die frozen and tormented in the darkness of the Impassable Mountain Range.
If only Nightingale had arrived just four days earlier... If she had known that emptying one's magical power was the key...
The black-haired girl tried to force a sad smile, wiping her face. — "It happens often in the Association, doesn't it? We buried them in the snow at the back, but let's not talk about that right now. You have to go to the main campfire; Wendy is always talking about you. She hasn't slept right since you left."
Upon hearing Wendy's name, Nightingale's despair gave way to an ironclad purpose. If it weren't for Wendy, Nightingale herself would still be living as an assassin puppet in the underground dungeon. Yes, she needed to save what was left.
Nightingale walked hurriedly to the center of the gigantic cave.
Dozens of women and girls, wrapped in torn and dirt-stained blankets, were huddled around small campfires, their empty and exhausted eyes shining with the scarce light of the fire.
It was a refugee camp isolated from the outside world.
Near the largest campfire, a familiar figure with auburn hair down to her waist was crouching, stirring a rustic pot of diluted porridge. Her features were mature, charming, and deeply serene, emanating the aura of a universal older sister. Wendy, the emotional pillar of the entire Witch Cooperation Association.
Without holding back, Nightingale ignored her composure and called out loudly. — "Wendy! I'm here!"
The witch spun around with a jolt, the wooden spoon falling from the pot. Her face lit up with the most comforting smile in the world.
— "Veronica! Welcome back." — Wendy stood up hurriedly, dusting the ashes off her long skirt.
She was the only witch there who knew and dared to call Nightingale by her real baptismal name, a privilege granted to the one who had saved her from insanity.
— "How many times have I told you I'm no longer that weak little noble girl from the past?" — Nightingale said, smiling truly and shaking her head. — "Now I am the assassin of the shadows. Veronica no longer exists."
— "You will always be you. Ridding yourself of the nightmares of your past doesn't mean throwing your moments of humanity into the trash, my sister." — Wendy said softly, her voice carrying a mother's affection. — "But I am glad you adopted a new name. Nightingale, I thought you wouldn't make it back alive. You must have suffered horrors in the snow all alone."
Nightingale took a wide step and hugged her friend tightly, hiding her face in Wendy's shoulder for a second. The familiarity almost made her forget the world outside.
After a long embrace, Wendy held Nightingale's shoulders, her gaze laden with apprehension and anxiety for the objective of the mission to save the witch who was going to be hanged.
— "What happened to the girl from Border Town?" — Wendy asked, her voice dropping to a fearful whisper. — "Did you make it in time? Or was it already too late to save her from the hanging?"
She grabbed both of Wendy's hands tightly, her sparkling eyes wide and shining with desperate excitement, speaking loud enough so that all the dozens of witches sitting around could hear.
— "No! Wendy, listen to me! I didn't even need to save her!" — Nightingale declared, her voice resounding off the walls of the cold cave, attracting frightened and curious looks. — "The girl is perfectly safe and healthy! Her name is Anna. And she didn't just save herself; Anna may have saved us from our greatest curse!"
Wendy frowned, perplexed. — "What do you mean by that? So the Lord didn't kill her?"
— "The Lord is Roland Wimbledon, the 4th Prince of the Kingdom of Graycastle, and he and his allies are the exact opposite of any noble that exists in this world!" — Nightingale delivered, her heart beating fast, describing things in frantic detail. — "To them, we are not servants of the Devil or freaks. They do not hunt witches; they give us jobs! He rewards us with gold coins, dresses us in warm woolen clothes, and gives us food worthy of nobility. Border Town is a haven, Wendy! The Prince is willing to harbor absolutely every witch from the Cooperation Association! He promised, in his own words, that in his territory we can live like normal people, free from the terror of the Church and their judgment!"
However, to Nightingale's agonizing surprise, Wendy was not as excited as she had imagined she would be.
The maternal leader did not jump for joy or cry in relief. Instead, Wendy's comforting smile wavered, and her mature expression was taken over by a deep and melancholic caution.
She looked at the flames of the campfire and asked in an undeniably skeptical tone:
— "Did he really say that, Veronica?"
— "Yes! And they weren't just empty words!" — Nightingale insisted, squeezing her friend's hands. — "Even before I arrived and revealed myself in Border Town, he had already rescued two witches on his own, Anna and Nana. From the beginning, the Prince never thought that a witch's power came from the devil; he and that advisor of his openly claim that magic is just a force of nature, a tool that belongs solely to ourselves..."
Nightingale suddenly stopped talking, her voice dying in her throat. She looked at Wendy's hesitant eyes and the suspicious features of some of the sisters sitting around them. She realized, with a painful squeeze in her chest, that her sisters didn't believe a word of it.
*Good going, Veronica*, she thought to herself, reprimanding her own naive optimism.
*This isn't Wendy's fault, nor the others. It's survival instinct. They would probably only believe in that miracle when they heard the promise directly from the Prince's mouth, or when they looked closely at the inexplicable inventions, but perhaps even then they would continue doubting and waiting for a knife in the back. After all, that sounded exactly like the illusory paradise that the heart of every desperate witch secretly longed for, and perfect promises coming from powerful men were the oldest bait in the world. Witches had been oppressed for far too long. Even on the long and tortuous journey from the east to the freezing border of the Impassable Mountain Range, the Association had seen countless living and tragic examples of sisters betrayed and abandoned at the hands of men, often sold by their own parents or husbands, with no one to reach out a hand to them.*
Thinking of all that deep-rooted trauma, Nightingale's vibrant excitement gradually diminished, giving way to a more sober determination. Perhaps the journey back to the Town wouldn't be as easy and peaceful as she had imagined. Convincing broken women to trust a Prince would require proof.
Nightingale let go of one of Wendy's hands and pointed to her own eyes.
— "Wendy, you know perfectly well what my magic transformed into when I passed into Adulthood." — Nightingale declared, her tone of voice now lethally serious and unshakable. — "Besides being able to hide in the mist and see the magic flowing inside a witch's body, you know I can also identify emotions and intentions with absolute clarity... I know perfectly well when someone is lying or not."
Wendy frowned, her attention now fully captured. — "Yes. It's impossible to fool your eyes."
— "Exactly." — Nightingale nodded. — "And every time I questioned them about why they would take such a huge risk to save us witches, they answered me: 'In Border Town, we do not care about your origins'. There was no lie, Wendy. They just want all witches to be able to live and work as free people."
Wendy sighed heavily, the mind of an experienced woman calculating the weight of that promise.
— "But by doing this so openly, harboring evil in the eyes of the faith, he will become a gigantic thorn in the side of the Church of Hermes." — Wendy frowned, genuine concern replacing skepticism. — "The Church has armies of Judges and influence in neighboring cities, so even if the Prince is arrogant and doesn't understand what this means, you know very well the fury this will attract, right?"
Hearing the same argument she herself had used in the past, Nightingale couldn't hold back and started laughing softly. It was a genuine laugh, full of relief for not being the only one to think of that.
— "My initial thoughts were exactly the same as yours, Wendy, almost word for word." — Nightingale confessed, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. — "So, on my first night as his bodyguard, I asked: 'Do you really think you can do this? Do you think you can face the Church and the whole world just to protect us?' And guess how he answered me?"
Nightingale took a dramatic pause and repeated verbatim the Prince's words she had heard:
— "If you don't strive for it, you will never know the answer."
Wendy blinked, completely surprised to hear such a simple, fearless, and reckless statement coming from a noble who had everything to lose. She gripped Nightingale's hand tighter and had to ask, hope finally beginning to crack the ice of her distrust:
— "That... That wasn't a lie? His color didn't waver?"
— "No lies at all." — confirmed Nightingale, her voice firm and convinced.
— "It just sounds unbelievable." — Wendy's voice finally lost its defensive tension, becoming visibly more relaxed. Her shoulders dropped. She and the former assassin had been friends and confidants for many painful years; Wendy knew Nightingale's "crazy" mind, and knew there was no reason in the world that would make her friend try to deceive her with false hopes that would lead the Association into a trap.
— "Yes..." — Nightingale sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the journey begin to ease.
If she hadn't heard William and Roland's words personally and didn't have the magical ability to verify their truthfulness by reading their emotions, she probably wouldn't have believed them so quickly either, even with all their kind actions. Now, in retrospect, remembering the conversations she had in the castle, she knew that William had never lied to her even once, especially when it came to his feelings, and the prince rarely lied to her about his global intentions. William's fierce protection and Roland's moral compass always pointed north.
What really mattered was that the haven was real. And she was ready to take everyone there.
— "Tonight..." — Nightingale leaned forward, looking pleadingly and with an incandescent urgency at her older sister. — "When we are all gathered and Mentor Cara summons the council after dinner... I want to tell all our sisters this important news and guide them to Border Town."
Nightingale squeezed Wendy's hand, sealing an alliance.
— "And I need you to help me convince them."