Vell, still walking a few steps ahead, finally spoke up. "Actually, I know someone who can predict the future... but not with star magic."

Hiraeth let out a half-skeptical laugh. "You do? Who?"

Vell slowed his stride, turning to glance back at them. "A witch," he said simply, his expression unreadable.

Sonder's attention sharpened, her curiosity obvious. "A witch? Where?"

"She lives deep in Targe," Vell continued, "not the easiest place to reach, but she's the real thing—or as close as you'll find. No star charts, no cosmic energy. Something different."

At the mention of Targe, Hiraeth shifted uneasily on Sonder's shoulder, the stumps where his wings once were twitching. "The Witch of Targe? Oh, she's real enough. But I’d keep my guard up if you’re thinking of seeking her out."

Sonder leaned forward slightly. "What does she use then? If not the stars?"

Vell hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "If I had to explain it... she draws from herself, her own magic. It’s not always clear how she knows what she does. But compared to anyone else I've seen, her predictions are... unsettlingly accurate."

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"What’s she like?"

Vell shrugged. “She's not the kind of person you visit for trivial questions. She's blunt. Honest, but not kind."

Hiraeth nodded, arms crossed. "Unlike most so-called seers, she doesn’t hide behind riddles or cryptic symbolism. If you ask her something, she’ll give you the answer. The direct answer—or as direct as she can be. But truth can be sharp as a blade."

Sonder's curiosity only grew, despite their warnings. "Could we find her? You said she lives deep in Targe. Is it dangerous?"

"Always. But if you're set on meeting her, I won't stop you. She might agree to see us—if she thinks the question is worth her time. Chances are, she already knows we're coming."

"You've met her before, haven’t you? Did you ask her something?"

Vell’s steps slowed slightly. "A long time ago. But no, I didn’t ask her for myself. I brought someone else there. Someone who needed answers more than I did."

Sonder hesitated, then asked, “Did it end well?'"

Vell’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He said nothing and turned his attention back to the road, the conversation clearly over.

Exchanging a glance with Hiraeth, Sonder decided not to push further. Instead, she shifted the topic. "Targe... what kind of place is it, exactly?"

Vell exhaled, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "A forest, but not like any you've seen. If I had to describe it? Nasty. It twists, shifts, and plays tricks on you. The trees move when you’re not looking."

"And this witch—why would she live there of all places?" Sonder asked.

Vell opened his mouth to respond, but Hiraeth tapped Sonder's shoulder first. "Witches like her don't live in places, Sonder. They become part of them. The Witch of Targe is the forest—or close enough that finding her isn’t about directions. She'll find you when she wants to.”

"Or not at all," Vell added grimly.