The group pressed forward, but they didn’t get far before an oppressive darkness engulfed them. Not even the light from Vell’s staff could illuminate the path.
It felt like being trapped in a cavern where no light could reach.
Stretching out a hand was futile—it would simply vanish into the all-consuming darkness.
Every step felt slower, as if the ground itself resisted their progress.
The younger witches huddled together, keeping up their whispered incantations, intensifying under the weight of their growing fear.
Even the green-clad witch, whose confidence had been unshakable until now, hesitated, her eyes darting nervously into the abyss.
Even Sonder felt fear tightening in her chest. Without thinking, she reached out, her hand brushing against Vell’s sleeve.
“Stay close,” Vell said, his voice calm but firm. He took her hand and added, “Take each other’s hands. We don’t want to lose each other.”
After a brief pause, his expression darkened, and he nodded. “Something’s watching us.”
His words sent a ripple of tension through the group. The witches froze, their breaths shallow and uneven, as they clutched at one another for reassurance.
No reassuring words came from the green witch this time.
A sharp, unnatural clicking noise broke the silence, echoing from somewhere ahead. It was a sound like bones grinding together, cold and unrelenting. The darkness made it impossible to pinpoint the source.
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Vell raised his staff higher, its light flaring brighter, but still, nothing emerged from the void. He gave a low, impressed, “Huh,” and then lifted the staff again.
“Ver Lah,” he commanded. A dome of light bloomed around them, its glow stretching just far enough for them to see one another and a few steps beyond.
The witches gasped as a figure darted at the edge of the light, a fleeting shadow slipping back into the gloom.
“Come out, come out,” Vell called, his voice sharp but playful.
And it did.
At first, it appeared to be a woman. Her upper body was human—pale, almost translucent skin clinging to sharp bones, with long black hair that fell in tangled, lifeless strands.
But as she crept closer, the truth emerged, grotesque and undeniable.
Where legs should have been, there was instead a writhing mass of gnarled, clawed arms, dozens of them skittering unnervingly across the ground.
A scream erupted from one of the younger witches, sharp and slicing through the fragile silence.
Sonder stared, frozen. She had never seen anything like it, and the sheer otherworldliness of the creature sent a cold fear through her.
“What is that?” she whispered.
“A weowen,” Vell replied, his tone low and steady. He addressed the creature directly. “You’re far from home. Did the witch bring you here?”
The creature tilted her head, her hair falling limp to one side. Her countless clawed arms twitched and flexed. When she spoke, her voice was a silken rasp, like velvet dragged over broken glass.
“Travelers… how delightful,” she sneered, her words laced with bitter sarcasm.
Vell took a measured step forward, keeping his staff raised but not in an overtly hostile stance. “We don’t have to fight,” he said evenly. “Did the witch send you? If not, we mean you no harm.”
The weowen’s unsettling smile faltered, her numerous eyes narrowing as her head tilted further, as though she was weighing his words.
“I did not choose this,” she hissed, her voice breaking.
For a moment, it sounded almost human. “Do you think I want to hunt? To kill travelers? I have no choice. She controls me. She keeps me from my home.”
The creature’s clawed arms scraped against the ground as she crept closer to the edge of the light. Though the glow seemed to repel her, desperation drove her forward with every twitch.
"She makes me—” her voice cracked, raw with anguish. “Her whispers in the dark pull my strings. And when the unworthy come—” Her tone shifted, guttural and feral, as her claws tore into the earth. “She forces me to kill.”