Vell laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the small cottage.
“Do you really think I’d abandon them to you?”
Targe barely reacted, only tilting her head slightly. “No, of course not. I already know that.”
Vell’s grin didn’t falter. “Then what is it you believe?” He leaned forward slightly, his tone light but probing. “That you’ve already seen the future? “Is it you who bristles against it?” His eyes glinted with curiosity. “Why is that, I wonder? Do I have some terrible fate awaiting me? Or is it one of the girls?”
Targe’s lips curled, revealing yellowed teeth. The dim light cast long, shifting shadows across her wrinkled face, making her look even older, even more ancient.
She sighed, shaking her head as if he were a child asking a foolish question. “Do you really need me to answer that?”
Vell’s smile only widened.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said playfully, lifting his hands to cover his ears in mock defiance.
Targe hummed, tapping her fingers against the wooden table in a slow, deliberate rhythm—like the ticking of an ancient clock.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“The future is a river, old one.
Some try to wade; others are swept along.
And some…”
She lifted her gaze, peering at him from beneath the brim of her hat.
“…think themselves clever enough to swim against the current.”
Vell exhaled through his nose, unfazed, and folded his arms, waiting. “I have a feeling you don’t just mean me.”
“Fine, fine. Since you insist,” the witch said.
The air shifted—subtle at first, like a light breeze. Then, slowly, the weight pressing on the room began to lift.
Sonder inhaled sharply as the haze clouding her mind dissipated. The nausea in her gut, the pounding ache in her skull—all of it drained away.
Around her, the other witches stirred, blinking as clarity returned to their eyes. Their breath steadied, their limbs no longer trembling under unseen pressure.
Targe tapped the table one final time before flattening her palm against its worn surface. “There. No more weakness, no more sickness. You’re all standing strong again.” Her sharp gaze flicked over the girls before settling back on Vell. “For now.”
Vell finally lowered his arms. “You see? You could have done that from the start.”
Targe smirked. “And what would they have learned from that?” She swept a hand toward the witches.
“A taste of power, a lesson true,
Know your limits—what you can't yet do.
Better to learn before the test.
Then falter when it matters best.”
Vell exhaled slowly. “I won’t argue philosophy with you.”
“Oh, you never could,” Targe teased, winking. Then, after a pause, she drummed her fingers against the table once more, her pale eyes gleaming. “You want to know if their future is so grim. If one of these girls has a fate to fear.”
She let the words hang in the air.
The witches were silent, the last traces of their haze now gone, but none of them dared to interrupt.
“Well,” she murmured, letting her gaze linger on each of them. “I’ll answer you.”