The villagers dispersed with high hopes, their earlier fears replaced by a sense of purpose and excitement—groups clustered together, talking in hushed but animated tones about the coming witch hunt.
"Imagine that," one man said to his neighbor, his voice barely concealing his glee. "An Ascendant in our village. A Witch Hunter, no less! This is fate smiling on us."
"Aye," the neighbor replied, clutching a rusted pitchfork as though it were a prized weapon. "We'll finally be free of her curse. No more sickness, no more lost livestock. Just peace, like it used to be."
A few older villagers, less certain of the accusations, trailed behind the eager groups, their whispered doubts drowned out by the growing fervor.
At the edge of the square, the mayor walked briskly toward the Ascendant, who stood with arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dispersing crowd. His silver gauntlets glinted faintly under the sunlight, but his expression was far from impressed.
“You’ve stirred them up well,” the Ascendant said, his tone as sharp as the blade at his hip. “But I need to know—how certain are you about this ‘witch’?”
The mayor stopped, turning to face the Ascendant with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Certain enough. She’s an anomaly, and anomalies breed danger. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”
The Ascendant’s dark brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I am no lowly grunt to wield my blade without cause. If you’re playing me, mayor—”
The mayor cut him off smoothly, his voice taking on a placating tone. “Come now, Ascendant. Need I remind you of your situation? You came to me, asking for my assistance to remain out of sight while you carry out your mission. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain, haven’t I?”
The Ascendant said nothing, his jaw tightening as the mayor leaned in slightly. “This isn’t about personal vendettas. It’s about protecting our people. Isn’t that why you took up the mantle of an Ascendant in the first place?”
For a long moment, the Ascendant held his gaze, his internal conflict plain on his face. Then, exhaling sharply, he stepped back. “Fine. But I’ll not be a party to a baseless massacre. If this woman turns out to be innocent—”
“She’s not,” the mayor interrupted again, his voice cool and confident. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. Good night, Ascendant.”
Without waiting for a reply, the mayor turned and strode away, a smirk playing on his lips. Foolish soldier, he thought. It doesn’t matter what you believe. That woman’s days are numbered.
As he walked, his thoughts darkened, the smirk giving way to a sneer. Living on that hill, acting as though she’s above us all. No more. Tonight, you’ll get what you deserve, Witch.
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Night fell over the village like a shroud.
In the modest cottage on the hill, Lucius sat on a wooden stool as his mom adjusted the hem of his nightshirt. Her deft hands moved with practiced ease, but her crimson eyes were soft, and her lips curved in a gentle smile.
“There,” she said, brushing back a stray lock of his blood-red hair. “All set for bed. My little man is growing so fast. Eleven already... and tomorrow, twelve.”
Lucius grinned, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of melancholy. “Thanks, Mom.”
She kissed the top of his head before sitting back on her heels, studying him for a moment. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” she observed. “Is something on your mind?”
Lucius hesitated, looking down at his bare feet. “Just... thinking about Dad,” he admitted softly. “I wish he could be here.”
His mom’s expression softened further, and she pulled him into a warm embrace. “I do too, love,” she whispered. “Every single day.”
For a moment, the only sound in the cottage was the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Then Lucius pulled back, offering her a small, brave smile. “I’ll be okay, though. I have you.”
She returned his smile, ruffling his hair gently. “And you’ll always have me,” she said.
As she rose to her feet, the faint sound of movement outside caught her ear, her smile fading slightly. She glanced toward the window, her sharp eyes narrowing as she listened.
“What is it?” Lucius asked, noticing her sudden stillness.
“Probably nothing,” she said after a pause, her tone light but guarded. “Wish to the stars before bed, alright?”
Lucius nodded, watching her as she stepped toward the window, her movements graceful but deliberate. She peered outside briefly before drawing the curtains closed.
The unease lingered in her chest, but she shook it off, returning to Lucius with a smile. “Sweet dreams, my love,” she said, kissing his forehead one last time.
“Goodnight, Mom,” Lucius murmured, curling up under his blanket.
Outside, the hill was quiet, save for the rustling of the wind through the trees.
Lucius's mother tightened her shawl around her shoulders, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she stepped out onto the wooden porch. The soft glow of moonlight bathed the grassy hill in silver, but her sharp gaze quickly caught the flickering orange of torchlight below.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she saw the mob climbing the hill—dozens of villagers armed with pitchforks, sickles, and whatever crude weapons they could find. The glow of their torches danced across their faces, revealing expressions twisted with fear and anger.
She raised an eyebrow, more annoyed than alarmed. Her hands rested casually at her sides as her gaze swept over the crowd. They were nothing more than scared sheep. Typical.
Then her eyes locked onto a cloaked figure at the front of the mob. The man’s silver gauntlets reflected the torchlight, glinting like sharp teeth in the night. Beside him marched the mayor, his face alight with purpose and malice.
A sigh escaped her lips, the weight of realization settling over her. “A Witch Hunter,” she murmured, her voice laced with annoyance.
----------------------------------------
The villagers climbed the hill in uneven clusters, their chants growing louder as they approached.
“Burn the witch!” one man roared, raising his pitchfork.
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“Protect the village!” cried another, trying to convince himself as much as the others.
The mayor, marching at the front, barked commands to keep their morale high, while the older villagers lagged behind, their faces pale and uncertain.
The Ascendant moved silently among them, his gauntleted hands tucked under his cloak. His gaze flickered between the villagers and the house on the hill, the weight of his task pressing heavily on him.
As the house came into view, the mob’s chant faltered, their steps slowing.
There, standing on the porch, was Lucius’s mother. Her blood-red hair billowed slightly in the cool night breeze, her eyes glinting like embers in the darkness. She didn’t move, but the way she stood—calm, confident, and unyielding—sent a ripple of unease through the crowd.
“She’s watching us,” a young woman whispered, clutching her torch tighter.
“She looks like a demon,” another muttered, his voice trembling.
The villagers’ grip on their weapons tightened as their belief in the mayor’s words solidified. Surely only a witch could look so fearsome in the dead of night.
Her voice rang out, cold and sharp. “Why do you approach my home armed like invaders?”
The crowd shifted uneasily, their courage waning under her piercing gaze. But the mayor stepped forward, raising his voice to mask his own fear. “We’ve come to rid this village of evil! You’ve bewitched us for too long, Witch!”
Her eyes narrowed. “A witch, you say? And what proof do you have of such a ridiculous claim?”
The mayor puffed out his chest, his confidence growing as he gestured toward the crowd. “Proof enough! Since the day you arrived, misfortune has plagued our village—sick livestock, failed harvests, and unexplained deaths. You live alone, far from us, never needing to trade or beg for supplies. And that hair of yours—” he pointed accusingly, “—it’s unnatural! Red as blood, just like a witch’s!”
Lucius’s mother exhaled slowly, her patience wearing thin. “You’re either fools or cowards to believe in such drivel,” she said, her voice cutting through the crowd’s murmurs. “I am no witch. Leave now, and perhaps I’ll forgive this insult.”
Her words only fanned the flames of their anger.
“We won’t let a witch live near our children!” the mayor shouted, his voice rising above the crowd’s renewed cries. “If you’re so innocent, prove it! Come with us, and let the Ascendant judge you!”
Her eyes flickered toward the cloaked figure, his silver gauntlets now visible as he stood silently beside the mayor.
The mayor’s voice took on a venomous edge. “Or are you afraid, Witch?”
She stared at him, her mind briefly flashing to a memory of five years ago. The same man, drunken and lecherous, had cornered her on the outskirts of the village. She had beaten him back with a stick, leaving him limping and humiliated. Now, his gaze was filled with vindictive satisfaction.
Her lips curled into a faint smirk as understanding dawned.
The Ascendant met her gaze for the first time, his expression unreadable beneath his hood. She saw his hesitation and spoke, her tone sharp. “If I were a witch, what would stop me from killing all of you where you stand?”
The villagers recoiled, murmuring in fear, but the mayor didn’t flinch. “Enough talk! Ascendant, do your duty!”
The Ascendant’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t expose the truth of his mission, nor could he allow this farce to drag on. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out a cross-shaped golden ornament.
“This,” he declared, holding it high for the villagers to see, “is a sacred artifact used to identify witches. It will reveal the truth.”
The crowd murmured in awe, their fear momentarily giving way to reverence.
The Ascendant stepped forward, holding the artifact toward Lucius’s mother. I’ll let it point at her for now, he thought after it refused to react, that should clear their useless delusions.
But before he could realize it, the artifact began to glow.
A deep, bright red light pulsed from the cross, casting an eerie crimson hue over the scene. The villagers gasped, some falling to their knees in terror.
The Ascendant’s heart skipped a beat. Impossible... I didn’t channel anything into it.
Lucius’s mother stared at the glowing cross, her expression unreadable, though a flicker of confusion crossed her features.
The mayor’s voice rang out triumphantly. “There! Proof! She’s a witch!”
The villagers erupted into cheers and cries, their earlier fear replaced with righteous fury.
The Ascendant, however, stood frozen, staring at the artifact in disbelief.
What in the world is happening?
The Ascendant stared at the glowing artifact, his mind reeling. Did I accidentally pour Ether into it? That shouldn’t be possible—I was careful. But if not me… then how?
His grip on the cross tightened, his brow furrowing as doubts gnawed at him. The crimson light reflected in his eyes, illuminating the growing panic on his face. He could feel the weight of the villagers’ expectant gazes, their cries of vindication ringing in his ears.
Then, cutting through the noise like a blade, came a soft, tired sigh.
The Ascendant’s gaze snapped up to meet Lucius’s mother, who stood unbothered, her crimson hair swaying gently in the night breeze. “So that’s what this is,” she murmured, her tone calm but laced with irritation. “One of the Twelve Crosses of Blessed Under Heaven.”
The words hit the Ascendant like a thunderclap. His breath caught, and his eyes widened.
“What… what did you just say?” he stammered, barely managing to keep his voice steady.
Her gaze sharpened, and her lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. “You heard me,” she said, her voice carrying an eerie confidence. “That artifact you’re holding—only one of the Twelve Crosses could pierce the veils of my spells. How fortunate for you.”
The Ascendant’s grip faltered, the artifact trembling slightly in his hand. The Twelve Crosses? he thought, his heart racing. Impossible. Those relics are treasures of the highest order, kept under guard by the greatest of the Ascendants. How could I have one…?
She didn’t give him time to answer. “For years, I’ve kept my peace,” she continued, her voice low and measured. “I’ve tolerated the stares, the whispers, the foolish rumors. And now, to be confronted by a random Witch Hunter wielding a High Artifact…” She sighed again, this time more to herself than anyone else. “What unfortunate luck.”
The mayor, emboldened by the crowd’s fervor, stepped forward. “You’ve been exposed, Witch! There’s no escape for you now. Submit to judgment or face the consequences!”
But Lucius’s mother wasn’t looking at him. Her piercing red eyes were locked onto the Ascendant, her gaze boring into him like a predator sizing up its prey. The weight of it made his knees feel weak, fear creeping into his chest.
“None of you,” she said softly, her voice now a low growl, “are allowed to leave here alive.”
The crowd stilled, the murmurs and cries falling to an uneasy silence.
The Ascendant froze, unable to tear his eyes away from her. “What… what are you saying?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
She didn’t answer. Instead, her lips moved as if forming a silent prayer, though the intent in her eyes was anything but holy. The wind picked up, carrying with it a faint hum that seemed to vibrate through the air.
“Lunae Sanguis,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible yet echoing in their minds like a distant bell.
The change was immediate.
Above them, the pale moon shifted, its silver light darkening until it was bathed in an ominous crimson glow. The blood-red hue spilled across the sky, painting the hill and its surroundings in shades of dread.
The villagers gasped, their torches flickering wildly as a chill swept through the air. Several dropped their weapons, clutching at their chests as their hearts seemed to seize.
The Ascendant’s eyes darted to the villagers, then back to the woman standing on the porch. He clutched the cross tightly, his mind screaming for him to act, but his body refused to move. He could feel it too—that oppressive, suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.
The villagers began to cry out, some collapsing to their knees as the fear became unbearable. “What is this?” one of them wailed, his voice shaking. “What’s happening?”
Lucius’s mother stood motionless, the eerie red light framing her figure like a portrait of wrath. Her eyes gleamed with a terrible intensity, and her voice, though soft, carried over the panicked crowd.
“You brought this upon yourselves,” she said. “Now, I must get rid of anyone who can endanger me and my child.”
The Ascendant’s grip on the cross tightened until his knuckles turned white. I have to act… I have to stop this! But as he gathered his strength, the crimson light seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on him like an unyielding force.
“Stop her!” the mayor shouted, though his voice cracked with fear. “Ascendant, do your duty! Kill her now!”
But the Ascendant couldn’t move. His breath came in short gasps, his mind clouded by a single, horrifying realization. This power… this isn’t just magic. This is something else entirely.
Lucius’s mother raised a hand, her fingers curling slightly as if gripping the very air. The blood-red moon pulsed in response, and the cries of the villagers grew louder as they struggled against the unseen force constricting their hearts.
For the first time in his years of Witch-hunting, the Ascendant felt genuine fear. What… what kind of being am I facing?