Back in Lucius's bedroom,
Lucius’s eyes fluttered open, his chest rising and falling with slow, relaxed breaths. He sat up in his bed, rubbing at his face groggily. Something wasn’t right—he could feel it.
The urge to pee tugged at him, and he slipped out of bed quietly. The cool floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he walked toward the living room. The silence in the house was heavier than usual, pressing against his small frame like an invisible weight.
As he moved, an odd sensation crawled over him. It wasn’t fear—but a strange unease. He paused in front of his mother’s door. It was slightly ajar, and beyond it, the room was still and dark.
Lucius hesitated, biting his lip. “Mom?” he whispered.
Pushing the door open gently, he peeked inside. Her bed was neatly made, and her shawl, usually draped over the back of the chair by the window, wasn’t there—so was she.
A cold knot formed in his stomach. He took a step back, heart pounding faster. “Mom?” he called again, louder this time.
Then, cutting through the still night air, came the sound—a scream.
It was faint and distant, but the raw terror in the voice chilled him to his core. It ended abruptly, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
Lucius froze, his breath catching in his throat. Every instinct told him to stay inside, to hide, but his legs moved on their own, carrying him toward the front door.
The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open, and the chill of the night air wrapped around him. He stepped outside, the grass cool under his feet.
The moon hung in the sky above, its silver light painting the hill and its surroundings in muted tones. The crimson hue that had once stained the landscape was gone, leaving only the pale glow of a quiet night.
Lucius took a hesitant step forward, his eyes scanning the hill. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the figure standing near the edge of the slope.
The person was cloaked, their hood obscuring their face. The silver gauntlets on their hands gleamed faintly in the moonlight—but they weren’t clean.
Lucius’s breath hitched. The gauntlets were smeared with blood, and from one of them dangled something horrifying.
His mother’s head.
Her blood-red hair, tangled and matted, swayed gently in the night breeze. Her face, once so kind and filled with warmth, now bore a haunting stillness. Her bright red eyes, now lifeless, stared blankly ahead.
Lucius’s knees buckled, and he stumbled back, his heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out everything else. The sight burned into his mind, and his chest tightened with a sharp, unbearable pain.
The figure shifted slightly as if sensing his presence, but they didn’t turn toward him. Their posture was calm, unnervingly so, as though what they held was no more than a mundane object.
Lucius opened his mouth, but no sound came. His vision blurred as tears welled up, and his legs refused to move.
And then the world around him seemed to tilt, the weight of the moment crushing down on him.
The night closed in, and everything went silent for him.
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The Witch Hunter stood motionless on the hill, his thoughts a chaotic storm. The moonlight illuminated the carnage around him—the still bodies of the unlucky villagers who had been too close, the trembling survivors who cowered on the ground, and the eerie silence that followed the horrifying display.
In his gauntleted hand, he held the severed head of the woman the villagers had called a witch. Her crimson hair was streaked with blood, and her once fiery red eyes were now vacant. He stared at the head, his grip tightening.
What have I gotten myself into?
The thought echoed in his mind as he let out a shaky breath. This had gone far beyond what he had expected. The "witch" had been no ordinary woman—her power, her knowledge of his artifact, and the sheer terror she had unleashed without even lifting a finger had proven that much. Yet, why had she allowed herself to die in the end?
Unable to reconcile his questions with the scene before him, he knelt and carefully placed the head into the depths of his cloak, where it vanished as if into another dimension.
His eyes fell to the golden cross on the ground, its faint glow now extinguished. He picked it up, studying the intricate patterns etched into its surface, as though the artifact itself might offer some answers. But it was silent, as always.
Shaking his head, he slipped the cross into his cloak alongside the head. Both disappeared without a trace.
He straightened and turned his gaze to the huddled villagers scattered across the hill. They were trembling, many seated on the ground with their faces pale and eyes wide. Fear and confusion painted their expressions—they didn’t understand what had happened, nor the scale of the power they had unknowingly provoked.
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The Witch Hunter approached the mayor, whose face was a mask of shock and disbelief.
“I’m leaving,” the Witch Hunter declared, his voice cold and final.
The mayor opened his mouth to protest, but before he could form a single word, the cloaked man fixed him with a steely glare.
“Don’t,” the Witch Hunter said sharply, the single word laced with an unspoken threat.
The mayor snapped his mouth shut, his lips trembling. He could only watch as the Witch Hunter began descending the hill, his cloak billowing slightly in the cool night breeze.
One of the villagers, clutching a pitchfork in trembling hands, dared to speak. “W-where is he going?”
The mayor turned to them, his face quickly shifting from shock to forced composure. “He… he has other duties to attend to. The Witch Hunter’s job is done here.”
The villager hesitated, their fear giving way to confusion. “But what about—”
A muffled sob cut through the conversation, drawing all eyes to the front of the cottage.
Lucius stood there, his small figure illuminated by the moonlight. His tear-streaked face was pale, his blood-red hair disheveled as he took slow, trembling steps forward. His gaze was fixed on the headless body of his mother, crumpled on the ground like a discarded doll.
“No… no…” Lucius’s voice was a broken whisper, his words barely audible over the sound of his own choking sobs.
He fell to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as they reached out to touch her still form. “Mom… wake up…”
The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, guilt and fear mingling in their expressions, but none dared to approach.
“Bring back her head… please… someone…” Lucius begged, his voice rising with desperation. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched at her dress, shaking her as though that might stir her awake. “Mom, wake up! Please!”
The mayor turned away, unable to meet the boy’s grief-stricken eyes. The rest of the villagers remained frozen, the enormity of what had just occurred weighing heavily on them.
Lucius’s cries echoed into the night, carrying a raw pain that seemed to pierce the very air.
And from the shadows at the base of the hill, the Witch Hunter paused in his steps. He did not turn around, but his hands clenched at his sides as Lucius’s voice followed him down into the darkness.
Lucius clutched his mother’s lifeless body, his small frame trembling as his sobs filled the night air. He buried his face in her bloodstained dress, unable to process the unbearable loss. The moonlight illuminated the gruesome scene, casting long shadows over the villagers who stood frozen, uncertain of what to do.
“Who… who’s the boy?” a villager finally asked, their voice trembling with both curiosity and fear.
The murmurs started slowly, spreading like ripples in a pond. Whispers turned into low conversations, each villager exchanging uneasy glances. They had never seen a child at the cottage on the hill before.
The mayor’s brow furrowed as he studied Lucius closely. The boy’s blood-red hair gleamed in the pale light, a striking match to the slain woman’s fiery locks. His desperate cries of “Mom!” only confirmed what the mayor had begun to suspect.
“It’s her son,” the mayor declared, his voice cutting through the growing chatter.
The villagers fell silent, their eyes snapping to the boy.
“What?” one of them gasped.
“He must be,” the mayor said, pointing an accusatory finger at Lucius. “Look at him! The same cursed red hair, the same unnatural appearance. And the way he’s crying out for her… that was no servant or apprentice. That was her child!”
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd.
“But—we've never seen her with a child. Why wouldn't she show her son?” a woman said hesitantly.
“Of course she wouldn’t you idiot!” the mayor snapped. “She kept him hidden from us, just as she hid her true nature until tonight. And now we know why.”
The villagers exchanged frightened glances. The idea of a woman as powerful as her having a child—and one who shared her blood—filled them with dread.
“What if he’s like her?” someone whispered.
Another voice chimed in, louder, “What if he has her witch magic?”
The mayor seized the opportunity, his voice rising with fervor. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Do you think she bore an ordinary child? No! He’s tainted by her evil—her magic flows in his veins. Do you really think he’ll let this go? He’ll come for us, just like his mother did!”
“No, wait!” an older villager protested, stepping forward shakily. “There’s no such thing as a male witch! That’s nonsense!”
The mayor turned on him with a furious glare, raising his hand. The crack of the slap echoed in the air, silencing the man as he stumbled and fell to the ground.
“Fool!” the mayor shouted, his voice trembling with anger and fear. “Look at him! His blood-red hair, his black eyes—those are the marks of witchery! Of evil! Are you so blind that you’d risk the lives of everyone here for the sake of your doubts?”
The villagers recoiled, their terror building.
Lucius, however, heard none of it. Their voices were a distant hum, drowned out by his grief. He clung to his mother’s body, shaking her gently as though she might wake up if he just tried hard enough.
“Mom… please… wake up…” he whispered, his voice raw and broken. “I don’t know what to do… please…”
The villagers stared at the boy, a mixture of pity and fear battling in their expressions. But the mayor’s words hung heavy in the air, stoking the flames of paranoia in their hearts.
“Look at him,” the mayor pressed, his voice low but commanding. “We’ve dealt with one witch tonight. Do you really want to wait until he grows into his power and comes for us all?”
The villagers murmured among themselves, their fear threatening to outweigh their humanity. All the while, Lucius remained on the ground, his tears soaking into his mother’s dress, oblivious to the judgmental eyes now turning toward him.
The murmurs among the villagers grew louder, their fear boiling into a tangible tension. Some glanced away, unable to watch the grieving boy any longer, while others stared with a mix of dread and apprehension. The mayor, however, had made up his mind.
Steeling himself, he began to walk toward Lucius, his steps deliberate and heavy. The villagers watched in uneasy silence, some instinctively stepping back as though to distance themselves from what was about to happen.
Lucius didn’t notice the mayor’s approach at first, his attention consumed by his mother’s lifeless form. He rocked slightly, his small hands clutching her dress as though that might bring her back.
But then, a shadow fell over him.
Lucius slowly looked up, his tear-streaked face full of desperation and raw grief. His black eyes, glistening with tears, locked onto the mayor’s face.
“Please…” Lucius’s voice cracked, trembling with the weight of his anguish. “Help… please… bring her back…”
The mayor stared down at the boy, his face hard and unyielding. His lips curled into a sneer, and his eyes glinted with cruel resolve.
Lucius’s gaze flickered, his hysterical pleas faltering as he caught the expression on the man’s face. Confusion and a spark of fear flashed in his eyes.
Before he could say anything else, the mayor raised his hand and struck him with the back of his fist.
The blow was merciless, the sound of it cutting through the tense night air like a whip. Lucius’s small body crumpled to the ground, his head striking the dirt with a dull thud. The boy’s vision blurred, his world spinning as darkness began to overtake him.
The last thing he saw was his mother’s body lying beside him, and the faint glimmer of blood on the mayor’s hand as everything faded to black.