The throne room was still as death as the King's words echoed in the air, his fiery gaze piercing through the silence. Every official in the chamber straightened immediately, their previous chatter and arguments completely forgotten. It wasn’t fear that silenced them—it was respect, tempered by the understanding that the King rarely spoke unless the matter was of the utmost importance.
King Ignir Ardenthal, the oldest of the Four Pillar Kings of Humanity, ruled the Southern Human Kingdom of Ardenthal with the weight of centuries upon his shoulders. Unlike the other three kings, who often held court and presided actively over their kingdoms, Ignir was known for his quiet detachment. It wasn’t because of frailty, for his strength was legendary even in his advanced years. Rather, it was said that he simply didn’t care for the endless politicking of his court, leaving the Supreme Commander and the Archmage to handle most affairs. Yet his authority was absolute—nothing of significance could be done without his approval, and when he spoke, his word was law.
Gale took in the sight of the King, his fiery eyes narrowing as he leaned forward on his throne. Internally, Gale couldn’t help but marvel at the presence of the man. King Ignir… the Southern Flame, oldest of the Four Pillars, protector of the Southern realm, and one of the strongest humans to walk the land. His loyalty to the Emperor is unquestioned, his reign eternal. And now, I’m under that burning gaze.
Ignir’s voice, calm but crackling with authority, broke the silence. “You’ve made a bold claim, Gale Livhunter. The Blood Witch is not a name to invoke lightly. You say she’s dead—her death would have sent ripples far and wide.”
Gale swallowed but stood firm. “I am certain, Your Majesty. Ninety-nine percent certain in fact.”
“Ninety-nine is not enough.” Ignir’s fiery eyes glinted. “If you cannot be more than ninety percent certain when you make such a claim, then you will pay for it with your life. So, I ask you one last time: how certain are you, Gale Livhunter?”
Gale’s heart pounded, but his confidence didn’t waver. “I am only ninety-nine percent sure for a small reason. Which I will share with Your Majesty.”
The officials stirred, their murmurs barely audible as they exchanged shocked glances. It was the Archmage who first broke the tension, stepping forward slightly. “If you’re that certain, Gale, then explain. If it truly was the Blood Witch, then how did you manage to kill her? That level of power shouldn’t have been something you could overcome.”
“That’s what I don’t understand,” Gale admitted, his voice steady. “Which is why I am not one hundred percent sure. All I know is that I confronted her, fought her, and when it was over… I was left holding this.”
He reached into his cloak with deliberate care, every official’s eyes glued to his movements. The air grew thick with anticipation as Gale retrieved a carefully wrapped bundle. Unfolding the cloth, he revealed the severed head of a woman. Her crimson-red hair cascaded like a silken curtain, framing a face of haunting beauty. Her dull red eyes, though lifeless, seemed to pierce into the soul of anyone who dared meet their gaze.
Gasps erupted throughout the throne room, officials recoiling in a mixture of awe and horror. Even the Archmage, a man steeped in the arcane and its mysteries, took a step back, his expression unreadable. The Supreme Commander’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the head, his fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to draw his sword.
King Ignir’s fiery gaze bore into the severed head, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room thickened until the weight of his next words threatened to crush them all.
“So, this is what remains of the Blood Witch?” he said, his voice low, yet it carried enough power to shake the air. “Explain, Gale Livhunter. Explain everything you can about how this came to be.”
The throne room was deathly silent as the severed head’s dull red eyes suddenly began to glow ominously. A chilling laugh echoed from the lifeless lips, sending shivers through everyone in the room. The officials froze in terror, and even the Supreme Commander and the Archmage fell to their knees, clutching their chests as if an invisible force pressed down on them. Only King Ignir remained unaffected, his fiery eyes narrowing as he rose from his throne, his towering presence commanding attention.
The head’s voice, rich and mocking, cut through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade. "Ah, Little Igni," she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “It’s been so long. You look well... though perhaps not as fiery as in your youth.”
Ignir’s jaw tightened, his anger barely restrained. “Blood Witch,” he said, his voice heavy with both respect and fury. “Why now? Why show yourself after all these centuries since the Dark Ages? What game are you playing?”
The head chuckled, the sound unsettling in its mirth. “Oh, no game. I’ve been quite content, you see. But some useless humans in your domain decided to disturb my peace. And so close to my son's birthday, no less. It put me in a very foul mood.”
The mention of a son caused Ignir to pause, his fiery gaze flickering. But before he could ask the question forming in his mind, the Blood Witch shifted the conversation with a wave of her ethereal voice.
"Ah, but let’s not dwell on the little things," she continued. "What’s far more amusing is how a divine artifact—one of those Twelve Crosses, no less—managed to reach me without my notice. Quite the little surprise.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The Archmage, still on his knees and struggling to breathe under her presence, gasped, “So it really is one of the Crosses?”
The Blood Witch’s smile widened, her glowing eyes flickering like embers. “Of course it is. I could notice any of those trinkets from a mile away. But to think it would be used by this... insignificant brat.” She sneered toward Gale, whose face flushed with indignation but who remained utterly powerless to respond. "Naturally, I couldn’t entrust someone so pitiful with my message. So, I decided to use him to deliver it myself. You should be proud, Little Igni”
Gale clenched his fists, anger boiling beneath his humiliation. Yet the oppressive force of her presence kept him rooted, unable to retaliate.
Ignir’s fiery gaze bore into the Blood Witch’s glowing eyes. “What message have you come to deliver, then? Why go to such lengths as to come with just your head?”
Her voice turned sharp, and authoritative, as she addressed the King directly. “Tell your Emperor this: the Witches have long grown tired of being hunted. We have decided to end this charade. War is coming, Little Igni—war against all the races of the myriad realms.”
The weight of her declaration sent shockwaves through the room. Officials exchanged terrified glances, unable to comprehend the magnitude of her words. The Archmage’s mouth opened as if to argue, but no sound came out under her overwhelming power.
“You have five years,” the Blood Witch said, her smile cold and cruel. “Five years to prepare before the Witches’ Coven steps fully into the material plane. Consider it... a courtesy.”
As if her declaration weren’t enough, the Blood Witch’s tone softened, her smile almost playful. “Oh, and one last thing, Little Igni. Be careful with your choices in the next ten years. Your future… and your Emperor’s… depends on it. Beware of the stars.”
Before anyone could react, Gale began choking violently. Blood gurgled in his throat as spikes of crimson erupted from within his body, piercing through his skin. He screamed in agony, his body convulsing as the spikes multiplied. The Blood Witch’s laughter filled the room once more as her head began to crack and glow brighter.
“Good luck, Little Igni,” she said with mock sweetness. And then the head exploded, sending a wave of crimson energy through the room. Gale’s lifeless, mutilated body crumpled to the ground as the officials shielded their faces from the blast.
When the energy faded, silence reigned once more. The King stood motionless, his fiery eyes staring at where the Blood Witch’s head had been, his expression grim.
The throne room was silent, save for the faint crackling of the sconces’ flames. King Ignir’s fiery eyes lingered on Gale’s mutilated body, regret flickering behind their glow. Gale Livhunter—a rare Etherion class of Witch Hunter and a soldier of remarkable promise—was gone. Such a loss, the King thought bitterly. His strength would have been invaluable for the war to come. With a weary sigh, he settled back into his throne, his ancient frame radiating exhaustion. His gaze swept over his officials, who were slowly recovering their composure after the Blood Witch’s devastating presence.
The Archmage was the first to break the oppressive silence. Rising unsteadily, he glanced at Gale’s lifeless form before turning his sharp eyes toward the King. “Your Majesty,” he began cautiously, his tone informal—a privilege granted only to him and the Supreme Commander. “Why? Why did you allow the Blood Witch to kill him? Surely you could have stopped her.”
The King’s fiery gaze shifted to the Archmage, his tone blunt. “You overestimate me, Archmage,” he said flatly. “Even in my prime, she could have killed ten of me without any difficulty. And even with just her head, I would not be able to do much.”
The Archmage froze, disbelief etched into his face. “Ten?” he whispered. “But—Your Majesty, you are—”
“Powerful?” the King interrupted, his voice heavy. “Yes. But even in my youth, I could never have bested her. Witches like her are different. Back then, only the Emperor himself could face her or the other two Calamity Witches and have a chance at victory. And even then, it was not guaranteed.”
The Supreme Commander, who had been observing quietly, spoke up, his deep voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Your Majesty, are you saying the Emperor himself might not be able to stand against her anymore?”
Ignir’s fiery eyes dimmed slightly, as though weighed down by the thought. “I do not know,” he admitted gravely. “The Emperor is powerful, but he is still bound by the limits of mortality. Witches, however, are not. They grow stronger with each passing year. What was once a narrow margin of advantage may no longer exist.”
This revelation sent a ripple of murmurs through the room, fear and unease spreading among the gathered officials. The Supreme Commander’s stoic expression tightened as the gravity of the situation sank in.
The Archmage’s voice broke through the rising tension, steady but tinged with trepidation. “Your Majesty,” he said carefully, “does this mean the Witches’ Coven is real? The stories have always been considered mere legend.”
Ignir nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “It is real. The Witches’ Coven was created by the First Witch herself. A sanctuary in an alternate plane of existence, accessible only to witches. It is their holy land, their stronghold. For centuries, they’ve hidden there, growing stronger, preparing for this very moment.”
Silence fell once more as the weight of his words settled over the room. The Archmage shivered, his mind racing with implications. The Supreme Commander clenched his fists, his thoughts on the preparations needed for what lay ahead.
Breaking the silence, Ignir’s voice rang out with renewed authority. “Commander,” he said firmly, “find someone capable to replace Gale Livhunter as the Third General. The war will not wait, and we cannot afford hesitation.”
The Supreme Commander nodded sharply. “It will be done, Your Majesty.”
“Archmage,” the King continued, turning his fiery gaze toward him, “prepare to contact the Empire’s capital. The Emperor must hear of this immediately.”
The Archmage bowed deeply. “As you command, Your Majesty.”
As the officials hurried to carry out their tasks, Ignir remained seated, his mind replaying the Blood Witch’s chilling words. Amid her threats and declarations, one detail unsettled him more than any other. Her son.
A son. The thought seemed almost absurd, yet she had spoken it with the same casual certainty as one might comment on the weather. It was troubling—deeply troubling.
Leaning forward, the King addressed the room one final time. His voice cut through the murmurs with a sharp, commanding edge. “Send someone to investigate the village Gale spoke of,” he ordered. “I want to know everything. No detail is too small.”
The throne room fell silent once more as Ignir sat back on his throne, his fiery gaze burning with grim determination. For the first time in several millenniums, the threat of witches loomed over Calyion, and this time, even the might of the Emperor himself might not be enough to shield humanity from the coming darkness.