I blinked, finding myself once again in the familiar dreamscape of Yaga Grandhilda’s hut. The old witch sat before me, her wrinkled face adorned with a smug grin that made me want to roll my eyes.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Look who decided to grace my humble abode with his presence. Did you have fun playing with pretty rocks, my darling witch-boy or did you meditate as I had advised you to?”

I bit back a retort, reminding myself that I had, in fact, made a significant breakthrough.

“Actually,” I began, trying to keep the pride from my voice, “I did both and managed to see something…”

Grandhilda raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. “Oh? Do tell. Did you perhaps catch a glimpse of your own cold breath in the air and mistake it for a spirit?”

I ignored her jab and pressed on.

“I was able to see... something in my blood. Tiny motes of light, moving with purpose. And in their wake, shadowy forms that seemed to exist in some other dimension.”

The witch’s smug grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. “You... what?”

“I watched them repair a cut on my finger,” I said. “Repeatedly.”

“You cut yourself on purpose?” Yaga’s voice suddenly grew serious.

“I did,” I nodded. “What? Is there something…”

“Foolish boy,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I felt a chill run down my spine. “I... I was just trying to see the spirits you talked about,” I stammered, suddenly feeling like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Yaga leaned forward, her gnarled fingers gripping the arms of her chair. “Blood magic is not something to be trifled with, Ioan. It is ancient, powerful, and incredibly dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” I blinked.

“How long did you stare at your own blood, exactly?” She asked.

I rubbed the back of my head, feeling a mix of pride and growing unease. “Uhh... at least half of the night. It was really interesting, honestly. I could barely fall asleep because I was trying to—”

“By Zemy’s roots!” Yaga exploded, her face contorting with a mixture of anger and concern. “You addlepated sapling! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I flinched at her outburst, my earlier confidence evaporating. “I... I was just trying to see—”

“See what? The inside of your own grave?” she spat. “Blood magic isn’t some trifling matter to be toyed with like a child’s rattle! It’s as dangerous as dancing with a starving bear outside of your domain!”

Her words sent a chill down my spine. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Yaga’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “You’ve opened a door and kept it open for a long time. A door that shouldn’t be opened without proper preparation and protection of wards and runes. Those spirits you saw? They saw you too and they can tell others about it."

“I don’t…” I began.

“Intent and desire is important in matters of blood magic,” she cut me off. “Simply bleeding is one thing, but cutting yourself in order to observe spirits is incredibly dangerous. What you’ve done is akin to shouting your name into the void of the Astral. Every entity that hungers for the essence of a witch will have heard your call.”

“Meaning what?” I swallowed.

Yaga’s expression softened slightly, though concern still etched deep lines in her face. “It means, my foolish apprentice, that the protection of your domain is now more crucial than ever. You must learn to conceal yourself sooner than later.”

I nodded, feeling a weight settle in my stomach. “How do I do that?”

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“First,” she said, her voice regaining some of its usual strength, “you must promise me that you will not experiment with blood magic again.”

“Right,” I nodded. “No looking at my own blood.”

“That’s a start. Now, listen carefully, for I will not repeat this,” she began, “blood of a witch is power, Ioan. It is life itself, and in the wrong hands, it can be a terrible weapon. Never, under any circumstances, should you willingly give your blood to another. Not a drop, not a smear, not even a hair with a speck of blood on it.”

“Do not write with your blood, do not mix it into potions, do not use it to water plants or feed animals. Do not spill it on shiny rocks hoping to make them more magical. Do not write with it on anything! Each of these acts can create a link between you and something else, a link that can be exploited, a link that attracts… Jotuns.”

“Jotuns?” I asked. “What is a Jotun?”

“A Jotun is an eldritch beast,” the witch said darkly. “They are monstrous creatures born from fallen heroes whose flesh warped into a mockery of great beasts which they had feasted upon throughout their life.”

She paused, her eyes distant.

“Jotuns often bear massive elk antlers atop their misshapen heads. Their hands are many and end in wicked black claws, harder than steel and sharp enough to slice through the toughest armor as if it were parchment. They are trapped between man, cursed spirit and beast, never able to find peace, possessing the cunning of a man with the instincts of a wolfhound. Few who face them in battle live to tell the tale. A witch that spills her blood will sooner or later encounter a Jotun and will inevitably be hunted down by these abominations... And when they're done with her, her near-dead body is dragged into the Void to be wielded by the Abyss itself, never knowing peace!"

“Are they as dangerous as dragons?” I gulped.

“Nay,” the Yaga shook her head. “Almost nothing can drive a dragon away from a feast, while a banner woven by a virgin maiden during her Zemy’s Band ritual will keep a cursed beast from entering her family’s home at night.”

I nodded.

So, Zemy’s Band was an artifact of sorts that opposed cursed creatures. I would have to locate one or more in the ruins and try to understand exactly how it functioned.

“Okay so…” I began.

“Let me guess,” Grandhilda rubbed her temple, interrupting me. “You went out of the glade and acquired a knife?”

I nodded.

“Don’t do that!” she ordered sternly. “Do not ever venture out of your domain! Do you have a death wish? Do you want a Jotun to eat you?”

“Not particularly,” I said.

“Then stay inside your glade!” the Yaga banged a fist on the arm of her chair, causing it to creak ominously. “A witch’s domain is her sanctuary! The moment you step outside, you’re vulnerable.”

“I understand,” I replied. “But what if I accidentally cut myself while inside my domain?”

“In all my seven hundred and twelve years of life have I never encountered a witch that cut herself accidentally in her own bloody domain!” Grandhilda barked. “A witch shouldn’t suffer cuts on her domain, unless she does it to herself!”

“So, what should I do now?” I asked. “How do I protect myself from these... Jotuns and other entities that might have heard my ‘call’?”

“You are far too inexperienced to weave runes,” the witch tapped her chair. “And you have no nearby living trees to weave them on. Your only option now is to hide in your glade until danger passes.”

“How?” I asked.

“Hug the ground and wish to be unseen. You’ll sink into the verdant earth, and nobody will be able to find you,” the Yaga explained. “Mother Zemliya will protect you even against a Jotun’s claws.”

“What?” I sputtered. “I’ll be able to breathe... underground?”

“You’ll breathe and sense if someone is near,” she confirmed. “Your glade is the source of your power, unless you’ve already forgotten everything I’ve taught you.”

She eyed me wearily.

“Right,” I said, momentarily pondering whether I had made a miscalculation by digging up my domain. Sinking into the earth sounded like pulling a reverse Jesus, the opposite of walking on water.

“Won’t the circle of fresh plants look like an obvious target in winter?” I asked, refusing to confess that I had relocated my entire glade into a pub like some sort of a raging alcoholic.

“Many odd things happen in the forests,” Grandhilda shrugged. “Mortals and clever beasts will likely think it’s a fairy circle and simply avoid stepping on it. Fairies can pull a mortal or a hero right out of existence if one steps onto their circle.”

“And I can... what, drown someone in my earth?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Grandhilda nodded. "You can absolutely drown a Jotun in your domain."

“How does that even work?” I asked.

“Learn to master your domain,” she said, leaving the details vague. “Learn to see its spirits and command them to obey you!"

“How?” I asked.

“That I cannot teach you,” she yawned. “It is simply a natural process, one that every witch reaches… herself. If you were able to see the spirits of your blood, then you should be able to see spirits of the land too and commune with them.”

The Yaga let out a weary sigh, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Alas, I grow tired, young Ioan. Remember what I’ve told you, and for the love of all that is sacred, don’t do anything else stupid!”

Before I could ask any more questions about what was a stupid thing to do, she clapped her hands together. The dream shattered like a broken mirror, and I found myself jolted back to consciousness.