The swamp was one of the louder parts of the forest. The Kieran’s influence had not extended past the edges of the lake, where the rotting necrotic smell of the beast stopped. Beasts and critters chirped freely without worry. Looking back, I hadn’t seen any animals roam around the fog until now.

Parts of the hut seemed to merge with the tree, particularly in the areas where the walls were constructed from gnarled branches and warped roots that seemed to writhe and squirm in the dim light. Skulls, bones, and other macabre decorations adorned the entrance, likely enchanted to reveal incoming visitors to the lair’s master.

Of course, powerful magic lingered. Abjuration. Keeps the undead from entering the vicinity. Whoever lived here doesn’t like The Kieran either.

“One forest, two abominations… I wonder which is stronger.,” I muttered to myself.

I knocked on the door twice. The thud was louder than I expected. It echoed up the tree that loomed over the dark sky, branches shaking as crows fled between its leaves. They cawed as they circled the tree, eyes locked on the entrance in a slightly more menacing way than a guard dog.

My visit was expected. How clever, leading one of interest to their lair. Oh, it would be so easy to lay destruction had I still possessed my magic.

I knocked again. It opened by itself, creaking slowly as it revealed an interior mostly lit by glowing potions and alchemical ingredients of varying colors— mostly lime.

A pungent scent, a mix of decay, and something sickly sweet wafted out as I poked my head in. There was no point in stealth. It was watching.

Inside was adorned with an eclectic assortment of witchcraft trinkets and oddities— mostly stereotypical and generic hag herbalism and alchemy items. Animal parts, humanoid skulls, insects in jars, magic items, skin-wrapped tomes… All magical, of course. But as a wizard, I ought not to mess with dark magic. They not only corrupt your soul but your appearance as well. And I very much value the latter.

Just below the cluttered shelf of skulls were artifacts, lined up in a neat pile, and labeled with plaques too far out of my vision. They looked as if they didn’t belong, likely stolen from multiple owners. Each was imbued with different types of magic. Some were noticeably infernal, some were fae, some were draconic, but I couldn’t find anything else of interest.

I stepped into the doorway, feeling the roughness of the bear skin carpet, and examining the other sides. An assortment of strange mutated plants on the left, A cluttered bookshelf on the far end, and a set of stairs leading up to a more brightly lit room.

Just below my boots was a strange bump on the carpet’s surface.

I bet there’s a trapdoor in there.

There were traces of divine and fae magic too. Likely where the toad is hiding. I’ll get its ass later.

I made a mental note of every oddity that looked like they hid a compartment. Bookshelves that hid tunnels into the hollow branches, hinges behind the shelves that revealed drawers, illusory curtains that hid rooms, all kinds of magical contraptions, and contingency utilities that seemed redundant with how numerous they were.

Looking closer, I noticed a price tag on some of the goods behind a counter.

“3 follies a piece… Strange name for a currency.”

The labeled artifacts caught my eye as I moved closer. They were mostly accessories and weapons of no particular standouts with rusty iron plaques beside them, presenting names.

“Notes of Sir Brightdeath, Hairpin of Phara of Ravenlou, Coin of Kragstag the Broken, Ring of Fig Finewine…”

“And the dagger of Eliet of the Fogwoods.”

His dagger… Dull stone blade, loose leather, strong smell of iron and rust, chipped edges, and rosy scarlet tint all over its jagged curves... T-Traces… Traces of blood… Traces of blood.

Necrotic energy… Elf blood.

Faint but it exists. Magic similar to The Kieran’s… Too similar.

My heart began to race as I clenched my fist. Sweat started dripping down as I felt my head get hotter. There’s no way. He should have had enough time to escape when The Kieran was chasing us. He can use illusions. He just merely dropped this dagger somewhere… somewhere near!

I let go of the dagger as soon as I heard a gravelly old woman’s voice.

“Two lost souls enter my domain. One of them looking for something to gain. The other, trapped in chains.”

My spine shivered. I balled my fist, casting a cautious glare as I turned slowly.

There, stood a morbidly obese hunched, 7-foot-tall, large old woman in thin tattered clothing that barely hung over her sagging, wart-infested ochre skin. She had that stereotypical long hairy nose and shit-eating grin with sharp teeth that barely hung intact. Mushrooms root on her head in place of hair, the same color as her pale yellow eyes.

“Two souls?” I asked.

The hag cackled with a voice that seemed to overlap itself in numerous tones. She pointed at me with a crooked wooden staff. “That gem in your pocket— A fine work, dearie. Trinkets like that could fetch a price.”

“It’s not for sale…”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Of course not,” she growled, revealing claws as she moved in front of the door. “The Kieran care not to bargain with The Sisterhood.”

“I-I’m not with The Kieran.”

Her eyes gleamed with malice. “Yet you wander into my domain wearing that stench of…” She sniffed. “Undeath.”

“Undeath? From where? I’m certainly still alive.” I asked, trying to keep my cool.

“Don’t play fool with me, wizard. That gem reeks of cold mist and ashes.”

She could kill me right now… instantly. In fact, I was already on the verge of death. A spell took hold of my body. It froze my bones and weakened my muscles just enough to keep me from taking a step but still able to move my mouth.

Necromancy is one recognizable form of magic. Anyone with the slightest bit of aptitude can detect it. There’s no lying my way out of this one… however.

“Last time I checked, wendigos don’t trap people in gems. They don’t have a catalyst to wield magic. Care to sniff it again? See if it smells of bones and dried blood.”

The hag seemed taken aback undisturbed face. She tilted her head and asked, “Wendigos?”

“It’s what you would call The Kieran… where I’m from, at least. Strange creatures, this especially. Nocturnal, gluttonous, tons of mana but can’t cast spells, and of course… very obscure weaknesses.”

I can offer her information— something I can only do when alive. As a merchant, she can’t refuse such a deal.

She chuckled which soon turned into a cackle echoing laugh. "Perhaps I was too harsh," she wheezed between laughs. "An odd one, you are. For a moment, I thought The Kieran had finally found a way to reach me. But what can I say? All who enter my domain are compelled to have something to exchange."

The spell that froze my body slowly let go as I straightened my posture. “I seek no quarrel. My business is my own, and I intend no harm.”

“Then business we shall do, and no harm will be done.” She walked sat a counter. The wood creaked as she settled into it, her gaze still fixed on my pocket.

Bargaining with a hag can only lead to ruin, but both of us know this is the only way to save my skin. I’ll need luck to tip the scales in my favor if I ever want to come out uncursed.

“You seem like the sort to know how this goes so I’ll skip the pleasantries. What do you want? A potion for a loved one? An eye of power? Or charms of good fortune?”

“Information for information. Simple as that.”

She slouched down in slight disappointment. “Hmm… How unfun, but alright.”

“First, let’s establish that both of us are enemies of The Kieran. Your barriers are certainly impressive, but it’s not lasting any longer, isn’t it?”

“What’s your point?”

“I propose we work together. I know how The Kieran works, you don’t. Not only that, I could assist with magic items and barriers.”

“So you’re asking to… work for me?”

“Labor? No. Alliance? Perhaps. Help like this is an invaluable asset, especially when your spells are barely enough to keep this place safe. Or would you rather just let both of us die?”

She jerked for a moment, a strange stutter in her voice. The barrier surrounding the tree must be costing her a tremendous amount of mana to maintain. If I were her, I would take any help I can get.

Of course, half of my offers were bluffs.

I knew in my soul there was no room for a true alliance. These witches are cruel and sadistic. If you can’t beat them, you force them into a situation where you use them. The biggest risk was her realizing that she could just trap me in her dome and force me to spill.

Her repugnant stench was difficult to handle. Each breath felt like acid tearing through my lungs.

But I had to keep my cool… I had to…

“And what do you want in exchange?” she asked.

“Let’s start with three things; One, information about the bow your frog stole from me, Two, information about the owner of that dagger over there, and three, food and shelter… safe food and shelter.”

She wasn’t completely into the idea of it but the deal was a win for both parties. If it wasn’t for the Kieran problem, we wouldn’t be on the same side. The risk persisted, but thankfully, neither of us had any reason left to kill each other, not yet at least.

Well… as long as the help I give is worth the resources in keeping me alive at least.

She clarified that she had no knowledge of where her toad gets its trinkets from.

Her fae creature was a slave under a spell that compelled it to retrieve anything with a trace of magic. The plaques themselves were enchanted to display the origin of the item, thus Eliet’s name on the label. As a test, I placed my cloak on one of the pedestals. “Cloak of Valen, former Archmage of Esparia,” it wrote.

She was a merchant of sorts. Alas, due to her lair being surrounded by The Kieran’s hunting grounds, no customer has come since. Apparently, this forest was once a meeting place for numerous cults, most of which had a heavy emphasis on the appeal of the afterlife. One of these groups was the Sisterhood of Teval, led by three hags. Amadia, hag of hubris, Inatella, hag of Arrogance, and Navadia, hag of folly, the one I am staying with.

One day, for an unknown reason, a rival cult managed to summon a creature from another world that killed most of the clans in the forest, birthing The Kieran. It absorbed their souls and trapped the forest in a perpetual cage of magic, not allowing anyone out. Navadia’s lair was one of the view settlements left safe from The Kieran. Of course, I did not tell her about the village of elves I came from.

I gave partial information about The Kieran’s nature for each act of hospitality. It was like training a dog to do your bidding. One treat at a time…

We speculated over its possible origins.

I told her that a possible reason why there was always fog around The Kieran was because it was mimicking its original habitat. Otherworldly creatures cannot survive in atmospheres too different from theirs. Something like an open field with clear sunlight might be dangerous for The Kieran. Normally, for the undead, I would also suggest holy magic but I wasn’t too familiar with how this world’s magic system worked so I digressed.

Navadia initially wasn’t too pleased with the lack of immediately useful information, but I promised more information once I’d done a bit of research and pondering.

As compensation, I offered to help her analyze the magical properties and enchantments of some of her trinkets.

For someone who has been collecting so many, she doesn’t seem to be familiar with most of the magical energy left on the items.

“Say, what about my friends’ bow and dagger?” I asked as she lit up a fireplace.

“What about them?”

I looked at her expectantly, not saying a word.

She chuckled and said, “They don’t belong to you and I found them first. If you want them, buy them. But if you don’t have money, then there’s nothing to talk about.”

I stayed silent and sipped the purified water I got from one of her enchanted cups.

There was no point in fighting for it.

But they do belong to me. And I will get them.

“Just you wait,” I whispered to myself.

I was pretty sure she heard that. Thankfully, she’s not violent.

I laid on a boar-skin couch she was surprisingly kind enough to provide. The aches and pains became more apparent as my muscles relaxed. We were still cautious of each other’s presence, the only thing keeping the peace was the unwillingness to take action. As thanks to her unhostility, I showed courtesy by not touching much of her things.

This was foolish… all of it.

But I was incredibly lucky.

I survived…

It felt like only I did.

I rested for tomorrow. Tomorrow when the hunt for The Kieran starts. Tomorrow when I ponder more about the nature of this world. My curse. My kingdom. My sister…

There was too much to think about that I couldn’t think of one thing to focus on. My mind was muddled.

Eliet and the others lingered in my mind as I drifted to sleep.

A rough, heavy figure sat on top of me and licked my face.

“I’ll kill this fucking toad.”