Chapter 43: Dominant Witch

In the deep hours of the night, when the fire had burned down to glowing embers and the forest was filled with the soft sounds of sleeping people, Darian’s eyes suddenly opened.

His warrior instincts, sharpened by years of danger, had sensed something wrong.

He lay still for a moment, listening carefully to the sounds of the forest.

There—the snap of a twig, the soft whisper of cloth against leaves, footsteps trying to be quiet but not quite quiet enough.

Moving slowly so as not to wake the others, Darian rolled to his side and reached over to touch Morgana’s shoulder.

She woke instantly, her eyes alert and focused.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered, so softly that even Jaenor, sleeping nearby, couldn’t hear him.

Morgana listened for a moment, then her face grew pale. She could sense the people who were headed their way.

“I know who it is,” she said, her voice filled with dread.

Before Darian could ask what she meant, figures began to emerge from the shadows between the trees.

They moved like ghosts, making no sound as they surrounded the camp.

There were at least a dozen of them, all women, all wearing dark robes that seemed to swallow the starlight.

Two women stepped forward from the group, clearly the leaders.

Both appeared to be in their late thirties, with the kind of beauty that was sharp and dangerous, like a well-made blade.

The first woman had long black hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, and her eyes were the color of deep winter ice. She wore a silver pendant around her neck that caught what little light there was and threw it back like tiny stars.

The second woman was taller, with auburn hair braided with small bones and metal charms that clinked softly when she moved. Her eyes were green as forest shadows, and when she looked at someone, it felt like being studied by a hunting cat.

“Hello, Morgana,” the black-haired woman said, her voice smooth as silk but cold as mountain snow. “It’s been a long time.”

Morgana slowly stood up, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Elizabeth,” she said with a slight nod.

“Katerina.” She nodded to the auburn-haired woman.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

The other members of their group were waking now, sensing the tension in the air.

Jaenor sat up slowly, his hand instinctively moving toward the knife at his belt, and Rena, who was beside him, looked around at the women.

Taeryn and Baren were also stirring, their eyes wide with fear as they saw the circle of robed figures around their camp.

“The Coven of Ladrealla,” Morgana said quietly, her voice carrying just enough to reach her companions. “Everyone stay calm.”

Elizabeth smiled, but it was not a warm expression.

“Still giving orders, I see. Some things never change.” She looked around the camp with interest, her gaze lingering on each person. “And who are these traveling companions of yours?”

Morgana kept her voice steady. “Just refugees from the northern villages. The black fiend creatures have been attacking.”

“Refugees,” Katerina repeated, her green eyes moving from person to person like a predator choosing prey.

When her gaze fell on Jaenor, it stopped and stayed there. “How interesting.”

There was something in the way she looked at him that made Jaenor’s skin crawl. Her eyes seemed to see right through him, studying him like he was something she wanted to own.

Even though Morgana made it invisible for them to see, Jaenor was still doubtful if that worked.

“You know, Morgana, we heard an interesting thing on our way here,” Elizabeth said, stepping closer to the dying fire.

Morgana, staying on her guard, looked at Elizabeth and said, “And what is that?”

Coven of Ladrealla—they are a bunch of eccentric women who are very powerful, and not many would dare to go against them because of their ruthless killing techniques.

The word that spread around the empire was that they hated men and really loved to play with them as objects. Elizabeth had made it her personal mission to kill anyone who wielded The Origin power. She just revelled in having power over men.

Morgana wasn’t afraid of them, but she had to be careful now because of the children she had with her now.

Katerina was still staring at Jaenor. “That one,” she said, pointing at him with one long finger. “There’s something different about him. Something… mysterious.”

Morgana’s heart began to race, but she kept her face calm. “They are just children,” she said quickly.

“Young people with small talents, nothing more. The boy is just their servant.”

“A servant,” Katerina said, tilting her head like a bird studying a worm. “How curious that a servant would carry such… mysterious aura around him.”

Jaegar could feel their intense gaze on him, but he tried to compose himself, staying sharp, trying to suppress the red haze.

Elizabeth looked between Katerina and Jaenor, then back at Morgana.

“Sister Morgana, surely you’re not trying to hide something from your fellow sisters? That would be… against the codes.”

There were many of them, at least twelve coven witches against Morgana’s small group of refugees.

Morgana knew that fighting would be suicide, especially with innocent people to protect.

She had to try to settle this peacefully.

“There’s nothing to hide,” she said carefully.

“We’re just trying to get these people to safety.”

But Katerina was already moving closer to Jaenor, her green eyes gleaming with interest. “I think I’ll take this one,” she said casually, as if she were talking about picking an apple from a tree. “He’ll make a fine addition to our coven. We have… uses for young men like himself.”

Jaenor felt ice run through his veins. He remembered Morgana’s warning about coven witches and what they did to men who carried Origin power.

“No,” Morgana said firmly, stepping between Katerina and Jaenor. “He’s under my protection.”

Katerina’s smile grew wider, showing teeth that seemed too sharp. “Your protection? How touching. But you’re outnumbered here, sister. Surely you don’t mean to fight us over one little servant boy?”

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