Elara raised her hand. “As you can see, your sisters aren’t happy with what you did, Morgana? What are you going to do about it?”

Morgana sighed, “I purposely didn’t hold back information regarding the three chosen. It was just that those young men and woman, they weren’t ready. I wanted to protect them from people who were trying to kill them. I wanted them to be ready when I introduced them to the world.”

Elara squinted her eyes, understanding the meaning behind her words.

She continued, “And I brought Rena directly here. And I presume all of you had seen just how talented she was.”

That brought silence to the room.

Indeed, they had all witnessed it with their own eyes—she bore the mark of a five-star talent, a rarity their coven had not seen in many years. Now, the truth of her rapid ascent stood undeniable. Whispers turned to murmurs of awe, for none had expected such swift and staggering progress. What once seemed like quiet potential had blossomed into something formidable. The realization struck them all at once: she was no ordinary initiate. She was chosen after all.

She revealed information about the other two young men who had finished their training. Now the Illumariti Coven would be introducing them to the council, so the coven would get credit for it.

Elara was satisfied with the result.

The air in the round chamber of the mansion was thick with silence.

Shadows from the stained-glass windows painted patterns on the polished stone floor.

“It seems I can no longer hide them from the world,” Morgana said, her voice low and composed. “There are rumors already—whispers that I’ve found the three.”

A ripple passed through the chamber.

None spoke at first, but their expressions tightened.

Elara, seated across from Morgana, exhaled softly. “That is what happens when you hold truth too long beneath your tongue,” she said. Her tone was calm, not accusing—merely matter-of-fact.

Silence returned, heavier than before.

At length, Morgana straightened. “The Council now demands I bring them forward… with haste.”

Elara closed her eyes and sighed. “Then I suppose the High Mother is waiting.”

Morgana nodded once.

“She is.”

Her long robes brushed the floor like falling ink. “We should leave when the third one arrives.”

Elara said nothing.

She wasn’t angry that Morgana had withheld the truth.

In truth, she believed it had been the right decision.

Chosen—that word stirred unease in many, but not in her. Being chosen did not strip them of their humanity. They were still people, still vulnerable, still afraid. They deserved the chance to come into their positions with dignity—to embrace what they were meant to become and stand ready to face the world, not be thrown into it.

And Elara knew better than most how taxing that journey could be.

With a nod of farewell, Morgana swept from the chamber, her presence leaving behind a hush that lingered in the stone and flame.

Elara remained seated, watching the play of light shift across the floor.

Waiting.

The assembled sisters began to disperse, murmuring among themselves about this unexpected turn of events.

–

Morgana descended the spiraling stone stairways of the Mansion Hall, her cloak trailing behind like the tail of a passing storm. Her steps were measured and regal—yet beneath that grace moved urgency.

The time for concealment was past.

The Chosen were no longer secrets but omens walking the realm.

She found Rena waiting in the west courtyard, flanked by two others.

Taeryn stood tall at her side, his spear resting against his shoulder like an extension of his will. Though young, there was steel in his gaze and the quiet, steady poise of one marked by fate.

Darian stood near the archway, dark as shadow, silent as stone. His black armor bore no crest, only the dull sheen of old battle and darker vows. He was Morgana’s blade—her Black Knight, bound by oaths both sacred and secret. Wherever she walked, death walked near.

As Morgana approached, Rena stepped forward. Her white robes swayed in the breeze, her eyes sharp with restrained worry. Taeryn wasn’t aware of what’s happening with Baren, so he was also worried about his friend.

The three of them had already lost one; they didn’t want to lose another, so they kept in check, writing letters to each other. But for the past three weeks, Baren hadn’t written them any letters.

“Where is Baren?” she asked at once.

“When will he be here?”

Morgana met her gaze calmly. “Soon. He is not far now. He will be here within no time.”

Rena nodded, though the tension in her shoulders did not ease. “Then we wait.”

But Morgana was already looking past her, to all three of them.

“No,” she said.

“There will be no more waiting.”

The wind stirred around them, brushing through ivy-covered pillars and rustling leaves from the courtyard trees.

“It is time,” Morgana continued, voice firm, “for all of you to stand before the High Mother—the leader of the Council of Witch Covens.”

Darian shifted but said nothing.

Taeryn raised an eyebrow slightly but remained silent.

–

In the same city, far from this mansion, was located a fortress of the Ladraella Coven. The Witches of Ladraella are battle-driven and combat-ready women, and all their places are like garrisons and armories.

Inside the Fortress, most witches are in the training ground, but few are in the Blossom chambers.

The chamber was thick with the heady scent of incense, smoke curling lazily in the air as it wrapped itself around the room like a serpent. The glow of flickering candles cast long shadows on the stone walls, their light dancing across the bare skin of the two women who sat atop ornate thrones carved from dark mahogany. Their bodies were adorned in silks that clung to their curves, barely concealing the power they wielded over the four men kneeling before them.

The men were bound by leather collars, their heads bowed in submission, their bodies trembling with anticipation.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep