Chapter 104: There Is A Witch In The Capital!

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A man stepped out from the deep, cool shadows of a mountain cave, blinking slightly as the blinding morning sunlight hit his skin. His dark hair was pulled back and neatly plaited into tight rows. In his right hand, dripping with fresh, dark gore, was a freshly plucked human eye.

He held it out, a jagged grin spreading across his face. "Here you go, dear sister."

A few paces away, sitting on a flat stone, a woman with similar dark hair and heavy silver bangles shook her head. She looked at the blood dripping onto the dirt, her voice carrying a thick, heavy accent. "Was such brutality necessary, brother? You have everyone in the entire camp—soon to be the entire capital—looking for us now."

The man threw his head back and laughed, a loud, booming sound that echoed off the canyon walls. "I had no idea those boys were so weak."

The woman sighed, reaching out to take the dripping eyeball from his fingers. She held it up toward the sky, squinting through the sunlight to examine it closer. "Of course they would be weak," she said, her tone dripping with quiet disdain. "They are princes who have known nothing but luxury all their lives. Everything they touch is handed to them by a snap of their fingers and laid right at their feet. Of course they are unskilled."

Her brother chuckled again, shaking his head as he leaned against the rock face. "No, sister... it is not just that they are unskilled. They are skilled enough in their own little circles. It is simply that everyone around them is mediocre. This whole capital is mediocre. All these nobles, all these packs... they have all grown far too comfortable with the idea of mediocrity."

In a sudden, sweeping motion, the man twirled around, his arms thrown wide as laughter bubbled from his throat. "We will take the southern territory! We will take the southern packs!" he declared, his eyes flashing with manic ambition.

The woman looked up at him, a flicker of caution crossing her sharp features. "Now? Are you sure you do not wish to wait?"

"No," he snapped, his smile turning deadly. "I once feared that they might be strong, that they would present us with fierce opponents and halt us in our goals. But they are nothing. We will take the southern territories by dawn. And that will be our seat as we bring this entire world to our feet!"

The man laughed, the sound echoing wildly across the ridge.

The woman watched him, unable to help the sudden swell of fierce pride in her chest. After all, it had been her who had raised him from a young age after their parents were brutally murdered. It was her who had nurtured him, fed him, and filled his head with the grand, intoxicating dream of being a true king. It was her hands that had sculpted him into the rogue king he was today.

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High above the sprawling stone courtyards of the royal palace, inside a towering stone turret overlooking the expansive gardens, Omen sat quietly by the tall, arched window.

She stared out at the morning mist, her fingers resting on the sill, then suddenly, she stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

Without a second thought, she sprang from her seat, rushing toward the heavy wooden door of her chamber.

"Open the door," Omen demanded, her green eyes flashing with frantic urgency. "There is something vital I must tell the king!"

The guard crossed his arms on the other side refusing to budge an inch. "Omen, you are not permitted to be out of your quarters at this hour. Please, just tell me the message, and I will convey it to the king myself."

Omen’s expression hardened. She was a woman of sharp intellect, possessing striking brown hair and bright green eyes—,a shade of green so intensely vivid it was unsettlingly similar to the eyes of the mysterious woman out in the forest.

"No," Omen insisted, her voice rising. "I must tell the king now. I must speak to him directly, face to face."

The guard let out a dry, condescending scoff. "Oh, please, witch—"

"Not now," Omen hissed.

"No, I cannot let you go," the guard barked.

Omen stared at the door, her expression shifting into one of grim apology. "Oh... forgive me."

The guard frowned, thrown off balance. "What?"

Omen darted backward into her chamber. The room was a sanctuary of knowledge, filled to the brim with rows of dried medicinal herbs, glass vials, and strange divining instruments. She scrambled frantically across the floor, sweeping her hands over tables until her fingers closed around a specific, dark green leaf.

Clutching the leaf tightly, she began tearing it to shreds between her palms, her voice rising into a swift, resonant chant. Her lips moved through an ancient incantation, the foreign words echoing off the stone walls:

"Ominis viis... qui in semita mea est... dormiat iterum, nec cadat ultra."

For whom it may, the one in my path, may he sleep once more, fall no more.

The moment the final syllable left her lips, a heavy, dull thud echoed just outside her door.

The guard standing in the hallway crumpled instantly, his body crashing hard against the stone floor as sleep claimed him.

Inside the corridor, the second guard standing a few yards away whipped his head around at the noise. He stared at his fallen comrade in sheer disbelief, rushing forward to throw open Omen’s door.

"What?!" he yelled into the empty room. "What have you done, witch?!"

He swept his gaze across the chamber, but it was empty. By the time he spun back around in panic, the heavy wooden door behind him was already swinging shut.

From the other side of the latch, Omen’s voice came through, muffled but firm: "I am so sorry... but the king must know."

Click.

She threw the deadbolt, locking him in. Without wasting a single second, Omen turned and sprinted down the spiral stone stairs of the tower, her boots clattering against the steps as she raced through the sprawling corridors of the palace. She already knew where the the king was.

She reached the massive, ornate oak doors of the King’s private chambers. To her surprise, the heavy doors were already cracked slightly open, and a heated, chaotic discussion was raging inside.

"Your Majesty!" a panicked voice shouted from within. "The princes have been injured! A raven has just arrived from the grounds, the princes have been attacked! And they are saying Malric will not make it!"

"What?!" a collective gasp erupted from the room.

Omen didn’t wait to be announced. She slammed her hands against the heavy oak doors, pushing them wide open and marching straight into the chamber.

Inside the grand chamber sat not just the main King, but the Queen and all the other kings of the realm.

A Queen sneer curled across her face the absolute second she laid eyes on Omen. She stood up from her chair, her eyes flashing with venom. "What are you doing out of your tower, witch?! You are not permitted in the royal chambers at this hour!"

Omen didn’t flinch. She folded her hands neatly over the fabric of her dress, her chin held high. "There is a witch in the capital."

The Queen let out a harsh, mocking laugh, waving a dismissive hand. "Yes, do tell us something we don’t know. You are that witch."

"Please, Sire," Omen said, ignoring the Queen entirely as she locked her intense green eyes on the King. "Spare me of your wife’s snarky remarks, Your Majesty. This is not a casual matter. There is someone practicing dark arts right here in the capital, specifically the source is near Lake Tosh. And I deeply fear this person is placing a devastating curse upon the princes."

Absolute silence descended upon the chamber.

"What?" the King, Alaric breathed, standing up from his seat, his face draining of color.

"You must take me," Omen urged, stepping closer, her voice trembling with genuine terror. "We must go to the camp at Lake Tosh immediately! The prince might not live to see tomorrow’s sunrise!"

The Queen stepped forward, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Which prince, witch?" she demanded sharply. "Which of my sons are you talking about?"

Omen swallowed hard, her voice dropping into a somber whisper. "Malric will not see the morning light. The other princes were lucky... they suffered injuries, yes, but the has done nothing permanent to them. But Malric... I fear for his life. I can feel it, that this witch at large is powerful and blessed."