“Invite isn’t the word I’d choose,” Galen snarls. “If she’s bound to him, she’d have no choice. You’re too blinded by rage to see the advantage.”
The tension between them thickens, the air crackling with unspoken grievances. The night presses in around the three of us, heavy with the scent of scorched earth and the remnants of broken magic, as the gold glow of Galen’s magic intensifies until it bathes us in its light. My brothers’ conflict is about to break into open warfare, and their tempers are about to give away our arrival.
“Stop,” I say finally, as my voice cuts through the chargedair, louder than their magic, louder than their anger. “This isn’t the time.”
“It’s always the time,” Darius counters, releasing Galen and turning his attention to me. “I don’t see you volunteering to fuck one of them, Kade.”
“I’d rather chop my balls off and ram them down my own throat than fuck one of those disgusting creatures,” I hiss back, fixing them both with a glare. “But this isn’t about heirs. It’s about survival. About control and the pair of you are fucking lacking it. The witches broke the sigil. They’ve proven they’re willing to destroy the balance we’ve spent centuries protecting. We need them to fear us, not fuck us.”
Darius exhales sharply, brushing at his coat where Galen’s grip had wrinkled it.
“Fear fades,” he mutters. “Bloodlines endure. This isn’t just survival; it’s strategy. Without an heir, we’re fighting a war that ends with us.”
“Then give us one with that whore of yours.” Galen shakes his head, his fury only barely contained. “How is your plaything, Darius?”
A grin of pure malice and unadulterated evil lights his face in its darkness. Darius steps forward, his eyes staring into the clearing where the coven broke the covenant and unleashed chaos.
“Sore.”
For a moment, the only sound is the faint hiss of magic retreating and our silent grins. The quiet speaks a thousand unsaid truths and its heaviness weighs on me. I watch the witches in the distance as they try to prepare for arrival, aware that they’re only good as a means to an end. They’re a reservoir of magic to be siphoned, a vessel to birth the next generation of warlocks. They’re a blight we endure and without us, they are rudderless, their power untamed and dangerous. Withoutthem, our legacy weakens. It’s a cruel balance, and one we enforce with iron will and bloodied hands.
We savor their tears and delight in spilling their blood.
Still, the facts remain. Without witches, we lose something irreplaceable. Their magic is a raw, untapped vein of power, primal and unyielding. And if they won’t serve willingly, they must be broken.
The wind shifts again, colder this time, and the shadows of the trees stretch longer, darker. I push a little magic into the world and it hums in the distance, vibrating against the restless and chaotic forces the coven has released. Galen joins me, his golden aura flaring brightly as it reflects his fury while Darius scowls, and darkness pours from him as he senses the imbalance.
The remnants of shattered magic pulse faintly in the air, a dark and fractured echo of what was. Its undisciplined chaos threatens to devour everything if left unchecked, and I splay my fingers, releasing more of my magic as I seek to contain this weapon that has no conscience.
We move towards the desecrated clearing and my eyes glance down at the scar on the earth where order was torn apart. The air grows heavier, thick with the residue of the ritual. It clings to the skin like smoke, acrid and suffocating. The sigil’s remnants lie scorched into the earth, jagged scars where order once reigned. This isn’t just rebellion; it’s desecration. The covenant is shattered. The balance tipped toward chaos.
The witches wait, a trembling cluster of cloaked figures standing behind their leader. Their huddled forms stand like statues carved from fear, their faces pale in the eerie glow of their shattered protections. The High Mother stands at their forefront, her head held high and her posture rigid, her face a mask of defiance. But even from here, I can see the cracks. The fear in her eyes. The knowledge of what’s coming.
Her eyes lock onto mine and I see a flicker of fear before something rarer comes to the surface. The woman is proud, and my teeth grind against each other as she refuses to acknowledge her place and looks away.
“High Mother,” Galen sneers, his magic crackling around him like a living thing. “You’ve led your coven into ruin.”
She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her body is visible. She knows there’s no escape from this. Behind her, the other witches shift nervously, their fear palpable. They know what’s coming too.
Darius steps forward, his grin as sharp as a blade. “Breaking the sigil was bold. Stupid, but bold. Did you think you could challenge us and win?”
The High Mother’s lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, it seems she won’t answer. But then she speaks, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
“We didn’t break the sigil.”
A laugh erupts from Galen, harsh and unrelenting. “Spare us the lies. We felt it. We see the destruction. This was your doing.”
She shakes her head and the black and silver of her hair dances with her movement. “The sigil was broken by one of our own. A rogue witch who acted against the coven’s wishes. We’ve already punished her. She’s been cast out and stripped of the bonds she needs to practice.”
“Cast out?” Galen laughs, a harsh, humorless sound. “How convenient. And yet here we stand, wading through the aftermath of your failure.”
“It wasn’t a failure,” she snaps, her composure slipping for a moment. Her fear is exquisite and I delight in it, absorbing the magic slipping from her as her control slips. “It was a betrayal. We didn’t want this. None of us wanted this.”
“Betrayal,” I echo, finally stepping forward. My voice is cold, deliberate. “Isn’t that the root of all rebellion? A witch acts out of line, and suddenly the coven falls apart. Perhaps that’s the real problem. You’ve forgotten your place and the witches beneath you don’t know theirs.”
The High Mother’s eyes flash with anger, but she reins herself in. Her magic, though faint compared to ours, bristles at the edges of the clearing, a subtle warning that she is not entirely powerless.
“We maintain control of our own,” she says sharply. “The girl’s actions were her own, and we have dealt with her accordingly.”
