Before the Spiral Flame.
Before the Underworld.
Before thrones and prophecies...
There were the Witches of Witherwynd.
Daughters of the earth, bound not by rule or blood but by oath.
They remembered the old ways.
The wild ways.
The true ways.
And when the kingdoms forgot them… they vanished into the forest that bears their name.
Now, centuries later, the forest stirred again.
For the last flamebearer approached its threshold.
And the Witches remembered her.
Witherwynd Forest was a place where maps ended.
No birds sang.
No light lasted long.
Even the wind itself seemed to speak in hushes, like it feared being overheard.
Elena gripped her blade tightly as they passed beneath twisted boughs.
They say no one who enters comes out unchanged.
Seraphira kept walking, eyes locked ahead. That's because no one listens.
To what? Theryn asked.
Seraphira paused.
The forest.
Deeper in, the trees turned black with age.
They reached a clearing just as dusk fell.
And from the earth itself rose seven witches, cloaked in bark and bone, with eyes like gleaming moons.
None spoke at first.
They only circled her.
Smelled her flame.
Touched the spiral mark on her wrist.
And then the tallest of them, her antlered crown rustling with dry leaves, said:
"She has come."
"The girl born in shadow. The flame cursed and cast aside."
"She has come to claim what was denied."
The Circle of Witherwynd had rules.
To be granted their blessing, Seraphira had to endure three trials:
The first being, The Trial of Flesh – to face her blood and what it had cost her.
The second, The Trial of Root – to commune with the earth's memory.
And the third, The Trial of Voice – to speak truth where silence had reigned.
The Trial of Flesh:
Seraphira was shown her past, not as it was, but as it could have been.
A life without fire.
A mother who stayed.
A crown she was never cast from.
Then they asked:
Will you give up your pain for peace?
She answered: No. Because pain is how I remember what matters.
🌿 The Trial of Root:
She knelt in the oldest grove, placing her bare hands on the soil.
She saw visions....
The first queens, wreathed in green and fire.
The first betrayal, when the kingdoms turned from the old ways.
The true Spiral, not a mark, but a tree.
And it whispered to her:
"You are not the end.
You are the return."
The Trial of Voice:
They brought her to a grove of silence, where witches who'd betrayed the oath lay buried beneath the trees.
There, she had to speak aloud the truth she feared most.
Seraphira stood alone and said:
"I fear I will become like him.
That I will love too deeply.
And lose myself in the fire."
The grove shuddered.
And the witches wept.
Then you are ready, they said.
Because only those who fear power are worthy to wield it.
As the moon rose full over Witherwynd, the witches drew a spiral in ash across her heart.
"We do not give you our blessing," they said.
"You were born with it."
"We only came to remind you."
And with that, the witches vanished into the trees.
But the spiral burned anew, glowing down her spine in twisting root-like fire.
The Old Magic was awakened.
And the world would never forget it again.
🌑 In the Underworld…
Kaelreth stood at the edge of the Shadowforge, arms crossed.
She's touched the root, Malkor said grimly.
She's becoming, Kaelreth whispered.
Then added, beneath his breath:
"And soon… she will surpass us all."