Chapter 50. The Witches Village

The road beyond the Dam-Nighade border was a path few dared to take at night.

Menar walked alone beneath a shroud of fog, her lantern’s flickering light barely cutting through the mist. The forest whispered around her—dry leaves rustling like murmurs of long-forgotten souls. Every few steps, she thought she heard faint laughter echoing between the trees.

The laughter of witches.

Her heart thudded with a mixture of fear and greed, but she pressed on. Samantha’s promised offer and the silver coins from the sold baby jingled faintly in her pocket—a reminder of what more waited if she succeeded.

It took her two hours to reach the village. What had once been a small settlement now stood as a graveyard of broken homes. Roofs had caved in, walls were blackened by fire, and strange markings glowed faintly on the stones where the old magic still lingered.

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of decay and something darker—like burnt herbs and sorrow.

Men