Thessa felt them before she truly saw them.

  The air changed.

  Thessa swallowed.

  Maerwyn stopped a dozen paces from the outermost pillar.

  “Stand straight,” she said quietly.

  Thessa adjusted her shoulders. Her palms were damp. She resisted the urge to wipe them on her tunic.

  A subtle pressure gathered against her skin, as though unseen hands pressed from all sides making it difficult to even take a breath.

  Three figures stepped from between the pillars.

  The woman at the center walked first.

  She was tall, though age had carved careful lines into her face and bent her posture slightly at the shoulders. Her hair fell long and white down her back, unbound except for a narrow cord woven near the nape of her neck. Dark beads hung from the cord, each etched with sigils so fine Thessa could not follow their shapes.

  Her robes were layered in deep forest green her robes hung heavy and unadorned save for a clasp at her throat fashioned from bone. The clasp bore a crescent shape, smooth and worn from years of handling.

  Her eyes were pale deathly so.

  At her side she carried a large book.

  To her right walked a woman with skin the color of burnished oak and hair braided tightly against her scalp. Thin silver rings threaded through the braids caught the muted light. Her expression was sharp, assessing, her lips pressed into a narrow line.

  To the left stood a broader woman with iron-gray hair pulled into a low knot. Faint scars traced the backs of her hands and disappeared beneath her sleeves. Her gaze settled immediately on the darkened bandage at Maerwyn’s side.

  The central woman inclined her head not deeply, but enough to show some respect.

  “Third Sister,” she said.

  The words carried no warmth.

  They carried recognition.

  Maerwyn lowered her head in return.

  “Matriarch.”

  The Matriarch’s pale gaze traveled over Maerwyn, her wound, the dried streaks of blood along her sleeve.

  “You’ve returned injured,” the Matriarch said

  “The plateau is never easy,” Maerwyn replied calmly. “It put up a fight.”

  “And did it cost you more than that?”

  “No,” Maerwyn said evenly. “It didn’t.”

  The braided elder took a step closer. “You brought a child here?”

  Her eyes flicked to Thessa.

  The words landed cold.

  “She walked on her own,” Maerwyn said. “She didn’t beg.”

  The braided elder’s expression tightened. “That doesn't mean she belongs.”

  Thessa felt the weight of their eyes settle fully on her then.

  Not welcoming.

  Measuring.

  The pressure in the air did not lessen. If anything, it deepened, pressing against her ribs and collarbones as though the very space between them had grown dense. She fought the urge to shift her stance. Maerwyn had said stand straight. So she did.

  The Matriarch shifted the large book in her arms. Up close, Thessa could see the leather cover was dark and cracked with age, its edges reinforced with dull metal corners. Strange symbols were burned into the surface, arranged in concentric patterns that seemed to move

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The Matriarch stepped closer.

  Thessa swallowed. “I didn’t come for refuge.”

  “Then why?”

  The question hung between them like a blade suspended by thread.

  For a long moment, Thessa stood in silence, her thoughts turning inward. She wondered, not for the first time, why she had chosen to follow Maerwyn. Had it truly been a choice at all? What other paths had been open to her, if any? And beneath those questions lingered the most unsettling one of all had she stepped onto the right path, or simply the only one she could see?

  “I want to learn,” Thessa said.

  “Many want that.”

  “I also wish to avenge my family.” Thessa added.

  The Matriarch’s pale eyes narrowed slightly.

  “That is a goal more befitting of a witch.”

  The Matriarch looks towards Mearwyn.

  “I assume you will take responsibility for her.”

  “Yes Matriarch.”

  “She will be your apprentice from today onward. At the next gathering she shall be tested.”

  Maerwyn bowed her head. “Yes, Matriarch.”

  The braided elders stepped aside first, then the scarred one. The pair stepped through the granite boundary.

  From beyond the ring of pillars, the land sloped gently downward into a wide clearing. The forest still surrounded it, but the trees here grew in an intentional pattern spaced evenly, their lower branches trimmed back. Pale sigils were carved into their bark at shoulder height, faintly luminous even in daylight.

  Low dwellings curved along the inside edge of the clearing. They were built of timber and packed clay, their roofs layered with moss and woven branches. Thin spirals of smoke drifted from stone chimneys. Bundles of drying herbs hung beneath the eaves, many of which Thessa couldn't recognize.

  At the center of the clearing stood a wide stone hearth ringed with flat seating stones. Ash lay pale and thick inside it, suggesting frequent fires. Beyond the hearth rose a structure larger than the rest a long hall of dark wood reinforced with carved beams. The symbols etched into its doorway were deeper and more intricate than those on the outer pillars.

  “That is the Hall of Record,” Maerwyn murmured quietly at Thessa’s side, noticing her gaze. “Where the Matriarch keeps the Tomes and where gatherings are held.”

  Thessa nodded, absorbing everything at once.

  To the right of the hearth, a witch with dark curls pinned high atop her head knelt over a stretch of freshly turned earth. Her sleeves were rolled past her elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint, looping sigils. She pressed something small and pale into the soil before covering it carefully. Beside her stood a young apprentice holding a clay bowl filled with water that shimmered faintly.

  Farther along two older witches sat side by side beneath a slanted roof, long strands of dried flowers spread across their laps. Their fingers moved quickly, braiding stems into tight protective garlands. One of them paused to inspect a wilted petal, clicking her tongue in quiet disapproval before tossing it aside.

  Thessa had never imagined she would stand among so many witches in one place. In Black Hollow, they had only ever existed in whispers and warnings. The villagers spoke of them in low voices by the hearth, spinning tales of cruel bargains struck in the dark, of demons summoned with blood, of children stolen from their beds. Witches, they said, were not women at all but rather monsters wearing borrowed skin.

  Though Thessa had begun to wonder if these stories were true after all, Mearwyn had saved her and taken care of her. Maerwyn had shared her fire and her food without asking for anything in return.

  Monsters did not do that.

  At least, not the kind she had been warned about.

  Maerwyn began walking again, her pace unhurried despite the stiffness in her side. Thessa followed a half-step behind, careful not to stare too openly at the witches they passed.

  A narrow path curved along the inside edge of the clearing. The ground there had been worn smooth by years of footsteps. Small stones lined the edge of the path in careful patterns.

  Maerwyn’s home sat slightly apart from the others. Its roof sagged gently beneath a thick layer of moss, and a climbing vine had claimed one side of the wall, its leaves dark and glossy. Dried herbs hung in careful rows beneath the eaves, tied with red thread.

  Maerwyn paused at the threshold.

  “For now,” she said, her voice lower than before, “this is where you will sleep.”

  She pushed the wooden door inward.

  The interior was dim but warm. Light filtered through a narrow window carved into the clay wall, falling in a pale stripe across the floor. Shelves lined one side of the room, crowded with jars of powders of varying shades, coiled roots, bundles of feathers, small stones etched with markings. In the corner of the room stood a small staircase.

  Thessa stepped inside fully, the scent of dried sage and something sharper filled her lungs.

  Maerwyn reached for a clay bowl on the table and dipped her fingers into it, spreading a thick salve carefully along the edge of her bandage. Her jaw tightened as she worked.

  Thessa hesitated, then stepped closer. “Should I…”

  “No,” Maerwyn said gently, not sharply. “You will learn. But not today.”

  “Up the stairs and to the left is your room go get settled in.” Maerwyn said

  Thessa lingered only a moment longer before nodding.

  “Yes, Maerwyn.”

  She crossed the small room and climbed the narrow staircase. The steps creaked slightly beneath her weight. When she reached the second floor to her left was her room's door and there was a door to the right and straight ahead as well.

  She crossed the small room and made her way to the narrow staircase. The wood creaked softly beneath her weight as she climbed, each step worn smooth by years of use.

  At the top, a short landing opened before her. To her left stood the door Maerwyn had said was hers. Another door waited to the right, closed and silent, and a third lay straight ahead at the end of the hall.

  Thessa reached for the handle.

  She turned it slowly and pushed the door open.