The witch laughed sarcastically as she looked at Ristel as if he was a fool. Her voice was twisted with fury and pleasure.
"Oh, you poor, arrogant thing," she said, stepping forward through the circle of fire. "You speak of freedom and safety as if you could take them from me. You speak of killing my coven as if you even have the means."
Rhistel didn't flinch, he held his sword steady, even as the ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.
"You do not have the power to stand against us," she said, her voice rising, her hands lifting as if drawing energy from the very flames around her. "Much less harm to us."
In the blink of an eye, she swept her hand in an arc, and the flames followed, whipping through the air like serpents of fire. They surged toward Rhistel, who barely managed to dive aside. The wave of heat singed his cloak and curled the edges of the grass beneath him to ash.
