**Chapter 1: The Witch Returns**
The sky wept as she stepped onto the soil of a world that had long since forgotten her name. Thunder rumbled overhead, not in welcome, but as if the heavens themselves shuddered at her return. Rain soaked through the tattered cloak draped over her shoulders, but she paid it no mind. She had endured far worse.
She took a deep breath. The air was sharp with the scent of wet earth and decay, but beneath it, something lingered—a whisper of magic, old and restless. A cruel smile curled her lips. It had not died completely, then. The power she had once wielded, the power they had tried to bury, still pulsed in the bones of this land.
A single step forward, and the mud gripped her boots as if the ground itself sought to hold her back. Perhaps it, too, remembered. She pressed on.
The village had changed. It was larger now, with buildings of stone where there had once been thatched roofs and wooden beams. Torches flickered along the narrow streets, casting shadows that danced in the storm's embrace. She moved unseen, her form blending into the darkness between the alleyways.
She had walked these streets before. Long ago, when she was still revered. When they knelt before her, whispering her name as both prayer and curse. But that was before the betrayal. Before the fire and the chains.
A name drifted through her mind—one she had sworn never to forget. The one who had condemned her.
Her fingers twitched at her side. Not yet. There were other matters to attend to first.
Then, a sound—a drunken laugh, followed by the heavy tread of boots on wet cobblestone. A man, wrapped in a thick coat, stumbled from the tavern's entrance, cursing as he nearly slipped. He reeked of ale, and for a moment, she merely watched.
"Oi," the man slurred, squinting at her. "You lost, girl?"
She tilted her head. "No."
Something in her voice—too steady, too knowing—made him hesitate. He took a step back, eyes narrowing. "Haven't seen you before."
She stepped forward, just enough for the torchlight to kiss the edge of her face. His breath hitched. Not from recognition, but from something deeper. Instinct. Fear.
"I suggest you forget you ever did," she said softly.
The man swallowed hard, his drunken stupor clearing just enough for his body to obey before his mind caught up. He turned and hurried back into the tavern, slamming the door behind him.
She exhaled. It would take time before she was truly known again, but fear… fear had always been the first to return.
She continued on, her destination clear. The old tower at the village's edge, where the town once sentenced witches to burn. They had made a spectacle of it, turning the ruined stones into a warning for any who dared defy the Order.
Now, it would be the place where she reclaimed her name.
As she reached the ruins, a gust of wind lifted the hood from her face, revealing the fire-lit eyes of a woman who had crossed death itself. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the carved remnants of a forgotten sigil on the stones.
She traced the symbol with her fingers, and the ground trembled beneath her touch.
A whisper in the wind. A name carried from the past.
Her name.
She closed her eyes, letting the storm's fury rage around her. The world thought her gone. Buried.
They were wrong.
She opened her eyes, fire flickering in their depths.
"I have returned."
And this time, no one would stop her.
The storm howled in response, sending sheets of rain cascading over the ruins. The fire inside her did not dim. Her fingers curled into the folds of her cloak as she stepped further into the crumbling structure. Weeds had taken root between the ancient stones, vines creeping up the walls like spectral fingers reaching for something lost.
She could still hear their screams—the villagers, the accusers, the self-righteous fools who had condemned her. They had called her a monster, a corrupter, a danger to their fragile world. But it was fear that had driven them, not righteousness. And now, as she walked through the remnants of their cruelty, she knew the truth: they had feared what they could not control.
A sharp gust of wind rushed through the tower's remains, sending dust swirling around her feet. The air smelled of damp rot and forgotten memories. She knelt, pressing her palm against the cold stone where they had chained her. A shudder ran through her. It was here that she had taken her last breath as a mortal. Here, where fire had licked at her skin, where the chants of the crowd had drowned out the agony of her dying body.
But she had never truly died. They had tried to erase her, but the magic in her blood would not be silenced. It had carried her through the abyss, through time and torment, until she found her way back.
The ruins groaned as if they, too, felt her presence return. A flicker of movement in the distance caught her eye. A shadow shifting against the darkness. She straightened, instincts sharpening. She was not alone.
A figure stepped forward from the cover of the trees beyond the ruins, their cloak billowing in the storm's fury. The flickering torchlight of the village barely reached them, but she could see the glint of a blade beneath the stranger's cloak. A hunter? A watcher? Had they been waiting for her?
She did not move. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, the storm raging around them like a living thing. The figure hesitated, then took another step forward.
"I thought the dead did not return," the stranger's voice was low, steady, but there was something else beneath it. Curiosity? Fear?
She tilted her head. "Then you thought wrong."
A pause. Then, a slow exhale from the stranger. "The village will not welcome you."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "It never did."
Lightning split the sky once more, illuminating the ruins, the figure, and the look of uncertainty in their eyes. She did not fear them. If they had come to stop her, they would fail. Just as those before them had failed.
She turned away, stepping deeper into the shadows of the ruins. The whispers of magic in the air grew stronger, pulling at her, guiding her. There were things to be done. Debts to be repaid. And a world that needed to remember why it had once feared the name of the witch.
The storm followed her as she disappeared into the darkness. And somewhere in the distance, the bells of the village began to toll.