Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past
The village bells tolled deep into the night, their echoes swallowed by the storm. She stood at the tower's edge, gazing down at the remnants of the execution site. The wooden stake had long since rotted away, the iron chains rusted and broken. But she could still feel the pain, still hear the crackling fire and the jeers of the crowd. It was as if time had never moved forward from that fateful night.
Her hands clenched into fists. The memories were a weight she could not shake, nor did she wish to. They were the embers that fueled the fire within her. She had not returned to hide in the shadows. She had returned to take back what was hers.
A distant rustle caught her attention. The stranger from before had not left.
She turned, her gaze sharp, scanning the darkness. "You linger," she said, voice calm but edged with warning. "Why?"
A figure stepped into the dim light, cloak dripping from the rain. The same presence as before. They hesitated before speaking. "I needed to see if you were real."
She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. "And? Do I meet your expectations?"
The stranger took another step forward, their face still obscured by the hood. "The stories say you were burned. That you should not be standing here."
"Stories are often written by cowards," she said. "And fear makes men desperate to believe in finality."
The stranger was silent for a moment, then asked, "What are you?"
A slow smile crept across her lips. "The rightful owner of this land."
A gust of wind howled through the ruins, sending dust swirling around her feet. The air smelled of damp rot and forgotten memories. The stranger tensed but did not retreat. "Then you mean to reclaim it?"
She took a step forward, the storm bending around her as if it, too, acknowledged her presence. "I mean to remind them why they should have never forgotten me."
The stranger exhaled, the weight of her words pressing between them. "Then you will have enemies. Many."
"I always have." Her voice was unwavering. "And if they have learned nothing in my absence, I will teach them once more."
The bells finally fell silent, leaving only the sound of rain and the crackling of torches in the distance. The stranger hesitated but then lowered their hood. A young man, his face marked with concern and something else—recognition.
"I know you," he murmured.
She studied him, searching his features for familiarity, but found none. "Do you?"
"Not as I am now," he admitted. "But in the old records, in the warnings passed down through my family. My ancestors feared you."
Her smile did not waver. "They were wise to."
He did not flinch. "And yet, I am here."
"Curiosity? Or something more?"
He met her gaze without faltering. "Perhaps both."
A silence stretched between them, unspoken questions hanging in the air. She could sense the magic in his blood, faint but undeniable. A descendant of those who had stood against her? A remnant of the past now forced to face the truth of her return?
"Tell me your name," she finally said.
He hesitated, then answered, "Elias."
She let the name roll through her mind, tasting the weight of it. "Elias, then. You stand before a woman your ancestors condemned. Do you seek to finish what they started?"
He shook his head. "I seek the truth."
For the first time in centuries, a flicker of something unexpected stirred within her. Intrigue.
"Then you may find it," she said. "But the truth has never been kind to those who seek it."
Elias nodded. "I know."
The storm began to ease, the wind dying down to a whisper. She turned away, looking toward the village where the past and present would soon collide.
"Then let us begin."
She moved, her steps silent on the wet ground, leading Elias deeper into the ruins of the tower. He followed, his curiosity unwavering but cautious, as if he were testing the air before committing to the path ahead. The distant lights of the village flickered through the trees, far off, their faint glow barely noticeable against the backdrop of the storm. They were a reminder of the world she had left behind—a world that would soon find out just how wrong they had been to forget her.
As they neared the remnants of the tower, the cold stone whispered beneath her touch. She could feel the pulse of the earth here, the faint thrum of the magic that had once been hers to command. It was dormant, but it was not gone. She could feel the first stirring of it beneath her fingertips, as if the land, too, recognized her.
"I was born here," she said softly, her voice distant. "In the heart of this land. My blood is woven into its very soil."
Elias glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "What happened to you?"
"Power," she replied simply. "And betrayal. The kind that breaks a person."
The words tasted bitter, but they were the truth. She had been young, once—too young to understand the depths of the power she wielded, the consequences of using it in a world that feared what it did not understand. She had been a queen, a ruler of the land, until they had turned on her. Until they had twisted the truth and branded her as a monster.
"But it was their mistake," she added, her gaze hardening. "They will see that soon enough."
A long pause followed, during which the only sounds were the soft rustle of the wind and the distant roar of thunder. Elias did not speak, but she could sense the weight of the question hanging in his mind, the fear and fascination in his eyes. He was still trying to decide what to make of her.
"I wonder," Elias said at last, breaking the silence, "if you could have ever been different. If they had not wronged you, would you still be the same?"
She met his gaze. "We are all shaped by our choices, Elias. And by the hands of those who would rather see us fall than rise."
The storm was fully fading now, and in the growing silence, the past seemed to drift away. But she knew better than to trust it. The past had a way of returning with a vengeance.
As they reached the center of the ruins, the earth hummed with anticipation. She could feel the magic building again, this time stronger, more urgent. A call to action. Her time had come, and with it, the time for vengeance.
Elias stepped closer to her, almost as if drawn by an invisible force. He was closer now, his breath visible in the air. "What happens next?"
"Next?" she repeated, her lips curling into a smile. "Next, we set things right."
The storm was gone, but the air was thick with the tension of a long-forgotten world about to collide with a new, darker one. The witch had returned, and she would not rest until the past was fully resurrected.