Lui eventually returned, his expression tight with thought. "Follow me."

  Bor was already at his side, as though he had expected the command. Without hesitation, they left the hamlet, stepping back into the embrace of the forest. They moved along the left side of the stone wall, their steps quiet on the mossy ground. Minutes passed in silence, the towering trees casting long shadows as sunlight filtered through their canopy.

  Then Cale saw it.

  Under the sprawling roots of an ancient tree stood a shack, unlike anything he had ever seen before.

  It looked as if it had grown from the forest itself. The walls were made of gnarled wood, twisted and aged, as though the tree had lent its very limbs to form a home. Moss draped over the snted roof like a thick green bnket, small white flowers blooming along the edges. A single round window, misted over, peeked from the front, its frame carved with strange, swirling patterns. The door was old but sturdy.

  Lanterns of gss and iron hung from the branches above, unlit yet filled with glimmering stones that captured the sunlight. Strange wind chimes made from bones and colored gss swayed gently, their eerie, melodic sound blending with the rustling leaves. Small carvings of animals—owls, foxes, and deer—were embedded into the roots that wrapped around the shack’s foundation, their eyes almost lifelike in the way they reflected the light.

  Cale felt a chill, not of fear, but of something deeper—something ancient and unknown.

  Lui stopped just before the door, gncing at Cale. "Step inside. She wants to meet you."

  Bor, standing beside him, looked slightly uneasy, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. He said nothing, but the way he stood—alert, braced—spoke volumes.

  Cale swallowed, his gaze lingering on the weathered door. Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

  The pce was simple yet carried an air of mystery.

  To the left, a wooden table bore signs of constant use—scratches and stains etched into its surface, remnants of past concoctions and alchemical experiments. Shelves lined the walls, each one filled with gss jars of various sizes. Some held finely ground powders in hues of deep crimson, shimmering gold, and eerie blue. Others contained dried pnts, their leaves curled and brittle, whispering of forgotten remedies and arcane rituals.

  The white owl in Cale’s hands suddenly stirred. Without warning, it took flight, its wings beating against the still air as it soared ahead. His gaze followed the bird as it nded on a simple wooden perch attached to the wall, its talons curling around the smooth surface with an air of familiarity. It was home here.

  A soft bubbling sound reached his ears, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic melody that filled the space. It came from a hearth, where something simmered in a bckened cauldron, steam rising in delicate tendrils.

  “Yes... It is finally done,” a woman’s voice murmured, satisfaction ced in her tone. It was young yet carried a weight beyond its years.

  The robed figure before the fire turned toward him, and the flickering light illuminated her features.

  She was breathtaking, yet in a way that unsettled more than reassured. Her beauty was sharp, almost sculpted, a bance of elegance and severity that left no room for softness.

  A cascade of thick, raven-bck curls framed her face, falling in waves over her shoulders. Her complexion was pale, her skin porcein-like, untouched by the sun, lending her an ethereal quality. Her face was triangur, with a slightly receded chin, giving her a regal yet enigmatic presence.

  Her eyes, cold and calcuting, gleamed with an extraordinary shade of emerald. They carried the weight of knowledge, of unspoken power, and when her gaze met his, it felt as though she could see through him, piercing past flesh and into the soul beneath. And yet, in the depths of that gaze, a storm raged—an imperiousness that dared defiance, a glint of something untamed, restrained but never conquered.

  Her nose was slightly too long, her mouth pale with thin, slightly crooked lips—yet they softened under the touch of dark lipstick, a contradiction of sharpness and allure. Her high cheekbones were pronounced, lending her an aristocratic air. Her eyebrows, naturally slightly irregur, had been meticulously shaped by her own hand, darkened with charcoal, adding to her intensity. Long, curled shes framed her gaze, enhancing the sharp contrast between her delicate features and the commanding presence she exuded.

  Her neck was long and slender, leading to a form that was both graceful and lethal. Her waist was impossibly thin, accentuating the perfect curve of her frame, while her legs, hidden beneath flowing robes, hinted at an elegance in motion. Her skin, though untouched by age, held a softness unnatural for someone with such presence, as if she carried a secret that kept time itself at bay.

  She was beautiful—but hers was not a beauty that invited admiration. It was a beauty that demanded caution, that inspired reverence, like a bde honed to perfection, capable of cutting through anything—anyone—who stood in its way.

  Cale felt the weight of her presence settle over him, unseen hands pressing against his shoulders, urging him to acknowledge the unspoken power she wielded.

  Then, she smiled.

  It was not warm. It was not kind.

  It was the smile of someone who knew far more than she would ever tell.

  Cale squared his shoulders as he stepped closer, his movements measured, controlled. He dipped his head slightly in a sign of respect.

  "My name is Cale," he said politely, his voice steady despite the weight pressing on his chest.

  The woman before him extended a hand, palm turned downward, her long fingers poised elegantly in the air. There was a quiet authority in the gesture, an expectation of acknowledgment rather than mere formality.

  "I am Tiana, but people around here prefer to call me the witch," she said, her tone carrying an amusement that did not quite reach her eyes.

  Unsure of the significance behind her gesture, Cale hesitated before grasping her hand and giving it a firm shake. Her skin was cool to the touch, smooth yet deceptively strong. A smirk tugged at her lips as she studied him, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

  "For someone as old as you, you seem to ck proper manners," she teased, her voice ced with subtle amusement.

  Cale blinked, taken aback. "Ma’am, I’m fourteen years old," he replied, his confusion evident.

  Tiana’s delicate eyebrow arched ever so slightly. Her gaze roamed over him, assessing. He knew how unusual he appeared—his silver hair, his height, the sharpness of his features. Despite being only fourteen, he bore the presence of a man in his early twenties.

  Her lips parted, then closed, as if weighing her words. Finally, she offered a dismissive shrug. "Forget what I said then. I must have mistaken you for someone else."

  She turned slightly, her robes shifting around her as she folded her arms. "What is a young boy like you doing in a pce like this?" she asked, her voice soft but direct.

  Cale opened his mouth to repeat the same expnation he had given Bor and Lui, but before he could utter a word, she cut him off.

  "And be honest with me."

  Her emerald-green eyes gleamed faintly for the briefest moment, a shimmer of something unnatural passing through them, as though they could see beyond the veil of spoken words and into the truths buried deep within.

  Cale’s head dipped slightly, his gaze dropping to the floorboards beneath his feet. He said nothing. How could he even begin to expin what he had been through?

  The betrayal of Alden. The death of Tristan. His own death.

  The weight of it all pressed against his chest like an iron hand, squeezing until it was difficult to breathe. He clenched his fists in his p, swallowing back the tide of emotions threatening to rise.

  A gentle movement caught his eye. Tiana had turned, her robes whispering softly against the floor as she walked past him, heading toward a wooden table in the center of the room. Without looking back, she gestured for him to sit.

  He hesitated but obeyed, stepping forward and lowering himself onto the sturdy wooden chair. The room felt smaller now, quieter, as if the air itself had thickened with unspoken words.

  Tiana moved with practiced ease, gathering ingredients from the shelves, her hands deftly selecting dried leaves and powders from the gss jars that lined the walls. The scent of crushed herbs soon filled the space—earthy, floral, comforting.

  "Wait here," she murmured, her voice softer now, almost kind. "I will brew you some tea. It should help calm your mind."

  Cale watched her as she worked, the firelight casting shifting shadows against the walls. He exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the worn surface of the table, grounding himself.

  The only sounds in the room were the faint bubbling of the cauldron and the occasional crackle from the hearth. The warmth from the fire was comforting, seeping into his bones, chasing away the lingering chill that clung to him like a shadow.

  Tiana soon returned, carrying two steaming wooden cups. The rich aroma of herbs and fruit filled the space as she pced one before him and took a seat across from him, her slender fingers wrapped around her own cup. There was something deliberate about the way she held it—graceful yet firm.

  "Thank you," Cale said politely, his hands curling around the cup. The wood was warm against his palms, the heat bleeding into his skin. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the tea—sweet, with a hint of something familiar yet elusive.

  The liquid inside was a deep crimson, almost like wine. He raised it to his lips, blowing softly before taking a cautious sip. The fvor bloomed on his tongue—blueberries, rich and slightly tart, followed by the smooth, lingering sweetness of honey. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before.

  "What do you think?" Tiana asked, watching him closely. "Do you like it?"

  Cale swallowed, savoring the warmth spreading through his chest. "It's the best tea I've ever tasted," he admitted.

  Not that he had drunk much tea in the first pce, but this was something special.

  A comfortable silence settled between them, each lost in their own thoughts, the tea providing a quiet soce between unspoken words.

  But curiosity gnawed at Cale, refusing to let him sit in silence for too long.

  "Are you a mage?" he asked at st, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

  Tiana’s emerald eyes gleamed in the firelight, their depths unreadable as she regarded him.

  "What makes you think I am one?" she countered, her tone carrying a hint of amusement.

  Cale frowned, searching for the right words. "You just… feel like one."

  She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she took a slow sip of her tea, her expression unreadable.

  Then, setting her cup down, she finally spoke. "Yes. I am. Just as you are."

  Cale stiffened, his brows knitting together. "How did you—"

  He was interrupted as something flickered into existence, drawing both their attention.

  A wisp.

  It emerged from nowhere, its ethereal glow casting shifting shadows against the wooden walls. It hovered in the air between them, pulsing with a deep green light. Cale’s breath caught in his throat.

  It was the same wisp. The one that had appeared before him after Bor told him to leave.

  Tiana’s gaze fixed on him, her expression shifting into something sharper, more assessing. "What happened?" she asked.

  Cale could only stare at the glowing entity, its form shifting like mist caught in an unseen current. "It’s here," he murmured. "The wisp—it’s glowing. Deep green. Just like before."

  Tiana pced her cup down and leaned forward slightly, studying both the wisp and Cale with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

  "Try to call it," she instructed, her voice low, almost reverent.

  Cale hesitated. "How?"

  She didn’t respond.

  Her silence was a test in itself, he realized. There were no instructions because she wanted him to figure it out on his own.

  He exhaled slowly, thinking back to the st time he had seen the wisp. He had tried to touch it then, but it had fled from him, vanishing before he could make contact. Perhaps this time, if he didn’t reach for it—if he let it come to him—it would respond differently.

  Cale pced his hand on the table, palm up, an open invitation rather than an attempt to seize.

  The wisp pulsed, flickering like a fme caught in a breeze. Then, slowly, it began to drift toward him, its movements light and unhurried, like a petal carried by the wind.

  It hovered just above his palm, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth emanating from it. His breath hitched as the glow intensified for a heartbeat before it settled into a steady rhythm.

  For the first time, the wisp did not flee.

  It had chosen to stay.

  Tiana’s gaze lingered on the wisp, her expression unreadable before she finally spoke.

  "He was right, it seems. You are a spirit bender."

  Cale’s eyes snapped to her, his breath hitching slightly. "A spirit bender?" he echoed, confusion flickering across his face.

  Before Tiana could respond, the answer came from an entirely different source.

  "Yes. The fact that you can see me proves it," the wisp spoke, its voice deep and resonant, filled with the weight of countless years. It was the voice of a man—old beyond measure, ancient beyond comprehension.

  Cale flinched, his heart hammering in his chest. The voice had not come from Tiana but from the very entity floating above his palm. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

  "A spirit bender is one who can see, hear and speak with spirits—the souls of the dead," Tiana expined, her tone even, unwavering. "It is a very rare gift."

  Cale’s gaze flickered between her and the wisp, his mind racing to grasp the implications of her words. He was a metal mage. That was his affinity, the element that coursed through his very being. But this—this was something entirely different. His second affinity… was for spirits.

  How was that possible?

  Metal and spirits had nothing in common. One was tangible, forged in fire and stone, unyielding. The other was intangible, ephemeral, the lingering remnants of life itself.

  Then, a thought struck him like a hammer to the chest.

  Tristan.

  His throat tightened. His fingers curled into fists.

  "I had a friend," he murmured, his voice quieter now, weighted with emotion. "He died recently. Can I use spirit bending to speak with him?"

  The wisp pulsed, its glow shifting, flickering like a candle caught in a breeze. "It could be done—if his spirit has not yet departed for the afterlife."

  A breath Cale hadn’t realized he was holding slipped from his lips. The possibility—the sliver of hope—dug into him, aching and desperate. To hear Tristan’s voice again, to speak to him even once more…

  His fists clenched by his sides. "Can you teach me?" he asked, his voice steady but ced with urgency.

  Tiana regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she exhaled and shook her head.

  "No," she said, her voice firm, resolute. "I do not have the time nor the will to take you as an apprentice. I brought you here only to satisfy my curiosity—nothing more, nothing less."

  Cale’s shoulders sagged, disappointment written across his face.

  Of course.

  Of course, it wasn’t that simple. The weight of it settled in his chest like lead. He had just discovered something that could change everything, yet the path forward was closed before he could even take a step.

  Then Tiana smirked.

  "But," she continued, amusement creeping into her tone, "I might be willing to change my mind—on one condition. You must swear to serve me. Until one of us dies."

  Silence fell like a heavy curtain.

  The air in the room seemed to still, thick with the weight of her words.

  Cale’s breath came slow and measured, but inside, his mind reeled. He had only just escaped the confines of that cursed castle, cwed his way to freedom after everything that had been taken from him. And now… she was offering him another set of chains.

  His jaw tightened.

  "Take her offer," the wisp spoke again, its voice smooth, knowing. "I have a feeling you will live longer than she will."

  Tiana’s head snapped toward the spirit, her emerald eyes fshing with irritation. With a casual flick of her wrist, the wisp trembled violently, its glow flickering erratically as if caught in an unseen storm.

  "Xentar," she said, her voice dangerously soft, "keep your mouth shut."

  Cale barely registered their exchange. His mind was already made up. He had no choice. If this was the price of learning Spirit Bending—if this was what it took to see Tristan again, even for a fleeting moment—then so be it.

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Then, he met Tiana’s gaze, his voice unwavering.

  "Fine. I will serve you."

  Tiana’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

  "Give me your hand," Tiana instructed, her voice steady, unwavering.

  The wisp drifted aside, its soft glow pulsing like a heartbeat in the dimly lit room. Cale exhaled slowly, his gaze steady as he extended his hand toward the witch.

  Tiana regarded him for a long moment, her emerald eyes searching his face for something unspoken. Then, finally, she reached out. Her fingers, cool and smooth, curled around his in a firm yet strangely delicate grip. A faint shiver crawled up Cale’s spine at the contact, though he wasn’t sure why.

  She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing in deep concentration. The air in the room thickened, pressing in on them, as though unseen forces had gathered, coiling and waiting. Cale held his breath, expecting—something. A surge of power. A weight settling over him. A whisper threading through his mind.

  But nothing came.

  The silence stretched on. He waited. And waited.

  Still, he felt nothing change.

  At st, Tiana’s eyes snapped open. They were darker now, unreadable, as though shadows flickered just beneath their surface. She held his gaze, her voice smooth but edged with finality.

  "It is done. If you ever betray me, your soul will be shredded."

  Cale didn’t flinch. With a slow, measured breath, he gave a single, firm nod.

  He had done it.

  The pact was sealed. There was no going back now.

  Unseen by him, Tiana lowered her hand beneath the table. Her fingers trembled, curling into a tight fist. She clenched them so hard her nails dug into her palm, nearly breaking the skin.

  She looked at him—at the boy who carried the weight of something far older than his years—an unease stirred in her chest, creeping through her like ivy winding around stone.

  For the first time in a long time, Tiana wasn’t entirely sure if she had made the right choice.

  *Witcher 3*

  The game is awesome.

  Tiana: