Chapter 134: Once Upon A Wanderer Witch
The dungeon was quiet except for the sound of chains dragging against stone. Aveloria walked down the corridors with Galen beside her, his presence a solid comfort as they made their way towards the cell where Eirene was.
Aveloria had imagined this moment many times. In her mind, she thought she would feel a surge of triumph, a sense of finality when she finally saw Eirene where she belonged—in chains, awaiting justice. But as the iron bars of the cell came into view, she felt nothing like what she had expected.
Eirene sat on the cold stone floor, bound in chains that glowed with enchantment. The metal still circled her wrist and ankles, and every movement caused them to tighten, burning her skin with a pain that was clearly visible in her face. Her hair was no longer styled the way Aveloria remembered. It hung loose and unkempt around her face.
When Eirene heard the footsteps, she looked up. Her eyes met Aveloria’s, and without hesitation, she shifted onto her knees, bowing her head low. The chains responded to the movement. They burned deeper, and she winced, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She did not try to move again. She just stayed there, kneeling, her head bowed in submission.
For a long moment, Aveloria stood at the cell door, her hands at her sides. She forced her fingers to relax as they balled into fists, but they would not obey. She looked down at Eirene, the woman who had stood beside her when she was young. The woman who had guided her. Advised her. Cared for her. Comforted her when she thought no one else understood her—the woman who had pretended to be a mother while secretly working toward her destruction.
In her past life, Aveloria had trusted her without question. She had loved her. And that love had been used as a weapon against her. Now seeing Eirene on her knees, bound and helpless, Aveloria expected to feel satisfied. She did not. Something in her chest shifted, a feeling she could not name. It was not pity. It was neither forgiveness.
"Why did you ask to see me?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion. "If you plan to beg for mercy or ask for compassion, you will find none with me. Your sentence stands. Death will be the end of you. And that’s final." Her tone did not waver.
Eirene lifted her head slowly. She looked older than Aveloria remembered, though her face was the same. There was a weight in her gaze that had not been there before, or perhaps it had always been there, and Aveloria had never seen it.
She swallowed hard. Her voice was hoarse, strained from disuse and the screams from the pain of the chains. "I do not dare to ask for your forgiveness. I only want to speak the truth. Just once. And I ask that it remain between us."
Aveloria studied her for a long moment. Then she turned her head slightly, meeting Galen’s eyes. He understood without words. He stepped back, moving away from the cell. He positioned himself far enough to give them privacy but close enough that he could return in an instant if needed.
Aveloria turned back to Eirene. "You have only this chance to speak."
Eirene lowered her eyes. She kept her gaze to the floor as if looking at Aveloria directly was more than she could bear.
"I was not always what I became," She paused as if choosing her words carefully. "Being a wanderer was never a choice I made. I was born into it. My father was an elder in the council of Drakwyne. He served the Lord at the time. He was respected. Trusted, or at least he appeared to be. My mother was a good woman. A Dominican witch. One of the most powerful of her kind."
A warmth flickered across her face as she spoke of her mother, but it quickly faded.
Aveloria’s brow tightened slightly. Dominican witches were rare. They are known for strong magic tied to a strong, pure, and uncorrupted magical source.
"My mother made sure I was raised well, despite what we were. Despite what the world thought of wanderers. Forsaken wolves. False shifters. Corrupted souls. She was one of the few among our people who never really embraced the darkness. She believed in something else. A prophecy. She told me about it as bedtime stories. That one day, a wolf bound to many would come. Not to destroy the world but to save it. She believed that change would come. She waited for her whole life for that fulfillment."
Aveloria felt her stomach tighten at the mention of the prophecy. She listened. She did not move. She did not speak. She did not interrupt.
"My father," Eirene continued, her voice growing heavier. "He did not believe in patience. He believed in power. He was not content with being an elder. He did not want to serve. He wanted more. He wanted to rule. He wanted the throne of Drakwyne. So he planned a coup with others who shared his ambition. And they overthrew the Lord who ruled at the time, and my father became Lord of Drakwyne."
She swallowed hard. Her hands trembled slightly against the chains, and she flinched.
"My father is pure evil. There is no other way to say it. After he took the throne, he ordered the deaths of every person connected to the old Lord. Families. Children. Anyone who might one day rise against him. He left no one alive who could challenge his reign. But even after he has the throne, it is still not enough. He wanted more power. He wanted to be the most powerful man alive. And he figured out a way to get it."
Eirene lifted her gaze briefly, then looked away again. Her jaw tightened.
"My mother’s magic was strong. Stronger than his. So he killed my mother. He plunged his hand into her chest and pulled out her heart. And then, in ritual, he ate it. It was black magic. It allows someone to transfer the soul of a powerful witch and bind it to their own body. If you consume the heart during that ritual, you gain their powers. It is forbidden. But he took everything she was and made it his."
Aveloria felt her fists clench again against her will.
Eirene’s voice trembled now, but she forced herself to continue. "I did not know any of this when I was young. I only learned the truth when I was older. I began to understand what my father’s goal was, what he had done. But by then, it was too late for me to escape."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she did not wipe them away.
"What I am about to tell you, I have never told anyone. Not once. It’s a wound that has never healed. It never will."
"When I was twenty years old, I discovered something. Something I had not known before. Every blood moon, since I was fourteen, my father had been coming to my room. He used a dark spell to put me to sleep. And while I slept, he..."
Her voice broke. She stopped, took a deep breath, and forced herself to continue.
"He would make love to me."
The words fell heavily into the silence. Aveloria did not move. She didn’t know how to react to what she had just held. But her fists unclenched by her side.
"There was this tea that he had made, and I drank it each time without question. And when I wake up, I see blood in my sheets. I would tell him about it, and he would tell me it was nothing. He would claim maybe I bled from my monthly flow. Sometimes I would see seeds in my sheet. He would say I must have gotten drunk and taken a man into my bed. He always had an excuse. I do not remember the event from the day before, so I always believed him."
She closed her eyes tightly. "Until one time, I did not drink the tea my handmaid served before bed. I do not know why, but I did not. I pretended to sleep. And when he came into my room, when he climbed onto my bed and began to do what he always did, I opened my eyes."
Eirene looked up, meeting Aveloria’s gaze, and this time she did not look away.
"He was shocked. I was terrified. He tried to force me into silence with his power, but I was stronger. I had inherited my mother’s magic, though I did not fully understand it then. In a bid to save myself, I grabbed a torch from the wall, and I burned him. I burned his face so badly I hoped he would die." Her gaze dropped again. She moved slightly to adjust her weight and winced in pain as the chains burned her again.
