The inside of the tent was a sharp contrast to the creeping chill outside. Canvas walls cut the wind. Lantern light steadied the space. Beyond it, the clatter of recruits faded as they moved downhill, away from the fields.

  Brent and Jerald spoke in low tones near the table. When they noticed us, Jerald turned, attention snapping into place.

  “Did any of you see signs of ritual?” he asked.

  Rob blinked. “What would that even look like?”

  “A sacrifice,” Jerald said. “Or a working circle.”

  “The pig?” I suggested, glancing at Calum.

  He nodded, unease plain on his face. “I felt it the moment I saw it. The cold. The wrongness.” He shook his head once. “Ghastly thing.”

  Celeste’s eyes flicked between us. The lack of friction between us seemed to catch her off guard.

  Jerald stepped closer to us. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  I answered before Calum could, laying it out in order. The pixies. The way they fled. The sunken stone near the bogs. The boar lying where it shouldn’t have been. The wounds. Too many. Too deliberate.

  Jerald listened without interrupting. His jaw tightened as the details stacked. When I finished, he turned away and paced the length of the tent, boots thudding softly against the packed earth.

  Finally, he stopped.

  “Calling off training was the right call,” he said. “But it leaves us with an unintended advantage.”

  He looked to Brent. “Take the aspirants north. The fog’s thinner there. You’ll be moving along the same route as the recruits toward the city, so keep pace. No stragglers.”

  Brent nodded once.

  Jerald’s gaze swept back to us. “We’ll regroup at Trond Cottage.” He paused. “After we sort this out.”

  “Who’s we?” Brent asked.

  Jerald’s eyes settled on me.

  “Ah.”

  I felt everyone’s eyes one me.

  Brent snorted softly. “Alright, kiddos. Let’s leave them to it.” He herded the others toward the tent flap. Rob and Amelia both glanced back at me before they went. I shrugged, not feeling nearly as casual as I looked.

  When their footsteps faded, the tent seemed to shrink.

  Jerald turned to me. “This leaves us with a clear opportunity.” His voice was steady. Too steady.

  “What does?” I asked.

  “Hags are dangerous,” he said. “Some far worse than others.” He shuddered, just once. “But they all share one trait.”

  I nodded. “They are experts in curses and blood magic,” I said then hesitated. “…And they speak with the dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Don’t tell me we’re…”

  He nodded.

  A shiver ran down my spine. “You want answers.”

  “Of course.”

  I frowned. “But isn’t this… reckless?”

  He laughed under his breath. “Coming from you, that’s…”

  I sighed. “Yeah. You’ve got a point.”

  Jerald studied me like he was weighing something he’d already decided.

  “Alright,” he said at last. “Then let me be clear.” He drew a slow breath. “You’ve probably pieced some of this together already, so I’ll stop dancing around it.”

  He met my eyes.

  “A few of us have been digging into the reason behind the tragedy. Fifteen years ago. The same one we found you in.” His jaw tightened. “We’ve been hiding you ever since. Following leads. Chasing scraps.”

  Jerald moved to the table. A sharp pull and a twist at the corner. A Rune flared and the wood folded in on itself, legs collapsing as the surface tightened into a compact bundle. He pressed it into his rune pouch.

  “There are multiple parties involved,” he continued. “Or at least, competing interests. One side’s been burning books. The other’s been on a witch hunt.” His voice hardened. “More than two factions are suppressing information in the city. We’re fairly sure one of them is responsible.”

  Raw anger had crept into his tone. He doused the lamp and that too went into the pouch.

  “Desperate times,” he said, quieter, “demand desperate measures. You understand that.”

  I nodded. I understood it too well. Knowing didn’t make the path any easier to walk. I glanced down at my sword, half-expecting some sign of protest. It only hummed, low and steady.

  “Alright,” I said. “Then let’s do it.”

  The fury drained from his face, leaving something sharper behind. “I’m not dragging you into this unless, you’re sure.”

  I let the words fade for a moment before I nodded. “I am.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

  He gripped one of the thick support poles of the tent and twisted. A rune flared. The poles shortened, the canvas peeling free as it collapsed inward. Wind rushed in. Cold. Open.

  In seconds, the tent was gone, leaving a smooth cylinder in his hand.

  We stood alone on the hilltop.

  Jerald clipped the cylinder to his belt, then checked the blade at his side, thumb brushing the hilt.

  Jerald reached into his coat and pulled free a long wooden baton. The tip was darkened, slick with something pungent. He drew his sword, struck the edge against the oil, and the torch flared to life in a rush of heat and light.

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  Warmth pushed back the cold around him.

  “Through the fog,” he said. “Drop the disguise. It’ll only piss her off.” He glanced at my blade. “And keep that ready. The little redcap bastards will be waiting.”

  He turned toward the grey wall of fog ahead. “Stick close.”

  I tightened my grip on the hilt and followed Jerald straight into the fog.

  The cold hit immediately. Not on my skin. Deeper. Like something was pulling warmth straight out of my bones, leeching it away. I bit back a shiver. The pressure was heavier than before. Closer. Whatever held this ground felt stronger than before.

  “Who do you think summoned her?” I asked.

  Jerald didn’t slow. “Someone as desperate as us,” he said. “Maybe more.”

  I swallowed.

  “You remember what I wrote down about them?” he asked. “Hag’s, I mean.”

  “I do.”

  I ran through it anyway. “Never name them...” I hesitated, then went on. “Never ask for justice or comfort. You don’t bargain twice. And you don’t offer blood unless you’re ready to spill your own.”

  Jerald nodded. “Word for word.” His voice had gone tight. “Whoever called her paid a price we haven’t yet.”

  His torch cut a narrow path through the fog as we walked. Barely enough.

  “You’re forgetting one,” Jerald said.

  I frowned. “Which?”

  “Never leave until she allows it.” He glanced back at me. “Only once she speaks to you does her attention truly settle. Until then, you’re just trespassing.”

  “But we already walked away earlier,” I said.

  “That doesn’t count,” he replied. “Not unless she makes herself known.”

  I shivered and fixed my eyes on the torchlight ahead. The fog swallowed everything else.

  “I’ll watch the ground,” he said. “Keep us clear of anything we can trip over. You watch our backs.”

  “Sure.”

  I steadied my breathing and fed him directions as we moved. He adjusted course without comment, trusting the lead.

  Laughter drifted through the fog. Soft. Thin. Always just out of reach.

  Redcaps.

  They stayed back. Bloodthirsty little things, but cautious now. Guided. Held at a distance by something far more dangerous than us.

  Cold crept into my toes as we pushed on, damp earth seeping through my boots one step at a time. Mud clung to my hair, stiffening as it dried. None of it helped.

  Then, gradually, the fields fell away. The laughter faded with them.

  The silence that followed was worse.

  Too complete. The only sound left was our boots… until even that vanished. No footfall. No scrape. Just my own breathing, loud in my ears, and the slow thud of my heart.

  The torchlight dimmed, swallowed by the fog. I could barely make out Jerald’s shape ahead of me.

  “She’s here,” he said.

  My chest tightened.

  The fog peeled back as we stepped into a clearing. Blood stained the ground, dark and red, but the boar was gone. The ancient stone loomed at the centre, the pink ribbon still tied to a sharp point, fluttering gently though there was no wind at all.

  Something hunched beneath its shadow.

  A dark figure wrapped in stained rags. Black hair hung in wet strands, hiding most of her face.

  Jerald’s grip tightened on his sword.

  I knew what she was. I knew exactly which hag stood before us.

  But I didn’t dare name her. I didn’t even let the thought settle.

  Jerald stepped forward and lowered his blade. He said nothing. Just waited.

  I followed, slow and careful, keeping my movements small. Respectful.

  Trying not to let my fear show.

  One black eye slid open beneath the curtain of hair, fixing on us. Her mouth curled… not into a smile. There were no teeth to show. I doubted she need them.

  Her fingers scraped through the dirt. Nails long and black, warped and sharp, caked in old, dried blood. She dragged them through the earth as if tasting it.

  A rasping sound crawled out of her throat.

  Why have you come…” she rasped. Her voice scraped like wind tearing through rot.

  Jerald answered calmly. Too calmly. “We came for answers.”

  The hag twitched. Her fingers flexed, clawing at nothing. She laughed, a wet, broken sound, and her single eye slid toward me.

  “Answers for that?” One black claw pointed in my direction.

  The air tightened. Pain pinched my chest as if something thin and cold pressed through my skin.

  Jerald didn’t move. “You know,” he said. “What’s in him.”

  She nodded once.

  “Tainted blood,” she crooned. “Twice cursed.”

  Jerald inclined his head. “That much we know.”

  “No!” she shrieked, the sound cracking. “You do not.”

  She lurched toward me, movement wrong and jerking, more animal than woman.

  “This blood is old,” she hissed. “His curses… older.”

  Her mouth stretched into a hollow grin. For a heartbeat, sharp, needle-thin teeth pushed through her gums… then vanished, swallowed back into the void.

  “The blood curse,” Jerald said. “Who?”

  She screamed. “No!”

  I flinched. For the first time, she looked shaken.

  “Will you not tell us?” I asked.

  She shook her head, hair whipping across her face. “Old things do not speak,” she rasped. “The dead do not speak.”

  The sword at my side hummed.

  Her eye snapped to it.

  One clawed finger lifted, pointing. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, rage twisting her features.

  “You bring it here,” she shrieked. “You mean to end!”

  I shook my head. “We need answers.”

  She wailed, the sound tearing through the clearing as the wind surged back all at once. Fog slammed into us from every side. Jerald’s torch guttered and went out.

  “Jerald!”

  A grunt answered me as he was knocked aside. The fog swallowed everything. I couldn’t see anything. Not even my own hands. I could only feel my blade.

  Pain exploded as claws locked around my wrist and crushed down. I was pulled from my feet and hurled. I clung to the hilt as we went down together, hitting hard. Air burst from my lungs as weight slammed into my chest.

  A face tore out of the fog above me. Claws raked down. My curse flared at her touch and she wailed, but it didn’t stop her. The outer layers of my armour held, but beneath them I felt skin split, heat and wetness spreading as pain burned deep.

  “Blood!” she screamed. “Twice cursed! Kin of chaos! They must die!”

  I screamed back and swung blindly, the blade biting into something solid.

  She shrieked.

  The fog thinned as her scream dragged on.

  Jerald roared something I couldn’t make out. Fire flared, sudden and violent, and the torch burned again, tearing a hole through the grey.

  That was when I saw her.

  She was on top of me.

  Grey skin stretched tight and dead, her face sunken. Black eyes stared without blinking. I shoved at her chest with everything I had, muscles screaming, but she barely shifted. It was like trying to move a slab of stone.

  Jerald lunged, sword flashing.

  The hag caught it.

  She ripped the blade from his grip and flung it aside like it weighed nothing. Jerald roared and slammed into her shoulder, throwing all his weight into a tackle.

  She caught him with one hand.

  Even as she held him, she kept me pinned beneath her weight. Then she grew.

  Bigger. Taller. Her rags and black hair spilled outward, spreading across the ground, swallowing space as her frame swelled and stretched. All the while she screamed, the sound raw and furious as my curse burned into her flesh.

  She released me and hurled Jerald aside. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from him.

  The weight on my chest vanished. I scrambled back through the mud, lungs burning, hands slipping until I found my feet. The blade came up on instinct, not confidence.

  She towered over me.

  Her gaze locked onto the sword, unblinking.

  “Do you not know what you hold?” she rasped.

  I didn’t answer. I let the runes along the blade hum instead, their heat seeping into my grip as I set my stance and watched her.

  “You carry the greatest darkness, child,” she spat.

  As she spoke, the fog peeled away. Beyond her, shapes stirred in the brush. Small faces. Watching.

  Eyes glinted from the edges of the clearing. Shapes crouched low in the brush, grinning as they watched, red caps bright against the dirt, waiting for blood. Even they kept their distance.

  Jerald coughed somewhere to my left, struggling to rise.

  “I know what he is!” I shouted, forcing the words out. “He showed me!”

  Her expression twisted. “Then you are its kin?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She tilted her head, claws lifting slightly as if weighing me.

  Then something sharp drove into my mind.

  Pain exploded behind my eyes.

  I cried out and dropped to one knee as something sharp drove straight into my thoughts. My vision collapsed into black. Memories tore loose, dragged into the open and ripped apart without care, like a thief ransacking a room with no concern for what was left standing.

  I fell to my hands, screaming.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight it. I was trapped inside my own head as she sifted through me, pulling at moments, tearing past years, digging deeper each time. When I was sure this was how I died…

  She let go.

  I collapsed the rest of the way, breath hitching, eyes snapping open.

  The shape above me was vast, looming. She watched me with a crooked, knowing smile.

  “I have your answer,” she said at last.

  Jerald dragged himself upright nearby, coughing, forcing himself to listen.

  “The one who cursed you…” she said, the words dragging free as if pulled from her.

  “It was the shepherd,” she said with a cruel smile.

  A shiver ran down my sword.

  “No,” Jerald said. The word tore out of him.

  The hag convulsed.

  A deep, broken wail ripped from her throat, raw with pain, as if the truth itself had cut deeper than any blade. Her body shook violently. Rags twisted and cinched around empty space as her form folded inward, collapsing in on itself.

  The fog tore away in a single breath. The sky split open above us, sudden and harsh.

  She was gone.

  We were left crouched in the damp field, battered and bleeding, the ground still cold beneath us.

  Hungry eyes in all directions watched us. No longer waiting.