Chapter 46: The Witch's Bloodline

We walked the rest of the way to the cabin in complete silence.

The closer we got, the clearer the yellow light inside became. The small wooden structure looked old, its walls weathered by time. The single window glowed faintly, and the surrounding field seemed unnaturally quiet.

When we finally reached the cabin, Francis stepped up onto the small wooden porch.

A lantern hung from a hook on the roof above the door.

Francis reached up and took it down.

The soft flame inside flickered, casting moving shadows across his face.

Then he turned around and held the lantern out toward Timi.

Timi frowned slightly.

“Why are you giving that to me?”

Francis tilted his head a little.

“Come now,” he said calmly. “You know what you need to do.”

Timi didn’t move.

He simply stared at the lantern.

The wind brushed lightly through the grass behind us.

Francis’ expression remained patient.

“Don’t you want to know,” he said slowly, “how I know everything I know about you?”

The lantern thin flame flickered between them.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.Timi didn’t answer immediately.

For a moment he just stood there, staring at the lantern Francis was holding out to him.

Then slowly… he released Ayara’s hand.

Ayara glanced at him nervously as his fingers slipped away from hers.

Timi stepped forward.

His eyes fixed on the small flame inside the lantern.

The air around us grew strangely still.

Then something changed.

The flame inside the lantern flickered once… twice…

And suddenly it began to glow brighter.

Not just brighter—stronger.

The small flame stretched upward, burning with a steady golden light as if it had suddenly been fed fresh oil.

Timi’s eyes reflected the glow for a brief second before he looked away.

Francis stared at the lantern, impressed.

Then he burst into a loud laugh.

“Wow!” he said, clearly amused. “That’s amazing.”

He looked between all of us with a wide grin.

“You people really are something else.”

Francis turned back toward the cabin door.

“Alright,” he said casually. “Let’s go in.”

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside.

Timi and Ayara followed him first.

Then Juliet.

I entered last.

The moment we stepped inside, the darkness swallowed us.

The cabin looked much darker than it had from the outside. The faint glow from the lantern barely revealed the outlines of old wooden walls and dusty furniture.

Francis began walking deeper into the room.

We could hear his footsteps moving across the wooden floor.

Then suddenly—

He stopped.

A sharp scratch broke the silence.

A matchstick flared to life in his hand.

The tiny flame illuminated his face.

But something immediately felt wrong.

My eyes widened slightly.

Francis was standing far away.

Much farther than he should have been.

The cabin we had just walked into was small—barely large enough for a few people to stand comfortably.

But Francis was standing at a distance that should not have been possible inside such a small building.

It was as if the space inside the cabin had stretched.

Or perhaps… it had never been small to begin with.

Without saying a word, Francis walked over to a large stone fireplace behind him.

He held the match to the dry wood.

Within seconds the fire caught.

Flames rose quickly, crackling as they spread through the stacked logs.

The warm orange light filled the cabin.

And for the first time, we could clearly see the place around us.

Francis picked up a torch from a metal holder beside the fireplace and leaned it into the flames.

The dry cloth wrapped around its tip caught fire almost instantly.

Holding the burning torch, he began walking around the room.

One by one, he lit the torches mounted along the wooden walls.

Each new flame pushed the darkness further back, slowly revealing more of the cabin.

When the last torch was lit, the entire place glowed with warm orange light.

And that was when we truly saw it.

The room looked ancient.

Not old in the way an abandoned house was old—but old in a way that felt deliberate… preserved.

The walls were made of thick dark wood beams, carved with strange patterns and symbols that looked far older than anything from this century. The furniture was heavy and handcrafted, made from dark oak and iron. Long wooden tables stood against the walls, cluttered with objects that looked like relics—glass bottles filled with strange liquids, bundles of dried herbs tied with twine, and old books with cracked leather covers.

There were no electric lights.

No modern decorations.

No television.

No sign of anything from the twenty-first century.

The entire place looked like something pulled straight out of another era.

And it was much bigger than it should have been.

From the outside, the cabin looked small—barely large enough for a single room.

But inside, the space stretched far wider, with high ceilings supported by thick wooden beams and multiple corridors branching deeper into the structure.

It felt less like a cabin…

And more like a hidden hall.

Francis turned back toward us, still holding the torch.

“Follow me.”

We did.

He led us toward a narrow passage carved between two wooden walls.

As we walked, he spoke casually.

“She doesn’t like the modern world,” he said. “Or its style.”

The torchlight flickered against the walls as we moved deeper into the passage.

“So she built this place using magic,” Francis continued. “And chose to isolate herself here.”

We walked for another moment before reaching a wooden door at the end of the passage.

Francis stopped.

He raised his hand and knocked twice.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then an old voice spoke from inside the room.

“Come in.”

The voice was quiet… but carried a strange weight behind it.

Francis slowly pushed the door open.

We stepped inside.

The room was completely dark.

Without saying anything, Francis took the torch and lit the one mounted on the left side of the doorway.

Then he placed the torch he had been holding into a metal bracket on the right side of the entrance.

The flames burned steadily.

And the room finally came into view.

The light from the torches revealed a room that was almost completely empty.

There were no shelves, no tables, no decorations.

Just bare wooden walls and a cold stone floor.

The only real piece of furniture in the entire room was a large wooden bed placed near the far wall.

Its frame looked old and handcrafted, carved from thick dark wood. Heavy sheets and blankets covered it, piled high as if someone had been sleeping there for a long time.

A figure lay beneath the sheets.

Still.

Almost hidden within the folds of the blankets.

Francis walked calmly across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.

He looked down at the figure under the covers and spoke gently.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “I brought them here.”

His voice carried a strange excitement.

“You were right all along.”

For a moment nothing happened.

Then the blankets shifted.

The woman slowly pushed the sheets down and sat up.

Before any of us could react, she leaned forward and kissed Francis passionately, wrapping her arms around him as if she hadn’t seen him in years.

Francis laughed softly against her lips.

Then the woman turned her attention toward us.

Her eyes moved across the room until they landed on me.

“You,” she said gently.

Her voice was warm, almost comforting.

“Come closer.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“I want to see your face.”

I hesitated for only a second before walking forward.

When I reached the bed, she patted the space beside her.

“Sit.”

I did.

And that was when I truly saw her.

She was beautiful.

Not just beautiful in a normal way—there was something almost unnatural about it. Her skin was smooth and pale, her eyes bright and full of life, and her dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders.

She didn’t look old at all.

If anything, she looked like she couldn’t have been older than thirty.

But there was something ancient in her gaze.

Something that made it feel like she had lived far longer than that.

She gently placed both hands on my cheeks.

Her touch was warm.

She looked into my eyes and smiled.

Not like a stranger.

But like someone who had known me for a very long time.

Then she looked toward the others.

“Come closer,” she told them.

“Don’t stand so far away.”

Timi, Ayara, and Juliet slowly approached the bed.

“Sit,” she said kindly, gesturing around the mattress.

They did, forming a circle around her.

Then, one by one, she reached out to them.

She held Timi first, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Then Juliet.

Then Ayara.

She touched their faces, their hair, their shoulders—looking at each of them carefully.

Almost tenderly.

The way a mother might look at children she hadn’t seen in years.

And yet…

She still looked no older than thirty.

Her eyes moved slowly across our faces again.

Then they stopped on Juliet.

A soft smile spread across her lips.

She turned back to me and gently placed her hand on my cheeks again, studying my face with warmth in her eyes.

“My beautiful daughter,” she said softly.

“You’ve grown so much.”

Before I could even react, she lifted her other hand and placed it on Timi’s cheek.

“My son,” she whispered with the same tenderness.

“My beautiful son.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

None of us moved.

None of us spoke.

The words hung in the air like something unreal.

Shock spread across all our faces.

Timi slowly reached up and removed her hand from his cheek.

Juliet did the same.

Both of them stood up from the bed.

Timi’s jaw tightened as he turned toward Francis.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” he demanded angrily.

His voice echoed slightly in the nearly empty room.

Juliet shook her head, clearly disturbed.

“I’m not going to be a part of this,” she said firmly.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She immediately turned and walked toward the door.

Her hand grabbed the handle and she tried to pull it open.

But it didn’t move.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Her breathing grew heavier as panic and frustration began to creep into her movements.

Then she started pushing harder, trying to force the door open.

The wood didn’t even shake.

Her frustration exploded.

Juliet began barging her shoulder against the door, slamming into it with force.

The loud thud echoed through the room.

Again.

And again.

But the door didn’t budge.

Not even slightly.

Then she started kicking it, striking the wood with all her strength.

Her fists followed.

Punching.

Slamming.

Trying desperately to break it down.

Still…

Nothing happened.

The door stood completely still.

Behind her, the witch’s calm voice finally broke the chaos.

“Juliet.”

But Juliet didn’t listen.

She kept kicking.

Punching.

Hitting the door harder and harder with everything she had.

Juliet kept kicking the door with all her strength, her fists slamming against the heavy wood again and again.

The witch watched her quietly for a moment.

Then she spoke again, her voice calm but firm.

“Juliet.”

Juliet ignored her.

Another kick.

Another punch.

Then the woman spoke louder.

“Juliet… I am your grandmother.”

That made Juliet pause.

Just for a second.

The woman continued.

“My name is Waje. I was the wife of your grandfather… Akaja.”

The room went completely silent.

Juliet slowly turned around.

Her eyes burned with disbelief.

“That’s a lie,” she said coldly.

“I’ve never met you. I don’t know you.”

She pointed toward the bed as if the woman herself was the insult.

“You expect me to believe you’re my grandmother?”

Then she turned sharply to Timi.

“What are you still standing there for?” she snapped.

“Let’s get out of here.”

But Timi didn’t move.

He stood there thinking, his eyes fixed on the woman sitting calmly on the bed.

“Juliet… wait,” he said carefully.

“Let’s hear her out.”

Juliet stared at him like he had lost his mind.

“She might be telling the truth,” Timi continued.

“I mean… why would she lie about being our grandmother?”

Juliet let out a short, bitter laugh.

“Oh please.”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“Because somehow she knows who we are.”

Her voice hardened.

“She knows we’re the strongest vampires in the world.”

Juliet pointed toward the woman again.

“And she probably thinks she can guilt us into doing whatever she wants.”

Her expression turned completely cold.

“Well I’m not going to be a part of this.”

She turned back toward the door.

And with renewed anger—

She kicked it again.

Harder than before.

The woman called Juliet again, but Juliet refused to listen. She kept kicking and punching the door with all her strength, her frustration growing with every second.

“Juliet,” the woman said softly.

Juliet ignored her and continued striking the door.

Then the woman spoke again, her voice calmer but firmer.

“Juliet… I know about your life. I know how lonely you've been.”

Juliet suddenly stopped kicking.

The room fell silent.

The woman continued.

“I know how you suffered in the hands of your tyrant father and your emotionless mother. I know how you cried every night wishing for another life. I know how you felt relief when your father banished you.”

Juliet slowly turned around.

“I know everything about you, Juliet.”

The woman slowly stood up from the bed and walked toward her.

Juliet didn't move.

When the woman reached her, she gently placed her hands on Juliet’s shoulders.

Juliet looked up at her, tears already forming in her eyes.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Juliet suddenly collapsed into her arms.

She began crying uncontrollably.

The woman held her tightly, gently stroking her hair.

After a moment Juliet called out softly.

“Timi…”

Timi walked over slowly.

Juliet pulled him into the embrace, holding both of them as she continued to cry.

Ayara and I exchanged shocked looks.

We had never seen Timi and Juliet like this before.

Never vulnerable.

Never broken.