Chapter 183 CHAPTER 183
The forest was colder at night.
The insects were quieter. The wind moved more carefully, as if afraid to disturb something hidden beneath the trees. The moon hung thin and pale above the mountain range, barely enough to light the narrow path that cut through the shadows.
Sarah moved quickly, but not gracefully.
She was half-dragging, half-supporting the boy beside her.
He stumbled again.
“Quiet,” she whispered urgently, tightening her grip around his wrist. “You have to move faster.”
“I’m trying,” he rasped.
His voice was barely more than breath. Weeks in the dungeon had stripped him down to bone and hollow eyes. His shoulders curved inward as though the world itself weighed too much for him to carry. He was not a child, not fragile by nature, but captivity had stolen whatever strength he once had.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder, scanning the darkness behind them for any sign of pursuit. There were no witches moving between the trees, no hurried footsteps, no alarms echoing through the village, and no torches cutting through the night.
The forest remained still, as though unaware of the risk she was taking. Yet her heart continued to pound heavily against her ribs, not from the strain of supporting the boy beside her, but from something far more dangerous than exhaustion. It was doubt.
She had left the dungeons with the full knowledge of what defying her mother would mean. She had stepped outside knowing that once she made this choice, there would be no pretending it was a mistake or a misunderstanding.
The silence around her should have brought relief, but instead it made her feel exposed, as if the quiet itself were waiting to betray her.
Beside her, the boy stumbled again, his foot catching against a root. A sharp breath escaped him as he nearly collapsed. “I can’t run,” he whispered, his voice strained and thin as he tried to steady himself.
He had not been made for this kind of escape. Years in the dungeon had reduced him to something fragile, his strength drained day by day while she and her mother fed on what little life he had left. He was not just another captive. He was Leonard and Mara’s son - the boy whose absence had forced them into obedience, whose suffering had kept them silent. For years they had lived under her shadow, pretending she was their niece, pretending their son was studying abroad, while she used their fear to anchor herself in Silverpine. And now here he was, barely able to stand.
When she had entered the dungeon earlier that night, she had meant to follow her mother’s command. She had told herself she would finish it quickly. But when she saw him among the others, thinner than she remembered, eyes hollow yet still alive, something inside her had shifted. She remembered Leonard’s quiet courtesy at the dinner table, Mara’s trembling hands when she poured her tea. She had lived in their home. She had slept beneath their roof. She had eaten the food they prepared with forced smiles. She could not deny that somewhere in those years, something human had grown inside her. And when she stood over their son with death in her hands, she could not bring herself to use it.
So she had opened the chains instead.
They were nearing the edge of the hidden village now. The protective spell that concealed it from the outside world shimmered faintly between the trees, invisible to most, but not to her.
The tree stood ahead of them.
Ancient. Thick. Its trunk wide enough to swallow two bodies if it wished. To anyone else, it was just bark and shadow.
To Sarah, it was a door.
She pressed her palm flat against the trunk.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the bark rippled beneath her touch, splitting silently down the middle, revealing a hollow passage bathed in faint green light.
“Hurry,” she breathed.
She pulled him forward, guiding him through.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
The air changed. The spell closed behind them with a soft sealing sigh. They were no longer inside the witch village. They were outside it - beyond the protection, beyond the illusion, into the open forest that led down the mountainside.
Freedom.
Or at least the beginning of it.
The boy swayed on his feet, disoriented.
“You have to keep going,” she told him. “Follow the ridge until you reach the lower forest. From there, head east. You’ll find…”
A slow clap echoed through the trees.
Sarah froze.
The boy stiffened beside her.
From the darkness ahead, a figure stepped forward.
Seraphine.
Her cloak blended with the night itself. Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her expression was not furious. Not surprised.
Amused.
“Did you think I would not notice?” Seraphine asked softly.
Sarah’s grip tightened on the boy’s wrist.
“Mother…”
“Do not insult me,” Seraphine interrupted, her tone still eerily calm. “Did you think I did not see the hesitation in your eyes when you left the house earlier?”
Sarah’s mouth went dry.
“You were not going to obey me,” Seraphine continued. “You were going to betray me.”
“I wasn’t…” Sarah began, but the words dissolved before they could form properly.
Seraphine’s gaze drifted lazily to the boy.
“Explain this,” she said. “Explain letting him walk free.”
“You don’t understand,” Sarah said, desperation creeping into her voice. “He’s just…”
“Just what?” Seraphine asked softly. “Just a risk? Just a liability? Just someone who would run straight back to Silverpine and tell them where we are?”
The word Silverpine landed heavily.
“He wouldn’t,” Sarah said, but it sounded weak even to her own ears.
Seraphine’s expression sharpened.
“You are putting the entire village at risk,” she said quietly. “For what? A moment of softness?”
Sarah’s breath trembled.
“I’m tired,” she said suddenly.
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Seraphine stilled.
“Tired?” she repeated.
“I’m tired,” Sarah said again, louder this time. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be your soldier. I just want to be…” Her voice cracked. “I just want to be normal.”
The boy looked at her, confusion flickering across his gaunt face.
Seraphine laughed softly.
“Normal?” she echoed. “You are not normal.”
Her voice did not rise. It grew colder.
“You are half wolf. Half witch. You are stronger than any of them. You are not meant to walk among sheep pretending you are one.”
She stepped closer.
“With you at my side, we will accomplish what they never imagined possible.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t want power. I don’t want kingdoms. I just…”
Seraphine did not raise her voice or move with visible anger. She simply extended her hand, not toward Sarah, but toward the boy. The air around him seemed to tighten before he even understood what was happening.
An invisible force closed around his throat and lifted him from the ground, his feet kicking uselessly as he clawed at nothing, trying to pry away fingers that were not there. A choked sound escaped him, thin and desperate, and his eyes widened in panic as his body struggled against the unseen grip.
Sarah stepped forward instinctively, horror flooding her face. “Stop!” she cried, her voice breaking as she reached toward him, but she was too late. The power holding him did not falter. It only tightened.
A pale stream of light began to spill from the boy’s chest, thin at first, then thicker, like smoke being drawn by an unseen wind. It flowed toward Seraphine’s open mouth, and she inhaled deeply.
The boy’s struggles weakened.
“Mother, please…” Sarah stepped forward.
“Watch,” Seraphine ordered.
The life drained from him steadily. His limbs went slack. His eyes lost focus. His body fell to the forest floor with a dull, final thud.
Silence swallowed the trees.
Sarah stared at the still form.
“What have you done?” she whispered, horror coating every word.
Seraphine exhaled softly, satisfied.
“What you were too weak to do.”
She turned to Sarah fully now.
“You have seen death before,” she said. “Do not pretend innocence.”
“That was different,” Sarah breathed.
“Was it?” Seraphine stepped closer again.
Her fingers lifted, brushing gently along Sarah’s chin. The touch was soft, almost tender.
Sarah did not move.
“You are stronger than this,” Seraphine murmured. “I did not raise you to be weak.”
Sarah flinched.
Seraphine’s eyes flickered briefly, but the smile remained.
“My girl,” she said softly. “Everything I have done has been to protect you. Weakness is what destroyed me. I will not let it destroy you.”
Sarah’s throat burned, she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
Seraphine’s hand slid away.
“This was a momentary lapse,” she said calmly. “Silverpine infected you with softness. That will pass.”
She stepped back, regaining her composed authority.
“You will return,” she continued. “You will remember who you are. And you will serve as you always have.”
Sarah’s hands trembled at her sides.
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to scream.
But the body at her feet silenced her.
She nodded slowly.
Seraphine watched her carefully, as if measuring obedience.
“Good,” she said at last. “Come.”
She turned, walking back toward the hidden entrance as though nothing of importance had occurred.
“I will have someone take care of the body,” she added without looking back.
Sarah cast one final glance at the boy lying motionless on the forest floor.
The forest did not move to mourn him.
The moon did not dim.
The night remained indifferent.
And as she followed her mother back toward the village, she knew all too well that there was no getting away from her mother’s clasp.
She had hoped for redemption, but she wasn’t even sure she deserved it.