Chapter 188: Chapter 188

Mira’s POV

One week and three days.

That was how long I’d been here—trapped and sheltered in this hidden manor with twelve witches and too many questions. A week and three days of new knowledge, whispered secrets, strange teas, cryptic warnings, and long hours of training.

But not with Morgana.

After the incident in the sanctum, she hadn’t spoken to me much. She passed by in cold silence, her sharp eyes grazing me like I was just another thorn in her path. And honestly, I was fine with that. I preferred the company of the two women who had taken me under their wing—the twin witches, Lyra and Nyla.

They were gentler. Laughing even when serious. Patient. And curious about me in a way that didn’t feel judgmental.

Today, as the sun rose lazily over the horizon, I joined them in the yard behind the manor. It had become our little sanctuary—a wide open patch surrounded by ancient trees and marked with stone paths. The perfect place to connect with nature.

“Breathe in the rhythm of the wind,” Lyra whispered, seated beside me cross-legged. “Let it move through you like song.”

“And when your thoughts cloud, feel the soil beneath your palms,” Nyla added, her eyes closed. “It will ground your soul.”

I nodded and mirrored them, breathing deeply.

The air smelled like wildflowers and damp leaves. My pet weasel, Pip, curled beside me in the grass, blinking sleepily. The little creature had grown used to the witches and had developed a strange fondness for Nyla, who sneaked him sweet roots whenever Morgana wasn’t watching.

Our meditation lasted fifteen minutes.

Fifteen long, quiet, beautiful minutes where—for once—my mind didn’t race with thoughts of curses, betrayals, or impending war.

Afterward, we stood and began our morning task: gathering herbs.

“We need mintleaf, windroot, and fire bark,” Nyla said, handing me a basket. “And if you see any sunvine, that too.”

The twins worked together like parts of the same soul. They moved in rhythm, often finishing each other’s sentences. Their laughter drifted through the trees as we picked leaves, roots, and petals. Once we’d gathered enough, we returned to the mixing table under the old fig tree.

“Every nature witch,” Lyra said, sorting the plants, “must first master the basics of mixture-making. It’s not just about potions—it’s about understanding balance.”

“Herbs for healing, for sleep, for calming beasts, for clarity,” Nyla added. “But no conjuring. That would break nature’s order.”

I nodded, listening intently.

They showed me how to crush roots, extract sap, and heat certain leaves over low flame. I asked questions—lots of them. They never snapped at me. Never scolded me.

Even when Pip tried to steal a chunk of dried moss and rolled in a pile of crushed petals, they only laughed.

While we worked, I couldn’t help but voice the question that had been bubbling in my heart since the day I arrived.

“Why were witches so feared?” I asked softly. “Why were they hunted so cruelly?”

Lyra and Nyla stopped, exchanging a glance.

“It wasn’t always like that,” Nyla said finally. “There was a time when witches, werewolves, humans… all lived in balance.”

“Laws bound us,” Lyra continued. “Customs guided us. But then came the blood witches—the ones who created the lycans.”

I blinked. “Created them?”

Nyla nodded solemnly. “Yes. Not born. Created. Through old, forbidden magic. Their goal was not unity—it was power. They used the lycans as weapons. Sent them into villages. Raided merchant routes. Started wars just to control trade and land.”

“It was a dark time,” Lyra murmured. “Even we were afraid.”

“But weren’t the lycans at fault too?” I asked. “Didn’t they fight back?”

“They did,” Nyla said. “Eventually. They broke the blood bond that tethered them to their creators. Turned against the witches who made them.”

“They helped humans drive the worst of our kind into extinction,” Lyra finished. “But the price was steep. In the chaos, even peaceful witches were killed. Covens like ours had to hide. To erase ourselves from memory.”

I stared down at the mixture I’d been grinding. “And yet… you still choose to live in peace.”

“Because we remember what unity felt like,” Nyla said with a sad smile. “And because hatred doesn’t heal.”

Their words lingered in my chest, heavy and hopeful all at once.

I looked at the herbs on the table, then back at the trees.

“Show me,” I said. “Show me how to infuse magic into this.”

The twins brightened. Lyra reached for a copper bowl and Nyla sprinkled in powdered blossom root.

“We’ll start with a sleep draught,” Lyra said. “Once the mixture is stirred, you speak the binding phrase—and channel your energy through your hands.”

“Not too much,” Nyla warned. “You only need a little at first.”

I followed their instructions.

The paste was ready. I pressed my hands to the bowl, closed my eyes, and whispered the words they taught me.

At first, nothing happened.

Then… something shifted.

It started deep in my gut, like a pressure rising, coiling through my chest, racing through my veins.

Heat. Trembling. A sound that wasn’t a sound—a low, humming vibration all around me.

Then the energy surged.

I couldn’t stop it.

A wave of power burst from my palms, roaring outward.

The table shattered. The grass burned black. The surrounding trees groaned as fire licked up their trunks. The wind howled, leaves spiraling like a storm.

“Get back!” I shouted, but the twins were already scrambling for cover.

It lasted only a moment.

Then silence.

Smoke curled from the cracked earth. The potion bowl was reduced to ash. Pip darted behind a tree, eyes wide.

I stood there panting, heart hammering in my chest, eyes wide.

“What… what was that?” I gasped.

Footsteps thundered toward us.

Morgana was the first to appear, followed by nearly every witch in the manor. Their eyes were wide, mouths slightly agape.

Morgana looked at the scorched clearing, then at me. Her face was unreadable.

“Speak,” she ordered.

“I—I don’t know,” I said. “I was trying the spell and—something just exploded.”

One of the witches stepped forward, whispering, “It felt like All Energy.”

Morgana’s head snapped toward her. “What did you say?”

“All Energy,” she repeated. “I felt it.”

A strange silence settled among the women.

Then Morgana spoke.

“That surge… was unlike anything I’ve felt in over a century,” she said slowly. “That wasn’t nature magic. Or elemental. That was all forms—combined. Pure, ancient, unfiltered.”

I swallowed hard.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Morgana said, staring at me like I was some long-lost relic, “you are what our ancestors once feared… and hoped for.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“You carry All Energy,” she said. “The power to bend every magic form—light, shadow, nature, time. It is as rare as it is dangerous. Only a few have ever had it. And none… in over a thousand years.”

I felt my knees weaken.

Nyla placed a hand on my shoulder. “You were chosen, Mira. By magic itself.”

I looked down at my hands, still warm from the surge.

I had come here looking for answers. For a way to cure Lucian. To understand myself. To uncover the truth.

And I had found more than I ever imagined.

I wasn’t just a witch.

I was something more.

Maybe, just maybe… I was the one meant to end this war for good.