The morning sun barely kissed the misty treetops when the two witches arrived.
Seraphina stood outside the Crescent Moon gates with Alaric, her cloak billowing gently in the wind. The witches she had summoned traveled in silence, cloaked in a kind of ancient calm that made the air feel heavier. Rose, youthful and wide-eyed, carried a satchel filled with crystals, herbs, and thick leather-bound books. She looked no older than twenty, but her posture was confident—one of someone with knowledge far beyond her years. Beside her was Adelia, tall and regal despite the lines of age that painted her skin like the rings of a wise old tree. At 330 years old, she was the eldest of the Star Seed Coven. No one living had more experience with the Shadow Conclave than she.
Alaric’s voice trembled sligh
