It was a hand‑drawn map.
Crude, yes, but more detailed than the tiny sketch.
Lines for rivers. Little triangular mountains. A thicker, darker line marking what must be the border between Blackmoon and whatever lay beyond—Nightfang’s territory now.
Near that border, a small X had been scratched in, just off a crooked river bend, near a cluster of hastily drawn trees.
Beside it, it is the same three‑line‑in‑a‑circle symbol.
Underneath, in cramped, faded script:
*“Last known dwelling of the blood witch. Approach only with fire and a clean death wish.”*
A short, sharp laugh punched out of me.
“Optimistic,” I muttered.
My fingers trembled as I traced the line of the river.
It forked halfway up the page, one branch curling deeper into what was labeled *Blackmoon North*, the other veeri
