SHRINKING SHADOWS
1366 Words
The night wind slipped through the cracks of the rotten wooden walls, carrying the scent of dampness and bitterness.
The small hut at the edge of Velmira Village stood silent like a grave. No chirping crickets, no howling wolves—even the surrounding forest seemed to be holding its breath.
Inside, four bodies lay stiff on the cold ground. A woman and three children—two girls and one boy—lay in pitiful positions. Their faces were sunken, eyes wide open, staring into emptiness.
In the center of the room, a muffled sob echoed. A middle-aged man with disheveled hair and tattered clothes knelt between the corpses of his family.
His body trembled violently. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the dirt and dried blood.
"Why you… why did it have to be you…?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible, but full of pain. He held his wife’s cold body, shaking it gently. "What did we do wrong…?"
Behind him, two figures stood in the shadows. They said nothing until one of them stepped forward and spoke in a low voice—like a whisper from death.
“There’s no trace of the witch Ozra in this area. But I’m sure she’s in this village.”
The man’s blood drained from his face. He turned slowly toward the voice.
His breath hitched as he saw them—dark, deep, and merciless.
The second figure stepped forward. His face was young, but pale like graveyard soil.
He raised his hand, and a faint white light pulsed from his palm.
“You really don’t know the witch Ozra?” he said with a flat, cruel voice. “Humans these days seem to forget how powerful the witch Ozra once was. What a shame.”
The man crawled back, clutching his wife’s chest tightly as if he could still protect her—even though it was far too late.
“Get out of here!” he rasped. “Leave or just kill me already!”
The two witches glanced at each other. One shrugged indifferently.
“Seems like that was the plan.”
A flash of light shot from their hands—not to harm the body, but to pierce through the man’s head.
He screamed. His eyes bulged as the witches rifled through his mind like opening a dusty old cabinet.
“Search. Look at all his memories. Did he ever see a young woman with a face like a statue? Anyone suspicious.”
“Nothing. Just memories of his wife, children, farmland… a disgustingly ordinary life.”
The other witch grimaced. “Useless. But the statue is gone, which means the prophecy was right. Witch
Ozra has awakened from her long slumber.”
The man gasped, his skin pale and sunken like a dried tree trunk.
The witches gave him one last look.
“Such a waste. You’re completely useless.”
With a single flick of the hand, the last bit of energy was drained from the man’s body. His eyes froze open, and his body shriveled to nothing but skin and bone.
Without a word, the witches stepped out of the hut. Their shadows blended into the night, and silence fell once more, like a fog swallowing everything.
The next morning.
Villagers gathered at the forest’s edge, where the small, isolated hut stood.
Some covered their mouths, others stared in disbelief. The stench of blood hung in the air, mixed with damp soil and newly grown fear.
Zora stood on the slope overlooking the hut with Aren.
From afar, she could see the dried, lifeless bodies. As if drained from within.
Empty. Hollow.
She recognized the signs. “That’s magic,” she muttered. “They died from magic.”
“But why this family? They lived on the edge of the village. Nothing special about them.”
Zora bit her lip. Her heart dropped—not just from horror but also from a faint guilt.
“I don’t know either.”
Before Aren could reply, hurried footsteps approached.
A young witch hunter ran up to them. “Aren! Master Sio is calling everyone to headquarters. Immediately!”
Aren nodded, but Zora cut in, “I’m coming too.”
“No,” Aren replied quickly. “Please stay at home. Lock the door and don’t go out for any reason.”
Zora glared at him. “Your house is barely better than that hut, Aren. If they could get into that place and drain a whole family’s soul, you think stone walls will stop them?!” Her voice was sharp with frustration.
Aren gripped her arm. “That’s exactly why. I won’t be at peace if you come. Please, Zora. Just this once, listen to me.”
Zora slapped his hand away. Her eyes burned with anger, but behind them was the same unease. “I am the witch Ozra. Don’t tell me to sit quietly while the world burns.”
“Why? If you meet your kind, will you join them and become a monster again?”
“That’s stupid,” Zora snapped. She turned and stormed down the slope, her steps heavy with restrained rage.
Aren wanted to chase her. To pull her back and beg her to stay safe. But the call to headquarters was too urgent.
He only stood there, watching her walk away, and let out a long breath.
Witch Hunter Headquarters
The base buzzed with tense activity. Hunters arrived, their faces grim, ready for whatever orders Sio would give.
Sio stood firm like an unshakable stone in the center of the room. His eyes scanned the room sharply.
Then he spoke. “The witches are still in this village.”
His deep, heavy voice silenced the entire room.
“They’re looking for something. We don’t know what. But until they get what they want, they’ll keep killing.”
Everyone tensed up.
“We’ll search the entire village. High-risk areas, old houses, farmlands, temples, forest paths. Check anyone with even a hint of magic. Do not make a mistake. If you harm innocent villagers, I will personally revoke your hunting license.”
Sio pointed at a large map where several red dots were marked.
“Split up. Bring your magical gear. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
Kavi stepped forward and took a scroll of the regional map. Toma, as always, chuckled even in tense moments.
“Let’s hope the witch is strong,” Toma muttered, lifting his sword. “Otherwise, this will be boring.”
As everyone began to prepare and receive their patrol areas, Sio’s voice rang out again.
“Aren.”
Aren froze. Some hunters looked at him—some with sympathy, others just indifferently.
Aren stepped forward slowly. “I’m ready, Master. I—”
“You’re not coming.”
Aren stiffened. His shoulders tensed, and his eyes turned sharp.
“You can’t even fight a low-level witch and came back wounded,” Sio said. “I was kind enough not to drag you into the Hunter Council for judgment.”
He handed Aren a small scroll wrapped in old cloth. “Climb Mount Radu. Train. Focus on energy-sealing techniques. Survive three days without tools.”
Aren took it with trembling hands.
“If after three days you show no progress, your rank will be dropped to novice.”
Whispers rippled through the room. Novice was the lowest hunter level—no missions, no tools, just training and working in the weapon storeroom.
“You know what that means. Train and stop being a burden. This base has no room for the weak.”
Kavi looked anxious, wanting to step forward, but Toma stopped him with blunt words.
“If you move now, Aren’s pride will shatter even more. Let him fight or he’ll end up washing weapons for the rest of his life.”
Toma’s eyes were serious this time—no smile, just calm resolve.
Aren gripped the scroll tightly. He didn’t respond, but his eyes lowered, hiding something that nearly broke inside him.
“Leave now,” Sio ordered, ignoring everyone’s reaction.
Aren nodded slowly, then walked past the other hunters who silently stepped aside. Not a single one greeted or encouraged him.
- Writer
