Gwendolyn stood silently by the door, eyes wide with disbelief as she watched the scene unfold before her.
The woman cradled in the arms of the Lycan triplets, sobbing with lifetimes of grief in her chest, wasn’t just Velicia. She was the Archwitch.
The Archwitch. The Archwitch.
To think that this woman, who was once dismissed, enslaved, and broken, was the very legend every witch was taught to fear and revere.
Every coven, from the oldest bloodlines to the newest circles, knew the story. Whispers passed down through generations spoke of a time when gods and goddesses still walked among mortals. Back then, witches were not free.
They were enslaved and exploited for their blood, magic, and souls by divine cruelty.
But then she stood up against them.
She was the first to wield not on
