“You said you were a cartographer. Didn’t know cartographers knew about curses,” Carl remarked as he watched them eat, curiosity in his voice.

  Tiana didn’t look up. She calmly stirred the last bits of stew in her bowl.

  “On the road, you meet a lot of people,” she said softly. “Good ones… and bad ones.”

  Carl nodded slowly. He had only left the village on short trips to Valebridge to handle trade matters. It was nothing like what Tiana had likely seen.

  “I see you really enjoyed my wife’s cooking,” Carl added with a smile as he looked at the now-empty bowls.

  “The stew was delicious,” Cale said, sincerity in his voice. “Thank you for the meal.”

  Carl beamed with quiet pride, gathering the empty bowls and carefully placing them back into the basket. He straightened up and gave them one last smile before heading out. The barn door creaked closed behind him.

  As the echo faded, Tiana’s demeanor changed.

  She turned to Cale, her eyes sharp.

  “I think Elden is the one responsible for everything that’s happening,” she said, her voice low.

  “People in pain are the ones most likely to become desperate,” she continued. “They’ll do anything to make it stop, even if they regret it later. Elden’s grief over his son… it could’ve pushed him to necromancy. Or maybe he hired a necromancer, hoping to see his son again.”

  Cale’s eyes widened. The thought of it sent a chill through him.

  “What do we do next?” Cale asked.

  “Gather evidence,” Tiana replied calmly.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

  Then, with a subtle shift in the air, Xentar appeared by her side.

  “Yes?” he said. “You called mistress?”

  “I have a task for you,” Tiana said, her voice quiet but firm.

  Moon, who had been sitting quietly by the rune cube, turned her gaze toward them. Her silver eyes locked on Tiana. Her expression shifted to uncertainty, confusion. She was unsure who or what Tiana was speaking to.

  "You’ve probably wandered a lot through the village. Do you know where Elden’s house is?" Tiana asked, turning to the hovering wisp.

  "Close to the village square," Xentar replied. "It’s the one with a dark cloth pinned to the front wall."

  "Go there. Investigate the house. If you see anything unusual, return to me at once," she instructed.

  The spirit flickered and drifted away, gradually fading until he vanished from sight.

  A soft fluttering filled the air.

  Archimedes swooped through a gap in the barn’s ceiling, landing gracefully before Tiana. The white owl's feathers were slightly ruffled, his piercing blue eyes glowing with urgency.

  Moon’s eyes widened. She pointed at the owl, then looked to Cale, her expression full of wonder.

  "He’s Archimedes," Cale explained with a smile. "Tiana’s... pet."

  The owl turned his head sharply toward Cale. His feathers fluffed in a manner that unmistakably resembled a frown.

  Cale blinked. "Wait. Can owls frown?"

  Apparently, they could. Archimedes looked thoroughly offended.

  "Sorry," Cale said quickly.

  The owl’s feathers settled, the 'frown' softening as he turned his gaze back to Tiana.

  She narrowed her eyes, staring deeply into Archimedes’ own. A silent communication passed between them.

  "What’s wrong?" Cale asked quietly.

  Tiana’s brow furrowed. "Archimedes may have found the one responsible."

  She paused, lips pressing into a thin line.

  "And it’s far, far worse than anything I could have expected."

  Moon and Cale both fell silent, eyes locked on her.

  Without a word, Tiana reached into her robe and pulled out an old, leather-bound book. The cover was cracked and worn, the pages yellowed with age and use.

  She opened it carefully, flipping through with practiced fingers. Her eyes scanned the text rapidly, searching. Then she stopped.

  She read. Then glanced around the barn, as though expecting something—or someone. With a sharp breath, she snapped the book shut with a decisive thud.

  Turning to them, she spoke.

  "It might be a Crone," she said, her voice low but heavy with weight.

  Cale frowned. "A Crone?"

  Tiana nodded.

  "‘Crone’ is a title. An ancient one. These are beings who have lived far too long, kept alive by feeding on pain, grief, and death. They trade in curses, raise the dead, and twist the natural world to mirror the rot inside them."

  She stepped closer, her voice softening but growing colder.

  "They’re drawn to sorrow. To towns torn by loss. They whisper promises to the grieving, promises to bring back what was lost. And when someone accepts... the price is paid in blood, in sickness, in shadows."

  Cale’s stomach turned. "You think Elden made a deal with one of them?"

  Tiana gave a slow, heavy nod.

  "He lost his son. The kind of loss that eats at a soul. Desperation like that... it’s exactly what they look for."

  Moon's fist clenched, clearly shaken by Tiana’s words.

  "And now the village is paying the price," Tiana continued. "The shadows. The livestock deaths. Children and adults falling ill. It’s the cost of the bargain."

  "Can’t we just convince Elden to end it? To break the deal?" Cale asked.

  Tiana looked at him sharply.

  "You never break a bargain with a Crone. If you try, the punishment is worse than death."

  Cale’s jaw tightened. "Then what do we do?"

  "We leave," Tiana said flatly.

  Cale shook his head. "We can’t just abandon these people."

  "They already have one foot in the grave," she said, her voice firm. "To fight a Crone is a death sentence—especially on her own ground."

  Cale opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

  "All we can do now is find out if Elden truly struck a bargain—and if he did, we get out of here before it's too late."

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  Her words hung in the air, heavy as the silence that followed.

  They waited until Xentar returned.

  "What did you find?" Tiana asked, her voice low and steady.

  Xentar hovered above the ground, his glow dimmed slightly, as if what he’d seen weighed even on a spirit.

  "That old man is mad," Xentar muttered. "I watched him go into the cellar. It was mostly empty... except for an altar—an altar made of bones, painted with blood. And then..."

  He paused.

  "He picked up a puppet. Made of rags. Its eyes were teeth—yellow, human teeth. He cradled it like it was alive, whispering to it, like it could speak back."

  Tiana’s expression tightened, her brow furrowed in cold calculation.

  "That’s Crone magic," she said, almost to herself. "The fool actually made a pact."

  She clicked her tongue and turned sharply toward Cale and Moon.

  "We’re leaving. Now." She moved to grab the sack of supplies, every motion sharp and decisive.

  But before she could take another step, Cale reached out and grabbed her hand.

  "Tiana—" his voice trembled with conviction, "we can’t do this. We can’t just leave these people to die."

  Tiana froze.

  She looked at him, her green eyes narrowing. "Do you want to see me hurt? Or Moon?"

  "No," Cale said instantly, his grip tightening. "Of course not."

  "Then we leave. That’s how you protect us."

  Cale looked down at his hands. Then he clenched them into fists.

  When he looked back up, there was no fear in his eyes—only quiet determination.

  "I’ll stay."

  Tiana stared at him, unmoving. Her face was unreadable—emotionless, like carved stone.

  "I can’t walk away," he said, his voice softer now. "Not when I know I can help. Not when people are in danger. I know it’s stupid. I know it’s risky. But if I left—if I ran—I wouldn’t be able to live with myself."

  The destruction of the hamlet still bears on his conscience. He will not let this village suffer the same fate.

  Moon, quiet and still, watched the exchange with wide, uncertain eyes. Her hand crept toward Cale’s sleeve, holding onto it like it was the only thing tethering her.

  Tiana finally closed her eyes.

  Silence stretched between them like a blade.

  Then—

  She let out a slow breath.

  "You’re a fool, Cale," she said.

  He didn’t flinch.

  She closed her eyes for a moment.

  When she opened them again, they were different—not softer, but clearer.

  "I’ll help you," she said quietly. "But if something happens—if one of us gets hurt, or worse—you’ll bear that weight. Not me. Not Moon. You."

  Cale nodded, the promise sinking into his bones.

  "I understand."

  Tiana turned away, her movements sharper now, purposeful. She let go of the supply sack and began to pace.

  "We’ll need a plan. We can’t attack a Crone head-on. But if Elden really made a pact, there may be a ritual. Something we can sever. Or disrupt. But we’ll need to be fast, clever, and brutal."

  Cale stepped up beside her.

  "Then let’s begin."

  They had barely exchanged a few words when the barn door creaked open.

  A cold wind slipped inside, and with it came an old woman. Her steps were slow, deliberate. All eyes turned toward her. Even the glow of the rune cube flickered.

  Tiana stiffened, her entire body going still.

  The woman wore a frayed, brown coat draped loosely over her hunched shoulders. Her gray hair hung in matted strands, framing a sharp, bony face. Her chin was long and pronounced, and her crooked nose curved like a raven’s beak. Her skin was pale and tight, stretched like parchment over brittle bones.

  But it was her eyes that held them—the color of frozen sky, far too bright, far too knowing.

  She smiled.

  Her teeth were pointed, jagged and yellow like rotting ivory. When she spoke, her voice was like rusted bells.

  "No need to scheme," she said. "Here I am."

  Tiana took a step back. "She’s the Crone," she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. She bit her lower lip.

  The old woman nodded, almost proudly. "Now," she said, stepping forward. Her eyes fell on Cale.

  He felt her gaze like a hook behind the ribs.

  "You said you wanted to save everyone," she crooned. "That’s why I’ve come. If you accept my bargain, the village will be spared. Elden’s son will be revived. The sickness will vanish. No more shadows. No more fear. Just peace."

  Cale’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  The Crone’s smile grew wider. She stepped closer, then turned her gaze to Moon.

  "Or," she said softly, "you can give me her."

  Her gnarled hand reached toward the girl.

  Moon recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes—those moonlit eyes—went wide with terror.

  Cale moved before he could think.

  His hand shot out and grabbed the Crone’s wrist.

  To his shock, it didn’t feel like frail old flesh—it felt like cold iron, unyielding. Her skin was dry and paper-thin, but beneath it was power. Immovable.

  He gritted his teeth.

  "You won’t touch her."

  The Crone’s expression didn’t change. "Then take her place."

  "No!" Tiana stepped forward. Her voice cracked like a whip. "Cale, don’t you dare. You don’t make deals with Crones. They never end how you think they will."

  The Crone tilted her head, her eyes never leaving Cale’s. "You’ve lost before, haven’t you? You carry that weight still. But you don’t have to fail again. I can give you the ending you want. The one where everyone lives."

  Cale looked at Tiana.

  Her eyes pleaded with him.

  He turned to Moon.

  She was trembling, clutching his sleeve like a child clinging to the last safe thing in the world.

  His heart thundered.

  He could save them. All of them.

  He had the chance to rewrite the ending he never got to change.

  He looked back at the Crone.

  "If I agree... you leave them alone? Everyone?"

  "I swear it," she said. "By root and rot and bone, I swear it."

  Tiana whispered, "Don’t do it, Cale. Please."

  But he had already made his choice.

  He released her wrist and stepped back.

  "I accept."

  The Crone’s smile turned into something monstrous—something too wide, too full of teeth.

  The air inside the barn seemed to ripple. Moon let out a soft, broken sound.

  Tiana closed her eyes.

  And somewhere in the shadows, something ancient stirred.

  The bargain had been struck.

  The Crone laughed, low and guttural, the sound like bones clacking together. Her grin stretched unnaturally wide, satisfied.

  Then she turned.

  "Let’s go to your new home," she said with a raspy sweetness.

  Cale followed her.

  "Thank you for everything. "Cale whispered as walked away, his gaze fixed on the ground.

  He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. If he did, he knew his resolve would shatter. His throat burned from holding back tears. Moon. Tiana. He had left them behind.

  They walked in silence through the outskirts of the village, past the fields that had once smelled of earth and wheat, now silent and dry. The trees thickened, and mist began to curl around their feet, dense and cold.

  Animal skulls lined the path, each impaled on rotting wooden stakes. Wolves, deer, foxes—some human. Their hollow eye sockets seemed to follow him.

  The smell came next. Rancid. Rotting. Sweet, like decay soaked in honey. It churned his stomach.

  They reached a grove, twisted and wrong. In the center stood a crooked wooden shack with moss-covered shingles and windows too dark to see through. The trees bent away from it like even nature wanted to flee.

  "Beautiful, isn’t it?" the Crone crooned.

  Cale said nothing.

  They stepped inside.

  The interior was worse.

  The ceiling beams were strung with dried body parts—fingers, ears, scalps—tied with brittle sinew. Jars lined every wall, filled with cloudy liquid and mummified remains: eyes suspended in brine, tongues curled like dried leaves, hearts blackened and shriveled. The smell was suffocating.

  A cauldron bubbled over a crackling hearth. Whatever was inside sizzled and popped.

  "Are you hungry, dear?" the Crone asked.

  Cale shook his head quickly. Even if he were starving, he’d rather die.

  "Well, I am," she said cheerfully.

  She shuffled to the cauldron and stirred it with a long iron ladle. The thick broth sloshed in her bowl as she poured it. An eyeball floated to the surface, staring blankly.

  She carried the bowl to a warped wooden table and sat with eerie grace. Her movements were slow, deliberate, delicate—as if this grotesque meal were a royal feast. She sipped with contented sighs.

  After she ate, she stood and made her way to a dark corner of the shack. She gripped the rusted ring of a trapdoor and heaved it open, revealing a ladder that led below.

  She beckoned him with one finger.

  Wordlessly, Cale followed her down.

  The cellar reeked of damp stone and iron. The walls were covered in bones—human bones—arranged like trophies. Skulls grinned from every crevice, jawbones hung from chains. Femurs served as supports for shelves that held candles made from fat.

  "These," the Crone said, gesturing wide, "are the ones who tried to break their bargain."

  Cale’s eyes caught something small—a child’s skeleton, huddled in one corner. Its skull glowed faintly.

  And he felt it.

  The room was full of spirits. Bound. Trapped. Screaming without voices.

  The Crone walked to one skull and, with grotesque care, inserted her long fingers into its eye sockets. She pulled. Black ichor oozed from the bone like tar.

  She flung the dark goo onto the stone floor. It hissed, and from it rose a shadow—identical to the one Cale had fought.

  "A replacement," she said. "For the one you destroyed."

  She turned and pointed to a raised stone platform in the center of the room.

  "Lay here."

  Cale didn’t move.

  Her smile vanished.

  "If you don’t..." Her voice thinned, becoming sharp and cold. The shadows around him deepened. Dozens of glowing eyes opened in the darkness. Cold claws of dread gripped his spine.

  "There are more waiting around the village," she whispered.

  Cale’s throat tightened. He stepped forward slowly, each footfall feeling like it echoed through eternity. He climbed onto the platform and lay down.

  "What are you going to do to me?" he asked, barely able to speak.

  The Crone leaned over him, her breath sour and warm.

  "I’m going to feast on your succulent soul."

  Her grin widened.

  "For someone with a soul as ancient as yours... you’re quite the fool."

  Cale frowned. "What do you mean...?"

  But she didn’t answer.

  She raised her hands, crooked fingers dancing. Her mouth opened and spoke words he couldn’t understand. Words that hurt just to hear. The air warped.

  And then—

  He felt it.

  Something gripped his soul.

  It was like hooks sunk into every part of his being, dragging him upward, outward. The pain was unspeakable. Worse than any wound. Worse than death. Worse than anything he could’ve imagined.

  His back arched. He screamed.

  His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.

  He saw her—Tiana—just for a moment. Her expression blank. Moon, clutching his sleeve.

  Then his eyes rolled back. His body fell limp.

  And Cale passed out, his soul halfway torn from his flesh, surrounded by bones and shadows and a hunger older than time.

  The shadows laughed with shrieking delight.

  The Crone’s smile widened—her face tearing open from ear to ear. Her chest split vertically with a sickening crack, revealing a second, gaping maw lined with serrated teeth.

  "Such a feast... such a feast!" the Crone bellowed in a voice made of a thousand screams.

  And she descended on the broken boy beneath her.