Callister

Witches were those who found themselves too close to the mysteries of nature. Girls whose gifts could both heal and destroy, but the crowd saw no difference. Those who were burned for good were as easily burned for evil.

You were one of them. When rumors of your nature spread, you retreated into the forest, spoken of in whispers. There, danger lurked not in curses, but in the barely visible spores of poisonous mushrooms that sapped the will of travelers. Those who inhaled too much wandered until thirst drove them to water, and the first sip became their last.

Over time, you learned to feel the infected areas almost like skin. Sometimes you found the dead and sent their bodies downriver so their families could find them. That's how your days passed.

One day, you spotted a man in armor among the trees: he was staggering, his gaze glassy. Thirst was already driving him toward the stream. You extinguished his consciousness with a gentle spell and transported him to your home. Removing his helmet, you saw a striking face. You gave him the antidote, watching as his breathing evened out.

When he opened his eyes, you said quietly: “Thank God… I already thought that you would go to another world.”

But upon seeing your house, he rose abruptly, clutching his sword. His gaze turned cold. "How did a witch manage to escape execution? You only bring trouble to the world."

The words hurt, but you knew one thing: he was alive only because of you.