Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls

The cave offered no respite.

The sound of the river became a distant whisper as they delved deeper, replaced by a mineral silence, heavy, almost palpable. The damp walls reflected the dim light, as if covered in stone scales. The air smelled of moss, but there was something else—a sweet, strange aroma, like dead flowers mixed with burning incense.

Amélia walked with Sylphie leaning on her shoulders. The mage, even faint, murmured incoherent words, some recognizable only as fragments of ancient incantations. The gold in her eyes still flickered and faded at intervals, like a wavering flame.

Irelia, in front, held the bloodstained sword. Her steps were firm, but there was a slight tremor in her free hand—a result of exhaustion, of the previous fight, or of the pain she refused to show.

The princess walked in silence, as always. But within the darkness, her figure seemed even more distant, almost spectral. She gazed at the cave walls with an unnatural calm.

"This place..." she murmured. "It's not just a cave."

Irelia gave her a quick glance. "What do you mean?"

"The stone breathes," the princess replied, touching her fingers to one of the walls. The surface pulsed slightly, as if hidden currents ran beneath its mineral skin. "This is alive."

A chill ran down Amelia's spine. She tried to ignore it, concentrating on not letting Sylphie fall, but couldn't help but think: what if they weren't entering a hiding place, but the mouth of something much larger?

They continued like this for minutes that felt like hours, until the corridor suddenly widened, opening into a natural chamber. In the center rested a strange stone, no larger than an altar, covered in moss and fissures that glowed golden.

Amelia stopped, fascinated. "What is this...?"

Irelia approached slowly, cautiously. "It looks like... a mark."

But the princess stepped forward without hesitation. She placed her palm against the surface.

A crack echoed through the cave.

The stone vibrated. The gold of its fissures expanded like rivers of light, running along the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. The air trembled, and the moss glowed like liquid gold. Suddenly, the space before them distorted, as if the air had been woven into threads of light.

And then, it opened.

A golden arch appeared in the middle of the chamber, shining as if made of condensed sunlight. Through it, there was no longer stone, but a passage to another world.

They all stood still for a moment. The sound of their own breathing echoed, mingling with the pulsing energy.

Irelia was the first to break the silence: "This is it. The hiding place."

Amélia swallowed, holding Sylphie tighter. "What if it's a trap?"

"It's not," the princess replied with cold conviction. "It's an invitation."

And without waiting for the others, she walked through.

Irelia snorted and followed close behind. Amélia hesitated only for a second, then lifted Sylphie into her arms and stepped through the archway.

The world changed.

The cold of the cave gave way to a warm air, filled with the scent of flowers and resin. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light, but when they could see, they were breathless.

There were no more rocks or roots.

There was a palace.

A vast hall stretched out before them, with crystal columns reflecting gold and silver hues. The floor was black marble, polished to the point of mirror-like reflection. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into the darkness, studded with golden lights that floated like suspended stars. In the background, staircases rose in delicate curves, leading to enormous wooden doors carved with glowing runes.

But what was most striking was the sensation.

There, the air vibrated with magic. Each breath was like swallowing pure energy.

Amélia, still panting, felt the power pulsing beneath her skin, as if the very stones of the place recognized her presence. Sylphie shivered in her arms, and for an instant the glow in her eyes returned with a vengeance, responding to the surroundings.

"This isn't real..." Amélia murmured, astonished. "It can't be real..."

"It's real enough to kill us," Irelia said, keeping her sword raised, her eyes scanning every shadow in the hall.

It was then that they heard footsteps.

Delicate. Measured.

From the top of the staircase, a figure descended. She didn't seem rushed, but each movement was calculated, as if in an invisible dance.

It was a woman.

Tall, thin, with skin of an almost translucent white. Her hair was long and silver, flowing like jellyfish, and her eyes were an intense amber, illuminated by an inner light. She wore a black dress adorned with gold embroidery, and around her neck was a necklace with a slowly pulsing crystal.

She stopped before them, a few feet away, and smiled.

"Welcome," she said, her voice melodic but laden with something unsettling, as if every syllable had been rehearsed. "This is a secret place for the witches."

Her smile widened, revealing too-perfect teeth.

"Could you please present your credentials... before you are killed?"

The silence fell like a weight.

Amélia felt her knees weaken. The word "dead" echoed in her mind, cold as ice.

Irelia, however, did not retreat. Despite her exhaustion, despite the dried blood on her body, she raised her sword and stepped forward. Her voice, hoarse but firm, broke the silence:

"Disciples of the Witch Queen."

The woman arched an eyebrow, still smiling. But her eyes shone, and for an instant the atmosphere in the hall seemed to change. The air grew heavier, denser, as if space itself were waiting for the answer.

Sylphie opened her eyes at that instant. Still feverish, still weak, but when she saw the figure before them, something in her expression changed. The gold in her eyes reignited, and her words, though slurred, were clear:

"We are hers. The Queen's."

Amélia, panting, merely nodded, adding in a whisper:

"Disciples of the Witch Queen."

The attendant stood still for a moment, studying them with eyes that seemed to pierce their souls. Then, slowly, her smile changed—no longer menacing, but almost... intrigued.

She tilted her head to the side, like an owl sizing up unexpected prey.

"Ah..." she said softly. "So it's true."

Her fingers touched the crystal on her necklace, and it glowed in response. The golden air that filled the hall seemed to waver, as if the very fabric of the place recognized something in them.

"In that case..." the woman continued, her voice laden with something between irony and reverence. "Come in. If you're lying, this place will devour you alive. I'll send a message to the Queen and ask if you truly are what you say you are. Until then, use the second floor to heal. Fortunately, it's not busy today."

She turned gently and began to pace the hall, her footsteps echoing like notes of music.

Irelia didn't lower her sword, but her eyes searched the others'. The princess, impassive, simply lifted her chin and walked forward, as if she had been waiting for this all along.

Amélia took a deep breath, adjusted Sylphie in her arms, and, heart pounding, crossed the threshold of the hall.

Behind them, the golden arch disappeared.

There was no turning back.

…

The fire roared like a living animal.

The trees burned with dry crackles, spewing sparks into the smoke-choked sky. The heat was so intense the air seemed liquid, rippling before his eyes.

Kael ran. His feet crunched on the ground soaked in blood and ash, his heart pounding in time with the flames. Behind him, the screams of his enemies mingled with the crackling of the fire—echoes of a hunt that seemed unending.

But he didn't look away. He ran toward them.

"They must be safe by now..." he muttered through his teeth, his voice hoarse with exertion. "They must be far away by now..."

The image of the four of them crossing the forest, disappearing northward, sustained his steps. Irelia, with her fierce determination. The princess, always cold as ice. Amelia, carrying Sylphie with more courage than strength. He had entrusted their lives to his own courage. Now, it was his turn to pay the price.

He stopped suddenly, his lungs burning. Smoke enveloped him, enveloping the world in a black haze. The heat threatened to devour him whole. If he continued like this, the forest would be left for no one—not the living, not the dead.

He raised his hands.

Energy coursed through his arms, cold and dense, at odds with the infernal heat around him. Kael muttered arcane words, and the air filled with suspended droplets, condensed from the smoke's own moisture.

"Come... water..." His voice faltered, but the magic responded. Chains formed, coiling around each other until a liquid sphere, murky and pulsating, appeared before him. It swirled slowly, heavy as a heart made of sea.

He raised his arms higher, preparing to unleash the torrent. The ground trembled beneath his feet, as if the world waited.

But there was no time.

Something hit him in the side with brutal force.

Kael felt the air knocked from his lungs. His body flew several meters, spinning out of control, until it collided with a gigantic moss-covered boulder. The impact echoed through the forest, and pain exploded like blades piercing his chest.

He fell to the side, spitting blood. The sphere of water disintegrated, falling like useless rain that mixed with the ash on the ground.