"You've come at last to your senses, I see," a voice hissed from the shadows before a dark-mottled hand reached out, pulling Lenesa in and tugging off one of her gloves.

It was the mirage witch. She held Lenesa's hand, her fingers tracing over the shadows that writhed beneath Lenesa's skin.

"We are the same now, you and I," the other witch continued. "Now that you've accepted the truth. It is a cold, cruel world we live in, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

Lenesa let the mirage witch trace over the shadows just a few moments longer before pulling away. "I came to kill the witch hunter's leader," she said, her voice carrying no life in its tone. "What happens after that doesn't matter."

The other witch revealed a sharp grin, offering Lenesa back her glove. "I'm Nua. And you are...?"

"Lenesa."

"Well, Lenesa. I have a feeling you'll quite like what happens after," Nua said. "We won't let those devils get away with their murderous schemes. I'm going to slaughter them all – and you can join me!"

Nua laughed – a high, crackling cry that teetered on the edge between control and insanity. Lenesa briefly wondered how long ago Nua had Turned and what had made her do so, but the thought flickered through her tired mind for only a moment, leaving as soon as it found no place to plant itself and root into a more substantial worry.

The only thing she could care about right now was Decliteur. He had to be stopped – and if Theiden got in her way, then so be it.

"This way," Nua hissed, suddenly taking Lenesa's hand and pulling her up the road. "They'll all be gathered together this night!"

Lenesa let herself be led through the city, distracted by the chill in the air despite the summer season. The festival seemed quieter this night as they neared the plaza – rather than shouts and songs, there was just a feverish buzz of voices, like an agitated hive.

Lenesa pulled back. "Nua, wait," she said. "We should go in quietly. Something's not right."

A muscle in Nua's jaw twitched, but she nodded, and they tightened the hoods of their cloaks in unison and slowly walked through the columns and into the crowd.

The stage was empty.

There were still scorch marks on the platform from the explosion Nua had caused, but otherwise the structure was sound. At this time of the evening, and with this many people gathered in the plaza, there should have been some spectacle or another.

The buzzing of voices pressed against the back of Lenesa's mind like the clash from a powerful witch's aura – unshakeable and oppressive. The lack of something screamed danger, something slightly out-of-place like in the forest all those years ago. Just a single moment of something wrong could change everything.

The voices of the crowd crashed and ebbed around her, sharp consonants cresting over softer vowels like an endless barrage of waves against a ship. Lenesa tried to focus on the words that were slippery in her panic, and then finally caught one – witchcraft.

She gasped.

Of course Nua's act the other night would have had consequences. The townspeople wouldn't forget an incident like the fire so easily. But where was Decliteur, then? If they were concerned about magic, they should have been flocking to him, their shepherd to protect them from the perceived wolves.

But no matter how much Lenesa craned her neck to look around the plaza, she couldn't find the formidable witch hunter.

"Do you think what he showed us was true?" someone near Lenesa muttered to their companion. Lenesa shrunk away from the voice for fear of being discovered, but her curiosity kept her just within earshot to hear the reply.

"It must have been. But that young man has a point – how can he be trusted, if he uses the same tricks the witches do?"

Tricks? Lenesa wondered what tricks had been used by whom. She edged closer, careful not to get jostled by another wayward citizen.

"Decliteur's been protecting us for so long," The first person said, "It's difficult to imagine that he's not on our side. But what I just saw...well, it can't be denied. That was witchcraft."

"Maybe he's the reason for the attacks to begin with! He's stolen their powers, and angered them. That's why they're coming to get revenge."

The words swirled in Lenesa's head with a nauseating lilt, the meaning of the sentences connecting and then disconnecting before Lenesa could understand, frustratingly just beyond her reach. It almost sounded like the townspeople were against Decliteur – but they were certainly still against the witches, so none of that made any sense. What had happened in the plaza?

"They're coming – they're coming!" Nua whispered in a frenzy at Lenesa's side, having also overheard the conversation.

Lenesa tugged on Nua's sleeve, in a silent bid for the Turned witch to stay calm. "Witches, they meant," she said, slowly piecing it together. "Coming to get revenge."

Nua's worried expression changed beneath her hood, her eyes going wide and a smile crawling across her face. "Like us!" she hissed, glee suffused in the words. "We'll kill them all – we'll win!"

At the other witch's declaration, Lenesa's fingers twitched with an impulse to hurt, reacting with the darkness spreading through her body. For a moment, her eyes clouded with the agony of her cousins' screams and the memory of her aunt's pain, before a voice cut through the fog and lifted her back into the present.

"So you see!" the voice declared, rising above the others in the crowd. "They've never been on our side – never! They search for power and fame, and in the meantime trick us into worshipping them and only put us in more danger! We can no longer trust them when they possess witchcraft of their own!"

The crowd roared, hot with outrage, and for a moment, Lenesa caught sight of a familiar green vest before it was again swallowed up by the multitude of bodies around her.

"Father," she choked, the word only a whisper.

"To the gates!" someone else shouted, though this time it wasn't a voice Lenesa recognized. "We won't let them back in!" The declaration was met with a mass of cheers and shouts from the gathering, and suddenly, Lenesa found herself and Nua at the front of the crowd rather than the back of it, leaving the plaza and flowing through the streets, down the hill to the edge of the city.

The energy of this surging tide of people around her was palpable, a fierce vibrating in the air that thrummed through Lenesa's veins and made the shadowy stains ache all along her arms, legs, and even the side of her torso and along her neck. It was hard to breathe with the pain, amidst the promise of this sudden change in the townspeople's demeanor. These people were ready for a fight, and there would be one.

Townspeople who had opted to forgo the night's festivities leaned out of their windows and cracked open their doors to look out curiously as the crowd passed, some even stepping out to join once they learned what the commotion was all about. They were a single creature of many organisms, all angry and scared, and Lenesa could do nothing but let herself become part of it.

Yet questions still stormed through her mind, their force as unstoppable as the mob marching towards the city walls. How had they known that there were witches coming? Why had her father stirred up the crowds? And why had Theiden saved her from the night before, only to leave and seek out the one person who haunted Lenesa's darkest fears?

What was she supposed to do?

"There!" someone suddenly shouted, and Lenesa looked as one with the crowd towards the source of the outburst. Ahead, at the gates that led out from Patachal City to the forest beyond, was a group of men – no, monsters – with their torches and weapons held aloft, pointed outwards at something just outside the city.

"Stand back!" one of the witch hunters shouted when he saw the crowd approaching. "The witches are just beyond this gate! It's too dangerous!"

"Maybe if ya give 'em what they want, they won't come attackin' us to begin with!" someone from the crowd shouted, though there had been a second of quiet fear before the comment. Even then, the chorus of agreement from the others was not as strong as it had been, now that the confrontation was at hand.

"What're you talkin' about?" another one of the witch hunters called out, stepping forward. He had long hair and a scraggly beard, and the crossbow in his hands only added to his wild, menacing look. Instinctively, Lenesa took a step back.

"Crystals and teacups that show moving pictures in the sky!" Another person from the crowd responded. "You curse the witches and yet use witchcraft yourself!"

Again, an echo of aye's and yeah's rose from the crowd, the vitriol from earlier starting to return.  Fists and household items - candlesticks, frying pans, and shovels - were jabbed towards the sky in agreement.

"This is ridiculous," the first witch hunter spoke again. "Look, if you want, you can go face those witches, but we're doing this for your own good! No matter what it takes!"

"You'll only keep their tricks for yourself!" Someone in the crowd shouted, the outburst like an angry spark in a dry field that set off a chorus of complaints.

"It's your fault they're after us to begin with!" someone else yelled.

"You'll only make them angrier!" called another.

As the crowd continued to cry out, Lenesa felt herself pushed forward as the mob moved to confront the witch hunters.  At first, she let herself be pushed along, unwilling to draw attention to herself, but she dug in her heels when caught sight of the man who made her blood run cold.

Decliteur.

If the earlier oppressive emotions of the crowd and the sensation of her imminent corruption had been painful, what Lenesa felt now was nothing in comparison. It was a sudden agony and horror seeing him again, and so close, the sensation like a bolt of lightning tearing through her body and splitting it in half. Beside her, Nua, too, had frozen, eyes locked on the massive, terrifying man.

"Murderer!"

It was not Nua who had spoken, nor anyone else from the crowd.  The individual outbursts gave way to a collective, confused hum of questioning voices as Lenesa and the rest of the townspeople looked around for the source.

Lenesa's eyes slowly scanned beyond the crowd, past the city walls as she traced the source of the voice.  It was someone from outside the gates who had spoken – and though the cry was raspy, Lenesa suddenly realized with a heart of stone exactly who it belonged to.

There – through the gates, standing just before the treeline of the forest, was a familiar figure with mist-silver hair and eyes obscured by anguish and hate.

Audeste.