The Witch's Covenant: Guardians of the Realm

The Prophecy

Once the light had dissipated, Nicholas found himself stumbling through the dense darkness once again, disoriented and alone. The air was thick with an oppressive weight, pressing down on him from all sides, making it hard to breathe. Every step felt as if he was wading through an unseen mire, each footfall muffled by an all-encompassing silence that swallowed the world around him.

Where

Am 

I?

Panic bubbled in his chest, twisting and knotting his insides as he fought to comprehend the extent of his isolation. The vibrant chaos of battle had been replaced by this sinister void, a place devoid of warmth, light, or hope.

The last thing he remembered was the explosion of blinding light that had followed the defeat of the dark and twisted coven. Now, the aftermath felt like a cruel twist of fate, dragging him into an abyss where nothing made sense. He reached out, hands brushing against the cold air, desperate for any hint of familiarity.

"Mom?" he called out, his voice echoing into the void, swallowed by the silence.

Each syllable was met with an eerie stillness, amplifying the unsettling fear that tightened its grip on his heart.

"Mom? Momma?" Panic clawed at him, sharper with each unanswered call. The familiar warmth of his mothers' embrace was a distant memory, and the thought of them being lost, just like him, sent a fresh wave of dread crashing over him.

What if they were hurt? 

What if they were gone forever? 

The mere possibility was unbearable.

Nicholas pressed forward, determined to fight through the darkness. His hands brushed against the cool surface of something solid—perhaps a wall?—and he steadied himself against it, trying to regain his bearings. The ground beneath him was uneven, a tapestry of broken stone and rubble, as if a battle had once raged here, leaving remnants of its ferocity scattered in disarray. It was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that screamed in his ears, each moment stretching into infinity.

With every heartbeat, he felt the shadow of despair wrap tighter around him, urging him to succumb to the darkness.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to summon the magic that had once flowed through him so freely. But instead of the vibrant energy he expected, he found only a hollow echo.

"You can do this," he whispered to himself, forcing confidence into his voice. "You have to find them." The thought of his mothers' — their laughter, their warmth — spurred him on, igniting a spark of newfound determination within his chest.

He began to walk again, pushing deeper into the void, heart pounding with the rhythm of his fear. As he moved, a sense of unease crawled along his skin, like a thousand tiny insects skittering just beneath the surface. Shadows seemed to dance at the edges of his vision, tantalising glimpses of movement that sent shivers racing down his spine. He could feel eyes watching him, dark and hungry, lurking just out of sight. "Stop it," he scolded himself, forcing his thoughts away from the terrifying unknown. "Stay focused."

Then, from the depths of the shadows, he felt something shift. A cold wind swept past him, carrying whispers that curled around his thoughts, tantalising and insidious. The words were indistinct, but their tone was mocking, echoing the fears he had tried so hard to suppress.

"You're all alone, Nicholas," they taunted. "Your mothers can't save you now. They've left you."

"Shut up!" he shouted into the dark, his voice breaking, desperation creeping in. He was not alone. He wouldn't let this darkness consume him, wouldn't let it convince him that he was powerless. He needed to push through, to find the light that had flickered out. "Mom! Where are you?" His voice quivered, but he steeled himself against the encroaching despair.