The Witch's Covenant: Guardians of the Realm

The Grieving

Rio's senses were lost in an endless, smothering blackness, each breath growing heavier as it clung to her lungs. The darkness had consumed her and she was falling.

And then, with a bone-jarring jolt, she landed, her knees buckling as her hands met cold, wet grass. The darkness eased, retreating into shadows that clung to the edges of her vision, and as she straightened, Rio recognised the scene that had come into focus around her.

She was home.

Her childhood home.

A crumbling two-story house in New Orleans with its faded shutters and small, wild garden overgrown with vines, shrubs, and tangled roots. A thin fog lingered over the garden, carrying with it the scent of earth and blooming flowers. It was just as she remembered. A place caught between wonder and ruin, a memory both dear and haunting.

But this wasn't just any memory. This was that day—the day she first encountered her magic.

Rio's heart began to pound as she saw a little girl stumble into the garden, hair tied back in two messy braids, her feet bare and muddied. The child's face was one she hadn't seen in a mirror for years, yet knew it by heart. It was her seven-year-old self, innocent and unscarred. Little Rio giggled as she crouched down by a patch of bright green leaves, curiosity sparkling in her young eyes.

"Don't touch it," Rio murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as dread sank into her bones. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes, but some force held her there, watching, rooted to the spot.

Her younger self stretched out a hand, fingers grazing the soft green leaves of a small fern. As soon as she made contact, a shiver ran through her, something deep within her bones had been stirred awake for the first time. The fern began to move, responding to her touch. Leaves unfolded with a delicate tremor, vines coiled and stretched, twisting around her fingers. Little Rio's eyes widened, fascination replaced by fear as the vines started to creep up her arm, tightening with an unnatural strength.

"No..." Rio whispered, taking an instinctive step forward, but her feet wouldn't budge. She was trapped, a ghost forced to watch, powerless to intervene.

The tendrils snaked up the little Rio's arm, binding her wrist, clinging tighter with each passing second. She tugged, trying to pull free, but the plant resisted, its grip unyielding.

"M-Mama?" the young girl's voice wavered, her wide eyes darting around in panic. "Mama! Help me!"

The fog thickened, the air growing heavier with each desperate cry. Little Rio tried to pull her hand away, but the vine held firm, coiling higher and higher until it reached her shoulder. The child's face twisted in terror, her small hands clawing at the vines, her breath coming faster as the realisation set in—she was trapped.

Rio's heart ached as she watched herself, so young and so vulnerable, bound by the very magic that would one day be her lifeline.

But here, in this moment, it was a curse.

A force she couldn't control, and it was terrifying.

The garden seemed to respond to her fear. Shadows danced among the leaves. The vines tightened, their edges prickling against little Rio's skin, leaving tiny cuts along her arm. The child whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she fought to free herself. But the vines only grew stronger, as if feeding on her desperation.

"No, no, no, please," Rio murmured, her own voice shaking.

But the scene continued to unfold in horrific detail. The vines began to pulse, as if alive, and she could see her younger self's arm begin to turn a sickly green, the veins underneath her skin darkening. Little Rio's breaths turned to shallow gasps as her movements became frantic. She pulled at the vines, clawed at them with her nails, and finally screamed—a raw, piercing sound that echoed through the garden and tore through Rio's soul.