The Witch's Covenant: Guardians of the Realm

The Haunted

Agatha drifted, suspended in an endless sea of darkness, her body lost to the void. She tried to reach out, but her arms felt heavy, pinned as if bound by an unseen force. There was nothing—no sound, no light, no warmth. Just an unyielding blackness that seemed to stretch forever. Her breaths came shallow, too quick, each one echoing in her ears, reminding her she was still alive, still aware, still here—wherever here was.

Time didn't move the same in this place. She couldn't tell if minutes or hours or days had passed. The weight of it bore down on her until she thought she might scream. But when she opened her mouth, no sound escaped, as if the darkness devoured it, silencing her before she could even give voice to her fear.

Her heartbeat grew louder in her ears, a panicked, relentless drumbeat in the silence. She tried to calm herself, to recall the spells and mantras that had once kept her grounded. But the darkness seeped into her thoughts, unraveling each thread of control, twisting every memory until it was tainted with fear. She felt her mind slipping, slipping as if she were caught in the grip of a nightmare, one where every effort to escape only pulled her deeper.

"Why are you here?" a voice whispered, low and guttural, slithering through the darkness like smoke. She jolted, looking around, but there was nothing to see—just an endless, suffocating void. Her mind screamed at her to stay calm, but the question echoed, pressing in from all sides, burrowing into her skin like needles.

"What do you think you're running from?" the voice taunted, each word laced with malice, as if the darkness itself had grown teeth and was now gnashing, waiting to consume her.

"I'm not..." Agatha's voice was hoarse, cracking in the silence, but she forced the words out, clinging to the sound of her own voice. "I'm not afraid of you."

But the darkness laughed, a deep, mocking rumble that filled her with a primal dread. She pressed her hands to her ears, but the sound seemed to crawl inside her skull, an itch she couldn't escape. The weight of it felt crushing, each moment more unbearable than the last, as if she were on the edge of being smothered.

Images started to flicker at the edges of her vision—shadows of her past, each one tugging at her memories, showing her the worst things she'd ever done, every moment she'd ever regretted. She saw herself, younger, wielding magic without restraint, taking down those who dared oppose her. She saw herself in the shadows, hiding, lying, tricking her way to survival at any cost.

Every spell she'd cast, every enemy she'd vanquished—each one weighed on her now like chains.

"No..." Agatha whispered, her heart pounding. A surge of grief welled up within her, suffocating her, mingling with the terror already rooted in her chest.

But the darkness wasn't done with her. It pressed closer, more memories flashing before her—her mistakes, her failures, and then, with merciless clarity, the image of her own son's tiny face, etched with pain, the day he'd been taken from her.

"Stop it!" Agatha screamed, clutching at her head, trying to shut it all out, trying to shut it down, but the darkness had found its way in. Her own magic felt muted here, restrained, her strength whittled down to nothing. She was drowning in the shadows, forced to face every terrible memory she'd ever tried to bury.

She didn't know how long she'd been there, whether it was days or moments, her mind unraveling until she felt herself breaking. Until all of a sudden, a burst of light shattered through the darkness. Agatha staggered back, shielding her eyes as the shadows around her pulled apart, giving way to a burst of sound—chaos, screams, and the crackle of magic.

The darkness was gone, replaced by the heat of New Orleans, and Agatha's breath caught in her throat as she looked down at her hands. This wasn't right. Her hands were younger, her skin taut with the energy she'd had years ago, her heart pounding with a rage that wasn't hers anymore.