《The Witcher: Viscount Victore》 The Attack The royals of Punditesos had fallen. The kingdom burned. The chaos and wails in Punditesos were nothing like the world had ever seen before. The night was a nightmare¡ªone that clawed its way into reality, leaving nothing but ruin. Smoke choked the sky, swallowing the moonlight, and flames licked at the crumbling castle walls. Once impenetrable, the fortress now bled from a thousand wounds¡ªtorn open by invaders who showed no mercy. The air reeked of burning flesh and splintered wood, the metallic sting of blood thick on the tongue. The wails of the dying echoed through the night¡ªknights cut down where they stood, royal maids butchered in the corridors, and those who remained alive were nothing more than shadows, huddled behind doors that no longer promised safety. And now, even the heart of the castle¡ªthe final refuge¡ªwas a death trap. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> In a distant wing of the shattered stronghold, she moved through the shadows. The warrior queen of Punditesos. Her once-proud armour was slashed and stained crimson, and blood poured freely from the gaping wound in her stomach. Each step sent a searing wave of agony through her body, but she pressed on, jaw clenched, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She didn¡¯t have the luxury of stopping. Not now. Not when her son¡ªthe only heir to the throne¡ªlay waiting. Born just seven nights ago and already the last hope of a dying kingdom. The walls groaned, shaking with the force of an explosion somewhere in the distance. Dust rained down from the ceiling, but the queen didn¡¯t flinch. She staggered forward, her hand pressed to her abdomen, warm blood slick between her fingers. Her vision blurred, but her mind was clear¡ªget to him, save him, no matter the cost. She finally reached the familiar chamber door, shoving it open with what little strength she had left. Inside, the air was deathly still, save for the faint crackle of dying embers in the hearth. The room felt hollow, as though the castle itself was exhaling its final breath. A maid¡ªMelissa¡ªstood frozen by the crib, her face as pale as bone. "My queen!" Melissa''s voice cracked, eyes flickering from the blood pooling beneath the queen''s feet to the wild look in her gaze. Another maid, younger, skittered out from behind the heavy curtain. "My lady¡ª" The queen didn¡¯t stop to answer. She staggered past them, every movement fueled by a single thought: her son. And there he was. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. A small bundle in the corner, swaddled tightly, his tiny chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of sleep¡ªso unaware of the hell that raged outside. Her heart fractured at the sight. Her vision swam again, her knees threatening to buckle, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn¡¯t fall. Not yet. With trembling hands, she lifted the infant, clutching him to her chest for a brief, fleeting moment. His small hand curled instinctively, a fragile fist resting against her bloodstained armour. He didn¡¯t cry. He didn¡¯t stir. He simply existed¡ªa quiet flame amidst the inferno. The queen''s breathing grew shallower. Her time was running out. Without hesitation, she thrust the child into Melissa''s arms. "Take him," she rasped, voice hoarse from pain and fury. "Take him and run." Melissa''s eyes widened in horror. "My lady, no¡ª" "Listen to me!" the queen snapped, her words cracking like a whip. "You must find Ysara." The name fell like a stone. Melissa flinched. "The Witch?" "Yes," the queen growled, blood seeping between her teeth. "She will protect him." The younger maid gasped. "But... but what about Princess Rebecca?" Silence. The queen''s gaze hardened. She didn¡¯t answer. Instead, she moved¡ªslow, weak, but with purpose¡ªtoward her vanity. From beneath its mirror, she drew a small, folded parchment¡ªits edges smudged with hurried ink. She pressed it into Melissa''s shaking hand. "He will be Victore," she whispered. Melissa''s heart shattered. "We can all escape¡ª" "No!" The queen''s roar was ragged, desperate. "I will only slow you down." A crash echoed from the corridor. The enemy was coming. The castle was crumbling. "Run," the queen commanded, her voice breaking. "Through the concealed door. Do not stop." Melissa clutched the prince to her chest, her lips quivering. "But¡ª" The queen''s hand shot out, cold and bloodied, grasping Melissa''s wrist. "Promise me," she breathed. "Promise me you will take him... to Ysara." Tears spilled down Melissa''s cheeks. "I promise, my lady." The queen¡¯s lips trembled into a faint smile. Relief. And then¡ªher strength gave out. She sagged against the stone wall, her body sliding to the floor, her blood painting the cold stone beneath her. Her vision dimmed, but her final sight was of her son¡ªheld tight, safe, alive. "Go," the other maid whispered urgently to Melissa, shoving her toward the hidden passage as the door behind them splintered¡ªthe invaders were here. Melissa clutched the prince, her heart thundering. With one last look at the queen¡ªthe fallen, bleeding, yet unbroken queen¡ªshe stepped through the concealed door and disappeared into the night. The chamber door shattered moments later. And with the queen''s final, shuddering breath¡­ The last light of Punditesos flickered out. Ysara & Victore The baby''s wail pierced the humid night air, sharp as a blade, making Melissa shudder as she clutched him closer to her chest. She hadn''t realized he was awake, his tiny cries a reminder of the fragile life in her arms. The terror in her heart thumped louder than his cries; she felt as though each beat might be her last. But she pushed onward. She had no choice. "Shhh¡­we''re almost to Ysara," Melissa whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted to the trees around her, watching for shadows, ears straining for the sound of footsteps. Her kingdom lay in near silence, but this quiet was deadly¡ªevery Punditesorian loyal to the crown had been slaughtered, and the kingdom''s defenses lay in ruins. Behind her, she heard the distant clamor of knights. They were relentless, tracking her through the forest, sent by those who''d usurped the kingdom to kill the infant prince and ensure that every remnant of the royal line was extinguished. She couldn''t let them succeed. The queen''s last command rang in her mind like a prayer. She ran faster, stumbling over roots and uneven ground, each step jolting pain through her limbs. Rain began to fall, pouring over them in thick sheets that blurred her vision but blessedly masked the baby''s cries. The downpour cloaked them from her pursuers¡­until a swift, hissing sound broke through the rain. The sharp tip of an arrow buried itself in Melissa''s shoulder, sending her crashing to the ground. She cried out, the pain tearing through her as she cradled the baby to keep him from the impact. Blood flowed down her arm as she gritted her teeth, pushing herself up again, willing her legs to keep moving. Ysara''s dwelling was close. She could feel it, even as her strength faded. She reached the forest''s edge and fell to her knees, gasping, vision blurring. A dark figure materialized before her, and Melissa''s heart fluttered with relief. "Ysara¡­" she choked, raising the baby with trembling hands. The nomadic witch regarded her with sharp, assessing eyes, her mouth a hard line of displeasure. "What do we have here?" Ysara asked, arching a brow as she observed the dying maid and the infant she offered. For a moment, Melissa thought she saw a flash of something other than indifference in the witch''s gaze. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. "His name is¡­Victore," Melissa breathed, her voice a mere whisper as her strength finally gave out. She slumped to the ground, her eyes closing in relief. Ysara''s brow furrowed as she took the baby from Melissa''s shaking arms. She felt his warmth through the cloth, his small form peaceful despite the chaos around them. She sighed, casting a glance down at Melissa''s lifeless form. "Hmm¡­too bad you''re dead. You would''ve kept this child yourself. I don''t want it," Ysara muttered, though her fingers betrayed her as they lingered on the baby''s soft cheek. She lifted the cloth to look at his tiny, rain-dappled face. Victore was quiet now, his large eyes peering up at her as though he understood. A faint smile touched Ysara''s lips. "I guess I have a Victore now." With a flick of her fingers, Melissa''s body crumbled into a cloud of fine dust that scattered in the wind. But before Ysara could turn away, the distant shouts of the knights reached her ears. She glanced up, her expression hardening as she saw the shadowy figures rushing toward her through the rain. "Over there!" a voice bellowed, the knight''s sword catching the faint light as he pointed her way. Ysara''s eyes narrowed. She could obliterate them with a flick of her wrist, unleash the full force of her magic and send them fleeing. But her mind worked quickly. If she killed them, their master would know the child had survived. If she could fool them into thinking the baby was dead¡­ Clutching Victore to her side, she drew a deep breath, her eyes darkening with concentration. Then, with a long, low whistle, a disorienting melody filled the air, echoing through the forest like a mournful song. The knights staggered, eyes unfocused, faces twisting in confusion as Ysara''s magic clouded their thoughts and blurred their vision. With a whispered spell, Ysara dissolved into the rain, becoming one with the storm as she swept Victore away, leaving nothing but shadows and whispers in her wake. Back at the castle, the knights returned to their master with grim tales. They claimed to have killed the maid, presenting a bloodied cloth as proof. They spun a tale of drowning the infant prince in the river, letting his body be claimed by the currents. Their leader, the usurper of the throne, listened with a pleased smile, nodding in satisfaction. The kingdom was his. But as he raised his goblet in victory, far from his reach, in a hidden corner of a distant realm, Ysara cradled a sleeping Victore, her fingers tracing the faint glow of magic hidden beneath his skin¡ªa power she knew was there but would guard like her own dark secret. The future of Punditesos lay nestled in her arms, untouched, unseen, and bound for a destiny even she could not foresee. Egasrae: Village of Magic The news spread through Egasrae like wildfire, casting a ripple of surprise and whispers over the village. Egasrae was no ordinary place¡ªit was an ancient, enchanted village hidden deep within the enchanted forest, its winding paths and towering trees casting eternal shadows. Each structure was woven with spells, bound by the ancient magic of its inhabitants, giving Egasrae a vibrant pulse that mingled with the forest itself. Time here seemed slower, bending around the lives of witches, warlocks, and magical creatures who called it home. Egasrae''s architecture reflected its mystical heritage. The buildings were crafted from dark, sturdy wood intertwined with enchanted vines that pulsed faintly under the moonlight, shimmering like veins of emerald fire. Every house was built by hand, its structure magically reinforced by spellbound stones and mortar, giving it an ethereal sturdiness. The cottages dotted along the main path were adorned with charms and talismans hanging from the eaves, wards against evil or hexes against ill fortune, spinning gently in the cool, whispering breeze. The village center was dominated by a large, intricately carved fountain, its surface shimmering with enchanted water that would glow under the starlight and hum with the ancient chants embedded within its depths. Surrounding the fountain were shacks and cottages¡ªresidences of witches, healers, and apprentices who spent their days in spellcraft and alchemy. The oldest houses held deep histories, carrying the souls and stories of their inhabitants within their walls, whispering old tales to those who would listen. A wide, moss-covered path led to the lord''s residence, a larger stone bungalow that blended seamlessly with the trees surrounding it. The bungalow was crowned by a dark slate roof, its chimneys sending up trails of misty smoke that smelled faintly of sage and rosemary. Lord Azul, the village''s ancient leader and a master of witchcraft, resided here. Azul was a witcher of great power, his presence alone enough to command respect and silence. Though he had lived for centuries, he still commanded the awe of his people, his ocean-blue eyes sharp and piercing like the depths of a forgotten sea. When news of Ysara''s return reached the village, the enchanted pathways lit up, a subtle glow following the whispers carried on the wind. Children ran along the lanes, their voices echoing with surprise and wonder. It had been almost two years since anyone had seen Ysara. Her journeys into the mortal realms and other mysterious territories had always been lengthy, but this time her absence had stretched longer than usual, leading many to wonder if she had finally found her end on one of her ventures. Some of the villagers had even speculated that she''d moved on, leaving Egasrae for good. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. "Ysara is back!" a young boy cried as he rushed through the narrow lanes, darting past clusters of villagers who stood frozen with the news. An apprentice in dark robes stepped out of a modest cottage, brushing a wisp of white hair from his face, mumbling in awe. Just then, in Lord Azul''s stone bungalow, a young boy named Callahan shifted the beaded curtain and stepped inside, dipping his head in respect. He looked toward Azul, who was seated before a bowl brimming with smoke. Azul''s eyes, as ocean blue and endless as the ocean, flickered toward the boy, their depths unfathomable as he considered the meaning of Ysara''s return. "Lord Azul, I have news," Callahan announced, trying to mask the excitement in his voice. The lord''s gaze remained steady. "Speak, Callahan." "Ysara has returned," the boy murmured, a mixture of awe and trepidation in his tone. "Where is she now?" Azul asked, his voice a rich baritone, lined with years of wisdom. "She has just crossed the borders," Callahan replied. Azul''s brows lifted slightly, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "Very well. Thank you. You may go." As Callahan hurried out, Azul sank deeper into thought. Ysara''s return would ripple through Egasrae, stirring both wonder and wariness. Known for her defiance of tradition, she had never quite fit into the village''s structured way of life. Despite her prodigious power, or perhaps because of it, Ysara had always seemed restless in the village, the lure of adventure and freedom drawing her away for years at a time. But what intrigued Azul the most was the reason for her return this time. He had sensed something different in the air¡ªa faint hum of energy that felt foreign, yet familiar, as though Ysara carried a new presence with her. A few villagers had caught glimpses of her at the edge of the forest, cloaked and hooded, cradling a bundle against her chest. As she approached the village with careful steps, many thought she was holding her luggage or souveniers from one of the mortal realms. The witches and warlocks of Egasrae, rarely seeing her were curious what brought her back this time. Ysara made her way down the stone pathway toward her small, overgrown cottage. Her face was obscured by her hood, but her movements were deliberate, protective. She clutched the baby, his face barely visible beneath the dark cloth that wrapped him. When she arrived at her cottage¡ªa small structure with a thatched roof draped in moss and ivy¡ªthe villagers scattered, though many lingered at the edges, peering out from the shadows to catch a glimpse of her. Once inside, Ysara drew the baby close, pressing her lips gently to his forehead, murmuring a protective charm. She couldn''t let anyone here know his true identity. They would ask questions, demand answers, and Ysara had no intention of putting him through the dangerous tests and trials their society required of magical children. For as much as she loved Egasrae, she knew its rigid traditions and demanding practices all too well. To keep Victore safe, she would shield him from it all, raising him away from the expectations and pressures of his birthright. She would make him ordinary, for as long as she could. We Have A Son Evening. Ysara''s Cottage. Enchanted grounds. Egasrae. V A knock echoed through Ysara''s cottage, and she quickly set down her broom, brushing the dust from her hands as she moved to open the door. Her expression shifted to surprise, then warmth, as she recognized her visitor. It was her old friend, Sam. She let the witch in with a smile that was both tense and genuine. "I missed you," Sam began, pulling her into a quick embrace. "I missed you too," Ysara replied, her eyes scanning her friend. "Though you seem to have shrunk since last I saw you." Sam scoffed. "And you''ve gotten bulkier." "You''re lying," Ysara shot back. "And so were you," Sam retorted, grinning. They burst into laughter, the sound mingling with the familiar scents of herbs and old wood that filled the cottage. It was like no time had passed, the easy banter of two witches who had shared countless years, secrets, and jests. Sam was stunning, with soft, inviting features and a full, curvaceous figure. Her brown hair cascaded in loose waves, framing a face with brilliant blue eyes that sparkled with wit and a mouth as sharp as a blade. Ysara, in contrast, was all edges¡ªher black hair framed a face known for its cool, aloof beauty. She was tall, slender, and the picture of composed strength, her sharp gaze typically intimidating but softened now in her friend''s presence. Sam''s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she looked around. "Where did you go this time? You''ll tell me everything." Ysara gave an offhand shrug. "Of course. Though¡­" She wrinkled her nose, glancing around at her cluttered, dust-coated cottage. "I''ve let the place go a bit." Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. "Shall I help you clean?" Panic flashed across Ysara''s face as she stammered, "No! No need. I''ll come by your place as soon as I''m done." "Oh please, I''d help you so we can finish fast and talk," "No," Ysara said sharply. "Why the sudden fuss?" Sam asked, squinting suspiciously. "Ysara, you''re acting strange." "It''s just¡­" Ysara began, flustered. As she turned to gesture at the table, her hand accidentally knocked a pan to the floor, the clatter echoing throughout the small room. But the clang had barely faded when another sound filled the air¡ªa soft, hesitant cry, unmistakably that of a baby. It started, stopped, then whimpered again from a shadowed corner of the cottage. Sam''s eyes snapped to Ysara''s, her face a picture of shock and dawning realization. They stood frozen, Ysara''s gaze filled with a mix of defiance and unease. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Sam finally broke the silence, whispering, "Were you trying to hide it?" "No¡­" Ysara''s denial was unconvincing, her guilty expression giving her away. Sam''s brow furrowed, her blue eyes narrowing as she took in the taller woman''s face. She wasn''t as tall as Ysara, but she held her ground, commanding respect with a single look. "Who is he?" she asked, her voice tense with concern. Ysara shrugged, struggling to maintain a casual tone. "Just¡­ a boy." Sam''s patience wore thin. "Whose boy, Ysara?" Her voice was calm, but her words cut through the air. "He''s mine," Ysara said, her voice wavering slightly as she lied, the words slipping through clenched teeth. Sam''s mouth parted in shock, her eyes widening. "Ysara¡­" The truth gnawed at Ysara, but she forced herself to maintain the lie, knowing that ears likely pressed against the walls, listening for any whispers of scandal or revelation. She couldn''t risk it, not now. Revealing the child''s true identity would jeopardize everything she''d planned to keep him safe. Ysara straightened, meeting Sam''s gaze with all the conviction she could muster. "He''s my child," she repeated firmly, even as her chest tightened with guilt. Sam''s shock softened, replaced by a look of sympathy. She searched Ysara''s face, seeing something there she couldn''t quite name. "Then I guess we have a son," Sam finally said, her tone gentle but tinged with a quiet acceptance. Ysara swallowed hard, grateful for her friend''s discretion. For now, the truth would remain hers alone, locked behind closed doors and guarded by Ysara''s resolve to protect the boy at any cost. She has a son. She scoffed in disbelief. vvvvvvvv "My lord, there''s news," Callahan announced as he rushed into Lord Azul''s bungalow. Lord Azul sighed, setting down his quill, and looked up at the young man with weary curiosity. "What is it now, Callahan?" Azul asked. Callahan hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if he feared they were being overheard. "It''s about Ysara," he said, voice low. "She''s¡­with a child." Lord Azul''s eyes widened. "She''s pregnant?" he exclaimed, disbelief edging his words. The idea was almost absurd¡ªYsara, the untamed nomad, a mother? Callahan''s face went pale at the intensity of Azul''s reaction. "No, my lord," he stammered. "She has a son. A boy with her." Azul''s shock faded into a contemplative frown. "A son¡­" he murmured. Ysara, known for her fierce independence and legendary power, had returned to their enchanted forest village not alone, but with a child. The council would need to discuss this. "Summon the council. And keep everyone else at bay¡ªI don''t want half the village in a frenzy." "Yes, my lord." Callahan bowed deeply and hurried out to gather the seven council members. On his way, he was stopped by Miriam, a tall, dark-skinned girl who could easily be mistaken for a boy with her short-cropped hair and wiry frame. She eyed him with curiosity, noting his urgency. "What''s going on, Callahan?" she asked, falling into step beside him. "Ysara is with child," he muttered, too caught up in his task to fully consider the implications. Miriam''s eyes widened in shock, and before Callahan could correct her misunderstanding, she spun around and sprinted off, heading straight for a group of villagers gathered by the well. Word spread quickly, as it always did in Egasrae. The news of Ysara''s return, and the shocking detail of the child she carried, spread like wildfire. Soon, murmurs filled the air, and the village buzzed with anticipation and wonder. Some of the elders spoke in hushed tones of ancient prophecies, recalling tales that foretold the coming of a child who would disrupt the delicate balance of their world. Others murmured of omens and warnings, uncertain of what Ysara''s return with a son might mean for their secluded, mystical society. After all, children in Egasrae were rare¡ªespecially ones brought back from the outside by a witch as renowned and unpredictable as Ysara. The cottages and shacks that made up the village were soon alive with speculation. People peeked out from behind handwoven curtains, exchanging guesses about the boy''s origin. Children gathered in clusters, their eyes wide with excitement, while older villagers frowned, sensing the weight of what Ysara''s return could mean. The Meeting "My lord, there''s news," Callahan announced as he rushed into Lord Azul''s bungalow. Lord Azul sighed, setting down his quill, and looked up at the young man with weary curiosity. "What is it now, Callahan?" Azul asked. Callahan hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if he feared they were being overheard. "It''s about Ysara," he said, voice low. "She''s¡­with a child." Lord Azul''s eyes widened. "She''s pregnant?" he exclaimed, disbelief edging his words. The idea was almost absurd¡ªYsara, the untamed nomad, a mother? Callahan''s face went pale at the intensity of Azul''s reaction. "No, my lord," he stammered. "She has a son. A boy with her." Azul''s shock faded into a contemplative frown. "A son¡­" he murmured. Ysara, known for her fierce independence and legendary power, had returned to their enchanted forest village not alone, but with a child. The council would need to discuss this. "Summon the council. And keep everyone else at bay¡ªI don''t want half the village in a frenzy." "Yes, my lord." Callahan bowed deeply and hurried out to gather the seven council members. On his way, he was stopped by Miriam, a tall, dark-skinned girl who could easily be mistaken for a boy with her short-cropped hair and wiry frame. She eyed him with curiosity, noting his urgency. "What''s going on, Callahan?" she asked, falling into step beside him. "Ysara is with child," he muttered, too caught up in his task to fully consider the implications. Miriam''s eyes widened in shock, and before Callahan could correct her misunderstanding, she spun around and sprinted off, heading straight for a group of villagers gathered by the well. Word spread quickly, as it always did in Egasrae. The news of Ysara''s return, and the shocking detail of the child she carried, spread like wildfire. Soon, murmurs filled the air, and the village buzzed with anticipation and wonder. Some of the elders spoke in hushed tones of ancient prophecies, recalling tales that foretold the coming of a child who would disrupt the delicate balance of their world. Others murmured of omens and warnings, uncertain of what Ysara''s return with a son might mean for their secluded, mystical society. After all, children in Egasrae were rare¡ªespecially ones brought back from the outside by a witch as renowned and unpredictable as Ysara. The cottages and shacks that made up the village were soon alive with speculation. People peeked out from behind handwoven curtains, exchanging guesses about the boy''s origin. Children gathered in clusters, their eyes wide with excitement, while older villagers frowned, sensing the weight of what Ysara''s return could mean. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. For the people of Egasrae, the presence of this child was more than an unexpected arrival¡ªit was the stirring of something ancient, a spark that could ignite the village''s deepest mysteries. V The council meeting had barely commenced when Callahan ushered the head council members into the room¡ªa mix of nine formidable witchers and witches seated around the large, dark-wood table. There were four women and five men, each with their own unique and storied reputation in Egasrae. The air crackled with a mix of curiosity and tension as Lord Azul leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Ysara. "Who is he?" Lord Azul asked, his voice carefully controlled, but his question left little room for ambiguity. Ysara arched a brow. "My son?" she replied, meeting his gaze with a defiant tilt to her chin. She had known this day would come¡ªthe news of her return, and more importantly, of her son, had likely spread through the village faster than a spell on the wind. "It''s a boy," Azul repeated, almost as if confirming it for himself. Emily, a stout witch heavy with child herself, scoffed. "And a human boy, no less," she muttered, her tone laced with disdain. Ysara felt Sam tense beside her, his glare hardening at Emily''s remark, but she ignored the woman. Azul, his tone still unnervingly soft but his question sharp, continued, "Is he a witcher?" Ysara''s eyes narrowed. "He''s my son. Of course, he''s a witcher," she replied, her tone dismissive. Azul let out a slow, relieved breath, and Ysara noticed, her irritation simmering. Why was he so relieved? Did he expect she''d brought a mere human child to their midst? The truth, she knew, was that Victore was human, but she wasn''t about to let them doubt that he belonged with her. Azul cleared his throat. "We will¡­ keep an eye on him," he declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. The insult hit Ysara like a slap. Her lips twisted in anger. "What do you mean, you''ll keep an eye on him?" she snapped, her voice edged with fury. "He''s my son. Mine." The murmurs around the table grew louder, only silencing when Azul banged his hand on the table. His gaze held Ysara''s, a hint of exasperation flickering in his blue eyes. "Ysara, you disappeared for over four hundred days. You return with a child and expect us to welcome him without question?" His voice held the authority of the council. Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, please. Ysara has always been a nomad. It''s who she is," she said, her voice laced with loyalty. Azul''s gaze lingered a moment too long on Sam''s lips, causing a faint blush to creep onto her cheeks. Ysara''s eyes flashed. "Yes, I''m a nomad. And I was here from the very beginning, helping build this place with my blood and strength. So yes, I expect to be welcomed¡ªwith my son!" "Calm down," Emily muttered, looking flustered, her face reddening. Ysara shot her a searing glare. "Do not tell me what to do, Emily. Not before, not now, and not ever!" she snapped, her voice like a whip. A soft voice broke through the tension. "You have a child now, Ysara. Maybe¡­ less cursing?" Agatha, a gentle, doe-eyed witch, suggested with a small, tentative smile. For the first time since she''d arrived, Ysara''s face softened, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, Agatha, you''re too sweet," she said, and Agatha chuckled, clearly relieved to have lightened the mood. "What''s his name?" Agatha asked, her tone gentle. "His name is Victore," Ysara replied, her voice filled with quiet pride. She straightened, her voice taking on a deadly edge as she added, "And if I catch anyone snooping around my son and me, it won''t end well." With that, she rose, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Sam stood as well, and as they turned to leave, he met Azul''s heated gaze with one of his own before following Ysara out. The council members sat in silence as the door closed behind her, left with the memory of her parting words and the promise of repercussions for anyone who dared interfere. The Ritual The air was thick with incense and murmured chants as the village prepared for the covenant celebration. Emily''s son had been born on the seventh night of Ysara''s return, and the villagers were abuzz, eager to welcome the child with the ancient rite of Marking, a baptismal ritual of sorts that recognized the newborn as one of Egasrae''s own. Every child born here¡ªwhether witch or Witcher¡ªhad passed through this rite, receiving a mystical mark that connected them to the village''s protective magic, to its ancient wisdom, and to the community of magic that surrounded them. Ysara clutched Victore''s tiny hand as they approached the center, her heart pounding. She wasn''t just attending for Emily''s son; the villagers had subtly insisted that Victore, too, should receive the Mark, having returned after so long. No one knew his true nature¡ªonly she did, and she feared how the magic would react to his human blood. But refusing could risk exposing him just as much as participating. The ritual leader, an elder Witcher named Caelum, raised his arms, beginning the ancient words of blessing, his voice rising like the hum of bees. One by one, the parents brought their children forward to receive the mark¡ªa symbol traced on their foreheads with a shimmering ink made from rare herbs and the dust of enchanted stones. Each child sat still, their tiny foreheads lighting up with a faint, ethereal glow as the mark took hold, connecting them to the village''s magical essence. When it was Victore''s turn, Ysara''s breath caught. She watched Caelum''s gnarled fingers as he traced the mark on her son''s brow. For a moment, nothing happened¡ªthen, against her worst fears, the mark shimmered faintly, accepting him. A soft glow pulsed from his forehead, blending in with the marks of all the other children. Ysara''s relief was overwhelming, though she knew her fears weren''t over. Victore may have survived the marking, but she could no longer risk such exposure. He had survived today, but he was still human, fragile, and she vowed that this would be the last time he would be treated as a Witcher. When the ceremony ended, the villagers cheered, laughing as the children were paraded around. But as Ysara held Victore close, she whispered softly, "Never again, my little one. You''ll be safe¡ªI won''t let them take you from me." The celebration swelled around them as villagers danced and chanted, the rhythm of the drums echoing under the night sky. Laughter and joy filled the air, but Ysara''s attention remained focused on Victore, who was bundled safely in her arms, his tiny face half-hidden in his blanket. "You don''t know how happy I am that our Victore is older than that boy," Sam leaned in, her words nearly drowned out by the revelry. Ysara gave her friend a look, surprised at her intensity. "He''s innocent," she replied, a hint of reprimand in her tone. "There''s no need to dislike the child already." Sam''s expression darkened, her lips curving into a fierce smirk. "Oh, he won''t be for long," she muttered. "And I can''t wait for the day I finally use a blindness spell on his father''s persistent eyes." Ysara stiffened. "Is he still looking?" she asked, unable to keep the hint of weariness from her voice. "He never stops." Sam''s eyes gleamed with barely veiled annoyance. Gregory had been a constant shadow in Ysara''s life for as long as she could remember, and even now, he couldn''t seem to accept her independence, especially now that she''d returned with a child. "He looks at me as if I''d betrayed him by coming back with a son," Ysara said quietly, bitterness lacing her words. "Meanwhile, he fathered his own with Emily¡ªa woman who was once my frenemy." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Sam scoffed. "Let him stew. I''m glad Victore isn''t his." "So am I," Ysara murmured, gazing down at her son. Sam paused, then added with a half-smile, "Though he doesn''t exactly look like you." Ysara chuckled, nudging her. "He has my hair color. Close enough." "Fine, fine," Sam agreed, she''s suspicious but decided she''d trust her friend. Ysara frowned, but a smile softened her face as she looked at Victore again. Almost on cue, the boy peeked up from his wrap, his bright eyes wide with wonder. He let out a delighted laugh, his joy cutting through the noise around them and sending a warm rush through Ysara''s heart. Holding him close, she realized, maybe for the first time, just how much purpose he''d brought to her life. Her love and duty were no longer scattered between the whims of the village and the demands of those around her. Victore was her focus now. She held him tighter, whispering to him amid the sounds of dancing and laughter, "My only purpose is to protect you and keep you alive." And with that, her path forward had never felt clearer.VYears Later.V"Victore!" Ysara called, setting his small dinner plate on the bench. Silence greeted her, which was unusual. She waited a moment, her eyes scanning the cottage for any sign of him. It had been two years since she''d returned with him, and even though he could barely walk, she wasn''t used to him being so quiet. Frowning, Ysara started searching the cottage, glancing under tables and around the bed. Victore was nowhere to be found. Her frown deepened as she hurried outside, almost colliding with Miriam, one of the local girls. "Did you see my son?" Ysara asked, trying to mask her growing worry. "No," Miriam said, glancing around. "Did he wander off?" "He can barely walk! I didn''t expect him to be out at all," Ysara muttered, her worry now edged with panic. She hurried to Sam''s house and burst in, her face pale. "Did he come here?" she asked, breathless. "Who?" Sam raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her friend''s urgency. "Victore!" Ysara replied sharply. Sam gave a nervous laugh, looking out the window as if expecting the toddler to magically appear. "He''s two years old, Ysara! How could he wander far?" "Exactly! But he''s not in the compound," Ysara replied, her voice tight with frustration. "What?" Sam''s voice rose in alarm. Realizing the gravity of the situation, she joined Ysara, both of them rushing outside, calling his name. As their shouts echoed, a ripple of concern spread through the village, and soon, nearly everyone was looking for Victore. Ysara felt a knot of dread tightening in her stomach as dusk began to settle over the village. She had already combed through the outskirts of the forest, telling herself he couldn''t have gone far. Refusing to believe he had gone that far because that meant he was even at more risk of being hurt. Just when she was starting to lose rationality, she spotted something familiar on the forest floor¡ªa little moss ball, one of Victore''s favorite treasures. Her heart leapt. "Victore!" she called, her voice trembling. "Mama¡­" came a soft, stuttering reply that made her freeze, her heart soaring. She scanned the trees, only to stop in horror as she saw him. High up in a tree, Victore was perched on a thick branch, smiling down at her as if this were an ordinary thing for a two-year-old to do. "Victore! How did you get up there?" Ysara whispered in shock, her face pale. She could hardly believe her eyes. Her human son, with his delicate little hands and short, stumbling steps, had somehow climbed a tree. "Mama!" Victore cooed, grinning with the innocent joy that never failed to melt her heart. But this time, fear outweighed her usual fondness. "Don''t move!" Ysara called, her voice filled with desperate urgency, but Victore, laughing, shifted slightly on the branch and down he was coming. Sam, who had caught up, turned to the small crowd of kids who had gathered. "Did any of you put him up there?" she demanded. "No!" A chorus of confused "no''s" rippled through the children and a few concerned adults, all looking at each other, equally mystified. But Ysara had already sprung into action. With one fluid movement, she scaled the tree, catching and gathering Victore carefully into her arms. The relief washed over her so strongly she didn''t even care about the crowd watching, or the questions buzzing around her. She held her son tightly, heading back to her cottage, ignoring everything and everyone else. In the quiet of her room, Ysara finally let herself breathe. She lifted Victore, bringing his chubby little face to her own, and his smile was as radiant as ever. She sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He babbled happily, nuzzling into her, blissfully unaware of the worry he had caused. Looking at him now, she felt an overwhelming surge of love, one that had grown steadily over the past two years. Any thoughts she once had about returning him to his origins had long since faded. This child was hers, and no one¡ªnot even Punditesos¡ªcould take him from her. Invisible Strength The sun hung low over the village of Egasrae, casting golden rays that filtered through the treetops and painted the training grounds in a warm, ethereal glow. A group of seven eager children, no older than seven, stood in a loose circle, each immersed in the teachings of witchcraft and the disciplined flow of yoga. Their young faces glowed with excitement, their bodies bending and twisting as they balanced on one foot or practiced the hand positions for simple spell-casting. Their mentor, an older Witcher with a wise gaze and calloused hands, demonstrated each movement with patience, his voice calm and encouraging. "Focus on your breath, little ones. Feel the magic of the village beneath your feet, in the rhythm of your breath." Giggles rippled through the group as one boy toppled over mid-pose, his laughter infectious enough to draw a round of smiles from the others. They caught each other''s eyes, their young hearts ablaze with the promise of magic yet to be mastered. All except one. Sitting just beyond the training circle, slouched with his back against a knotted tree trunk, was Victore. His green eyes, dark and stormy, glared at the others from beneath his black hair, casting long shadows over his face. He wasn''t part of their joy, wasn''t part of their laughter. Instead, he was bound by an invisible chain, tethered to the sidelines by a mother who had forbidden him to train with the others. He was only a boy, yet he understood what it felt like to be separated, set apart from his peers. Victore''s hands clenched, his nails digging into the earth beneath him. He could see the way the children''s eyes lit up as they tried their hand at tiny spells, nothing dangerous¡ªsparks of light, wisps of smoke¡ªbut it was magic all the same. He imagined himself in their circle, feet grounded in the soil, hands moving gracefully through the air. Instead, he wore only simple, worn clothing, feeling every bit the outsider his mother''s rules had made him. "One day, I''ll show them all," he muttered under his breath, his gaze narrowing as he watched the other kids marvel at their own small bursts of power. From their cottage window, Ysara observed him in silence. Her heart tightened as she watched her son, isolated by her choice. She knew that this village had expectations, that children his age would normally be taught to harness the powers within them. But she couldn''t risk him being exposed for who¡ªand what¡ªhe truly was. No one else would understand, and even fewer would accept him. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. "Victore!" she called, her voice cutting through the children''s laughter and her son''s brooding silence. He looked up, the green in his eyes catching the last light of the evening, smoldering with frustration. His shoulders slumped, and he pushed himself off the ground, glancing once more at the others as they continued to train without him. With a lingering scowl, he trudged toward the cottage, kicking up bits of dirt with each step. Inside, the warmth of their modest home met him, his mother standing by the window, her gaze soft but unreadable. Victore wanted to demand answers, to ask her why he had to be kept apart, why he couldn''t join in the only world he''d known. But as he opened his mouth, he found no words. Ysara simply put a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him further into the quiet sanctuary of their home, her silence speaking louder than any words. V The forest was alive with the sound of chattering voices as witches and Witchers combed through the undergrowth, baskets and cloth bags in hand, searching for roots, berries, and wild herbs. Sunlight slanted down in patches through the canopy, casting glimmers over the ground. Victore trailed close to his mother, his eyes flicking from plant to plant, taking in every detail of the magical world he was constantly kept on the edge of. Then, a faint rustling broke through the usual forest hum. A small white bird tumbled from the branches above, landing in a flutter of delicate, glass-like feathers. The creature lay still for a moment, dazed but alive, its pearly form catching the light, creating a strange, almost mesmerizing shimmer. Victore took a step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out to help the fallen creature. But before he could even graze its feathers, his mother''s voice rang out, sharp and startling. "Don''t touch it!" Ysara''s voice was more urgent than he''d ever heard it. She moved quickly, pulling him back by his shoulders with a firm, unyielding grip. Victore froze, confusion flashing across his face as he glanced up at her, then back at the bird. Around them, the others had stopped to watch. He saw their puzzled expressions, the shared looks of mild amusement¡ªand something else he couldn''t quite name¡ªpass between them. Sam, Ysara''s old friend, stepped forward with a playful smile. "Ysara, it''s just a cigam. It can''t hurt him." Ysara''s expression didn''t soften. Only she knew the truth: the cigam bird, beautiful and harmless to those with magic in their veins, held enough raw power to overwhelm a human boy like Victore. If he touched it, the bird''s magical energy could send him into a convulsive fit, or worse. Victore, still standing half behind his mother, shifted uncomfortably. He didn''t understand her reaction, but he could feel everyone''s eyes on him, judging. From the edge of the gathering, Gregory, a grizzled Witcher known for his towering presence, crossed his arms and smirked. "You spoil your son too much," he said, his voice carrying an edge. "My Edgar would fight a dragon if it ever surfaced." At that, a surge of heat rose in Victore''s chest. He clenched his fists, staring down at the ground, feeling the weight of his mother''s hand holding him back. Why did she always treat him as if he were fragile, as if the slightest danger would break him? He felt a simmering anger, a quiet frustration at the edge of his thoughts, but he buried it down. Ysara said nothing to Gregory, only tightened her hold on Victore''s arm and steered him away from the curious eyes of the villagers. Victore followed her obediently, but he couldn''t shake the feeling of shame, the way Gregory''s words stung deeper than he wanted to admit. Back in the quiet shelter of the trees, he glanced up at his mother''s determined expression. He didn''t understand why she treated him this way¡ªso cautiously, like he was made of glass. But a part of him wanted to believe it was because she loved him, perhaps even more than the others were loved by their families. And yet, in his heart, he swore he''d show her someday. He was not weak. The Cigam Incident, Victore! "Victore!" The frantic wail tore through the quiet afternoon air as Ysara stumbled out of her cottage, her dark hair disheveled, her shawl slipping off one shoulder. Her wide eyes darted about the clearing, searching desperately. Sam, who had been leaning casually against the doorframe of her own home nearby, straightened immediately. Her sharp gaze fixed on her friend, noting the tremor in Ysara''s voice. "What happened?" Sam asked, her tone edged with concern. "It''s Victore," Ysara gasped, clutching the edge of her shawl as if to steady herself. Her breath hitched. "He''s gone." Sam frowned, stepping closer. "Gone? Gone where?" "I don''t know," Ysara replied, her voice cracking. "It''s been hours." Sam''s frown deepened as she scanned the clearing and then the treetops, as if Victore might suddenly appear from one of his usual sulking spots. "Hours? How long, exactly?" "Since noon," Ysara whispered, glancing at the dimming sky. The sun was already sinking, casting long shadows over the village. "I thought he''d come back on his own, but now¡­ now I''m worried." Sam sighed, placing a steadying hand on Ysara''s shoulder. "He''s probably somewhere sulking," she said, though even she didn''t sound entirely convinced. "You know how he gets when you stop him from joining the others to train." Ysara''s lips trembled. Today had been particularly bad. She''d banned anyone from ever teaching Victore, her fear for his safety outweighing the boy''s growing resentment. She could still see the anger in his eyes when she made the announcement. "I told him he couldn''t train," Ysara whispered, her voice raw with guilt. "But it''s going to be dark soon, Sam. And he''s not back." Sam hesitated before sighing deeply. "Maybe we could have Agatha scout for him," she suggested. "She''s busy preparing for her marriage to the prince of Critic-Ishire," Ysara said distractedly. Her hands wrung together, her thoughts spiraling. As if to underscore Sam''s point, the sound of laughter and music swelled from the other end of the village. It was supposed to be a day of celebration, but Ysara couldn''t feel even a flicker of joy. "We should be celebrating!" someone called out, jogging toward Agatha''s family bungalow. Ysara didn''t even turn to look. Her heart was pounding too hard, her worry clawing at her chest. Sam guided her to sit on a nearby bench, but it took effort to make her stay there. "Relax," Sam urged gently, though her own gaze kept flicking toward the forest. "He''ll come back, Ysara. He always does." But when the sun dipped below the horizon and the village began to glow with the light of torches and lanterns, Victore still hadn''t returned. Ysara couldn''t bear it any longer. She threw her shawl around her shoulders and rushed out of the cottage. The village was alive with noise, the sound of villagers laughing and chatting as they celebrated Agatha''s upcoming marriage. But Ysara''s heart was elsewhere. She moved toward the edge of the clearing, her sharp gaze fixed on the dark forest. Then, a sudden rustling from the south side of Egasrae stilled the air. The laughter and chatter died away as everyone turned toward the forest, their faces illuminated by torchlight. Ysara froze, her breath caught in her throat. Emerging from the south shadows of Egasrae was Victore. They freeze, where is he coming from? The south side of Egasrae was a path shrouded in shadows, leading to the ominous mountains. Trees stood like towering sentinels, their twisted branches entangled with creeping vines. Bushes and wild grass blanketed the trail, growing thick and wild as if trying to conceal the dark secret of the place known as Life Hill. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Life there wasn''t just fleeting¡ªit was expendable. The hill was a deadly realm where no one ventured lightly. Whispers told of forces that could snatch the breath from your lungs before you even made it far. Deceptive creatures lurked there¡ªmalevolent, cunning beings that even powerful witches feared. To step foot on Life Hill required meticulous preparation, rituals, and the strength of many. Yet now, as the village celebrated Agatha''s marriage, the air was pierced by the rustling of leaves. A figure had emerged from the shadows of the south path, his small frame illuminated by the soft glow of the village torches. It was Victore. Gasps rippled through the crowd. He was walking out of Life Hill¡ªalone and unharmed. His black hair was disheveled, his simple clothes torn and dirtied, but he looked composed, almost indifferent. In his green eyes burned a quiet intensity, a calm that unnerved the onlookers. All at once, the laughter and music died. The festive spirit vanished, replaced by an oppressive silence. Even Agatha''s marriage celebration seemed to fade into irrelevance. The villagers froze where they stood, their faces a mix of shock and fear. "How?" they whispered. "What is he?" No one spoke aloud, but the questions hung in the air. How had a boy¡ªone everyone thought of as fragile and untrained¡ªentered the perilous Life Hill and returned alive? Victore, however, appeared oblivious to the tension, the awe, and the apprehension surrounding him. His gaze cut through the crowd, seeking one person. "Mother," he called, his voice steady as he hurried toward Ysara. Ysara''s heart dropped. She had been watching from a distance, her fear growing with every step he took closer. The sight of him emerging from Life Hill churned her stomach with dread. "What?¡­ Where¡­ how¡­ Victore, how did you get there? Where are you coming from?" she stammered, her voice rising with each question. "The mountains," he answered casually, as though he had just taken a stroll. Her face drained of color. "What do you mean? Why? How?!" she cried, clutching her shawl as if it could anchor her in the face of this impossible revelation. Victore glanced around at the crowd, their frozen expressions finally registering. His brow furrowed in irritation. "Let''s go inside, Mother. It''s too crowded here." Ysara hesitated, her heart pounding painfully. She didn''t understand what was happening. Victore was only human¡ªonly human¡ªand yet here he stood, defying everything she thought she knew. Without a word, she followed him into the cottage, her mind racing with questions, her face etched with worry. The villagers remained rooted in place, staring after them. Agatha''s impending marriage was forgotten. "Who is Victore?" someone finally whispered, echoing the unspoken thoughts of all. How had a boy, fragile and untrained, walked into the most perilous place near Egasrae¡ªand returned unscathed? The whole of Egasrae wondered. Meanwhile, Inside the cottage, the tension was suffocating. Victore dropped the object he had brought from Life Hill onto the wooden table with a dull thud. It gleamed faintly in the candlelight, a strange and unearthly artifact. Victore turned to his mother, a tentative smile pulling at his lips. "Mother, I found¡ª" But Ysara didn''t let him finish. Her voice cut through the room like a blade. "What were you doing there?" she demanded, her tone sharp with fear and anger. "I just went there," Victore said with a shrug, his nonchalance only inflaming her emotions. Friendship "I just went there," Victore said with a shrug, his nonchalance only inflaming her emotions. "You could''ve died!" Ysara''s voice cracked as her fury burst forth, sending a gust of wind whipping through the cottage. The flickering candles almost went out, and the shutters rattled violently against the sudden force. Victore gritted his teeth, looking down at his feet like a chastised child. "But I''m alive, Mother," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I''m not dead." Ysara''s face twisted with anguish. "Victore! I don''t want you to die! You know nothing of this world¡ªour world!" she wailed, her voice breaking on the last words. Victore flinched, her words cutting deeper than he expected. His frown deepened, his green eyes glinting with a mixture of confusion and frustration. "Our world? You mean my world too?" he said, his voice rising. "I grew up here, Mother! I know no other place. Why do you treat me like I''m so¡­ so fragile?" "Because you are my child, and I need to protect you!" Ysara snapped, her tone as much pleading as it was commanding. "I''m not a fragile child anymore, why can''t you see that?" Victore''s voice cracked with desperation, his fists clenched at his sides. Ysara stared at him, her breaths uneven. "How did you get there?" she asked at last, her voice softer but laden with disbelief. "There where? I just¡­ wanted to go, so I did!" Victore said, his tone defiant yet uncertain. Her brows furrowed in confusion. What was he saying? Did he mean he had simply willed himself there? No, that couldn''t be. He was human¡ªa human child! Her mind reeled at the absurdity of his words. "You walked into the south side?" she asked, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "You voluntarily approached death?" "I''m sorry," Victore mumbled, his voice quieter now, guilt creeping in. "If you''re sorry," Ysara snapped, "stop putting your life at risk for rebellious reasons!" "I''m not rebellious," Victore shot back, though his voice trembled slightly. "I just¡­ I''m sorry, all right?" His shoulders slumped as he turned away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. He walked toward the door, his movements slow and heavy, as though the weight of the argument had sunk into his very bones. His shoulders were hunched, his frustration mingling with guilt. "I can''t take this anymore," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible as he stepped outside. He didn''t slam the door; instead, he closed it gently, his anger giving way to the deep ache of his mother''s constant fear. Inside, Ysara pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her heart shattering under the weight of her own helplessness. She sank into a chair, her mind racing. He''s human¡­ just human¡­ she reminded herself, but the unease in her heart whispered otherwise. Victore had returned from a place that should have killed him. How? And what would she do if the truth she so desperately buried came to light? Meanwhile, outside, Victore leaned against the cottage wall, staring up at the darkening sky. He knew his mother''s fear came from love, but he couldn''t shake the bitterness welling in his chest. She thinks everything can kill me¡­ he thought grimly. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. But maybe, just maybe, she was wrong. As he continued to stay there the sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts. He sighed, expecting yet another lecture from an adult or one of his mother''s friends. But when he glanced up, he saw Lysander¡ªthe wiry boy with a mop of unruly blond hair and an ever-present grin. Lysander wasn''t just a fellow villager; he was one of the few people who had the patience to deal with Victore''s moods. "Hey, wanderer," Lysander called out as he drew closer, his tone light and teasing. "You''re the talk of the village, you know. I mean, not many people come strolling out of Life Hill like they''ve just been berry-picking." Victore rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "I didn''t ask to be the talk of the village." Lysander leaned casually against the wall beside him, his grin widening. "Oh, I know. You''re way too broody for that." Victore shot him a glare, but Lysander''s unaffected demeanor softened the edge of his irritation. "They''re all impressed, you know," Lysander continued, glancing at Victore from the corner of his eye. "I mean, I wouldn''t go near that place even if someone promised me a barrel of honey cakes." "Maybe you''re just smarter than I am," Victore muttered. "Or maybe you''re braver," Lysander said with a shrug. "But seriously, what were you doing out there?" Victore hesitated, unsure how to explain the pull he felt¡ªthe unexplainable urge to go to Life Hill despite knowing it was forbidden. "I just¡­ I wanted to see it. That''s all." Lysander nodded thoughtfully, as if this simple answer made perfect sense. "Fair enough. I''d be curious too, if I thought I could make it out alive. Which, you know, I wouldn''t." He chuckled, then nudged Victore lightly with his elbow. "Guess you''re not as boring as everyone says." Victore sighed, he just wanted to be allowed to be like everyone else not seen as special, "Why are you here again?" "You''re interesting," Lysander admitted. Victore smirked faintly despite himself. "I thought I was the ''broody loner'' no one wanted to be around." "Well, yeah, you are," Lysander replied with mock seriousness. "But you''re our broody loner, so we''re stuck with you." Victore shook his head, a reluctant smile creeping onto his face. "You''re insufferable." "And you''re impossible," Lysander shot back, his grin widening. "See? We''re a perfect match." For a moment, Victore let the tension in his chest ease. Lysander''s persistence was infuriating at times, but it was also comforting in a way he didn''t like to admit. "Thanks," Victore said quietly, after a long pause. Lysander tilted his head, feigning confusion. "For what? For being my charming, brilliant self?" Victore laughed softly, a rare sound that even surprised himself. "For not leaving me alone," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Lysander grinned, his expression softening. "Well, someone has to keep you from turning into a grumpy old man before you''re fifteen." Victore rolled his eyes again, but this time, the smile lingered. He didn''t know how to deal with his mothers restrictions but he knew his life had to change for the better. Little did he know. Not A Mama鈥檚 Boy "He''s a weakling," someone sneered, pointing at the young Victore, who stood frozen with a feather clutched tightly in his hand. "Go on, run to Mama and tell her we said you can''t do anything," Jack taunted, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the other boys nearby. The boys of Egasrae were relentless, their words like sharp knives cutting into Victore''s pride. They couldn''t understand why the son of Ysara, one of the strongest witches in their village, was so untrained, so fragile in their eyes. "I''m not a weakling," Victore snapped, his voice trembling more from anger than fear. Jack smirked, crossing his arms. "Then prove us wrong." He puffed out his chest, his growth spurt making him taller and broader than Victore, even though Victore was a few days older. Victore hesitated. "Mother said never to fight." "Of course she did," Jack sneered. "She knows how useless you are with your little fists. ''Mother said this, Mother said that.'' You''re just a baby hiding behind her skirts." Victore''s cheeks burned with humiliation. The taunts dug deeper than they should have, and the mocking laughter from the other boys only fanned the flames of his anger. He hated when they made him feel small, when they reduced him to nothing more than a "mama''s boy." Without thinking, Victore raised his hand, his mind racing with the memory of how he''d seen magic summoned before. He wasn''t sure what he was doing, but he was determined to prove them wrong. "Victore!" His mother''s voice rang out in alarm from a distance. But the fire inside him drowned out everything else. He glared at Jack, his jaw clenched, ready to unleash something¡ªanything. Before he could act, Jack smirked and beat him to it. A burst of raw magic erupted from Jack''s outstretched hand, hurtling toward Victore. "Victore, no!" Ysara''s voice turned into a sharp screech as she appeared, her hand snapping forward just in time. Her magic collided with Jack''s, creating a bright flash of light that sent Jack flying backward. The other boys stumbled and gasped, wide-eyed as the force of Ysara''s power rippled through the clearing. Ysara didn''t wait for explanations. She strode forward, her expression dark, and grabbed Victore by the arm. Without a word, she dragged him back to their cottage, her grip firm but not harsh. Inside, she shut the door behind them with a wave of her hand, sealing them away from prying eyes. "Mother, why won''t you let me train?" Victore''s voice trembled with frustration, his face red as he tried to catch his breath. "Or fight? They disrespect me!" Ysara turned to face him, her face carefully composed. She feigned casual indifference, though her heart was heavy with worry. "My boy wants to be respected," she said lightly, almost mockingly. Inwardly, her thoughts churned. It''s in his blood, she thought bitterly. His royal blood flows with an innate pride, a need to prove himself. But I would rather he be alive and safe, even if it means he''s scorned. If they discover the truth¡­ if he''s exposed as human¡­ She shuddered at the thought, the risks far too great. "Answer me directly!" Victore shouted, his voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts. Ysara''s eyes snapped to his, her temper flaring at his tone. "You will not raise your voice at me," she said, her words sharp and commanding. "I''m sorry," Victore whispered, his anger giving way to guilt. He turned and left the cottage, his shoulders hunched and his steps heavy. Ysara sank onto a cushion, burying her face in her hands. She felt a pang of regret for letting things escalate, for not being able to comfort her son the way he needed. But she couldn''t let him fall into the hands of a world that wouldn''t understand or forgive his differences. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She wanted to call him back, to hold him close and explain everything, but she knew he needed time to cool off. She had thought that for now, all she could do was pray he''d stay safe¡ªand that the truth wouldn''t catch up to him too soon. But now, Ysara sat motionless in her bed, her thoughts a tangled web of confusion and worry. Her mind replayed the events of earlier, overlaying them with memories of Victore''s childhood and the challenges they had faced since arriving in the enchanted village of Egasrae. Was Victore somehow blessed because he grew up here? she wondered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the quilt. Is that even possible? She shook her head, trying to dispel the absurdity of the idea. Egasrae''s enchantments didn''t simply bless humans¡ªespecially not a boy like Victore. Unless, of course, there was something deeper at play that she hadn''t yet uncovered. Or¡­ was it all a lie? Her gaze drifted to the mushrooms he had brought back, sitting on the table in the dim light. They were real, rare, and unmistakable. Even in the low glow, their faint luminescence shimmered, almost as though they were alive. Those mushrooms were no ordinary find. They were Life Memory Caps, a species so coveted and dangerous to retrieve that anyone venturing into Life Hill for them left behind not only a suicide note but also a pre-prepared portal to transport their findings back. And yet Victore, her human son, had walked into Life Hill and returned unscathed, casually holding these mushrooms like they were nothing more than wildflowers. The last place such mushrooms had been spotted was Critic-Ishire, a distant kingdom filled with formidable witches and their apprentices. Victore could not have traveled there¡ªnot without her knowing. He was strange, yes¡ªoften found in unusual places, sometimes in positions that baffled even her. But this¡­ this was different. Ysara frowned, her heart heavy with uncertainty. These mushrooms, she thought, can cure any form of forgetfulness or memory loss, but they are no ordinary remedy. They come with a condition: belief. If the keeper didn''t truly believe in their purpose, the mushrooms would vanish without a trace, as though they had never existed. And yet here they were, tangible and potent, resting on her table. Does he even realize what he''s brought back? she thought. Her fingers brushed the delicate fungi, and a chill ran down her spine. If Victore had truly retrieved these, then he was no ordinary child¡ªnot even by human standards. Maybe, she thought reluctantly, maybe I''ve been wrong to keep him from training. Ysara sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. She had shielded him for so long, placing protective wards over him the moment they''d arrived in Egasrae. That vitality protection spell was still strong, holding firm despite the years. But maybe it wasn''t enough. Maybe it was time to teach him¡ªnot to fight, but to defend himself. At least if something ever went wrong, he would be prepared. Standing, she walked over to the mushrooms, picking them up with a careful hand. They seemed to pulse faintly under her touch, as if acknowledging her belief in their power. "This piece¡­" she murmured to herself, her voice low and thoughtful. "I''ll treasure it until it''s needed. Until it''s important." Ysara sighed again, the weight of her decision pressing on her shoulders as she retreated to her room. There, she placed the mushrooms in a small, enchanted box¡ªone that would keep them safe and hidden. For now, she would keep her secrets. But tomorrow¡­ tomorrow she would begin to teach Victore. Perhaps that way she can understand what has happened with his body. Home Alone Ysara had made up her mind. She would start training Victore the next morning. The decision had weighed on her for weeks, but after the Life Hill incident, she could no longer ignore the urgency. She stayed up late that night, poring over old scrolls and spell books, preparing for his lessons, her heart heavy with trepidation. But just as the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, a loud, insistent knock at the door disrupted her plans. She opened it to find a frazzled messenger, his robes disheveled and his face pale. "The barrier in the east, Lady Ysara¡ªit''s failing. They''ve summoned you and the others at once," he stammered. Ysara''s stomach dropped. The barrier was the only thing protecting Egasrae from the horrors beyond its borders. If it was compromised¡­ she couldn''t even think of the consequences. She turned swiftly, her robes swishing as she entered the cottage. Victore, still groggy, stood in the doorway of his room, rubbing his eyes. "Mother? What''s happening?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. "There''s an issue at the barrier," Ysara said briskly, striding to her shelves to gather her things. "I have to leave immediately." "But¡­ what about¡ª" "I know," she interrupted, her tone softening just a fraction. She placed a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "We''ll start your training as soon as I return. Until then, you stay here. No wandering, no trouble. Do you understand me?" Victore nodded, but the faint flicker of excitement in his green eyes didn''t escape her notice. She hesitated for a moment, her protective instincts warring with her urgency to leave. "Victore," she said, her voice low and firm. "Promise me you''ll stay safe." "I promise, Mother," he replied, though his tone was just a bit too eager. Ysara exhaled and gave him one last searching look before grabbing her staff and heading out the door. The moment she was out of sight, Victore''s lips curled into a grin. For once, he had the day to himself, free from Ysara''s watchful eye and the suffocating restrictions she placed on him. "Finally," he muttered, stepping out onto the porch and gazing at the sun rising over Egasrae. He had plans of his own, plans he''d been concocting for weeks. Now was his chance to test his limits, to see what he was truly capable of. Victore looked at the woods in the distance, his heart racing with anticipation. "Time to find out what''s really out there," he whispered, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he stepped off the porch with the decision to go into the unknown. But the plan had barely begun when Victore felt his freedom snatched away. The moment he stepped off the porch, a deep, commanding voice cleared behind him. He froze mid-step, his heart dropping. Slowly, he turned to face the voice, and his eyes landed on Lord Azul. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The lord of the village stood tall and imposing, his cloak billowing lightly in the morning breeze. His sharp features bore an expression of calm authority, but his piercing eyes betrayed his suspicion. Victore instinctively bowed, his fists clenched at his sides as he fought to suppress the glare threatening to claim his face. What does this man want now? he thought bitterly. "Your mother wouldn''t want you to do that," Lord Azul said, his voice steady but edged with warning. Victore''s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral. "Do what, my lord?" Azul''s lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile. "Step beyond the safety of your home. I advise you not to. Find something healthier to hunger for." Victore lifted his chin, his green eyes flickering with defiance. "I''m also a witcher," he said, his voice firm. "I want to know what lies beyond." Azul tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Your mother has her reasons for restricting you, boy," he said, his tone softening slightly. "That should be what you desire to unravel¡ªnot the forbidden parts of Egasrae." Victore sighed, a sharp exhale that masked the simmering frustration within. He didn''t respond immediately, his mind working quickly. Fine, he thought. If the man won''t let me go now, I''ll find another time. Something was out there. He could feel it, a pull in his very core that he couldn''t explain. But for now, he forced a docile smile, bowed politely, and turned back toward the cottage. "Good lad," Azul murmured, watching him closely. His narrowed eyes lingered on the boy, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension, before he finally turned and strode away. Once inside the cottage, Victore slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his fists clenching and unclenching. He stared around the quiet space, his frustration threatening to boil over. "Fine," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I''ll do something¡­ healthier." He found himself in the farthest room of the cottage, pulling down cobwebs as his mother always insisted they brought bad luck. He worked methodically, his thoughts racing. Despite his frustration, a part of him worried about his mother. As much as he relished her absence¡ªan opportunity to think and plan without her shadow looming over him¡ªhe couldn''t shake the gnawing concern for her safety. He knew the eastern barrier was dangerous, and his mother was one of Egasrae''s most powerful protectors. Pausing, he glanced out the small, dusty window, watching the villagers moving about in the distance. "Come back safely," he whispered, gripping the cloth in his hand tightly. He couldn''t afford to lose her¡ªnot yet, not when so many questions still burned unanswered.