CLACK!
Before Jia Hao could pull the wooden door open, a subtle hum of mana rippled across the wooden room. Thin, emerald-green roots slithered out from the doorframe like waking serpents, weaving across the seam and sealing the latch shut with the density of forged iron.
Jia Hao tugged once more. The door didn't budge a single millimeter.
"Tch. Locking the door on a guest?" Jia Hao let go of the handle and slowly turned back toward the herb-scented room. "That's a bit aggressive for 'hospitality,' isn't it, Senior?"
"You leave this old bag of bones with rather few choices, Young Master Jia," the Old Witch's voice echoed from the corners of the ceiling, carrying a heavy, insistent weight. "Now that fate has guided your steps across the West Valley and into my hut, you must help us."
