[ 🎶 Suggested Track: Golden Brown by The Stranglers ]
The Year: 1972
Location: The Outskirts of Velmora
"Burn the witch!"
"Burn the witch!"
"BURN THE WITCH!"
The chants grew louder. In the 70s, people didn't need a reason to be cruel; they just needed a target. And tonight, the target was the girl who had spent her life trying to blend into the background of this dusty village.
Echo was tied to a thick wooden post, the rough hemp of the rope biting into her skin. At her feet, the villagers had piled crates of dry wood and kerosene-soaked rags. These were the same people who had bought her bread yesterday. The same ones who had waved at her as she walked to the market.
Jealousy is a quiet rot, and tonight, it had finally turned into a public execution.
Usually, a woman in this position would be a mess of salt and terror. She would be begging for mercy, her voice cracking as she swore her innocence.
Seeing Echo standing there, dry-eyed and defiant, turned their fear into a rabid frenzy.
"She's mocking us!" a man spat, grabbing a fresh can of kerosene. "Burn the witch faster! Let's see if she smiles when her skin starts to peel!"
Pushed to the edge of the square, a man in a heavy, grease-stained denim jacket shoved through the throng. He looked like any other laborer in Valcrest, but he moved with a grace that didn't belong in the dirt.
"Kaelor, wait!" a voice hissed behind him. A man in similar commoner's clothes—Phineas struggled to keep up, his eyes darting around nervously. "Sire, stop. Don't go toward the heat. It's just another piece of filth getting what she deserves. These witches... they're a cancer on the kingdom. I can't wait until the King's men sweep the rest of them into the gutter."
Kaelor Dain Valcrest didn't blink. He didn't even look at his best friend.
"Sire, please!" Phineas whispered, grabbing his arm. "Your father thinks you're at the barracks. If a riot breaks out and the Crown Prince is caught in a commoner's shirt, my head is on the chopping block! We have to get you back to the castle!"
Kaelor ripped his arm away. He felt a magnetic pull, a frequency in the air that made the hair on his arms stand up. He shouldered past a shouting blacksmith and broke into the inner circle of the execution.
Then, he saw her.
The girl on the pyre had a mane of wild, midnight curls that seemed to catch the light before the fire even touched her. But it was her eyes—wide, haunting, and impossibly calm—that stopped his heart.
I know those eyes.
Suddenly, the screaming villagers and the smell of kerosene faded. The grit of 1972 vanished, replaced by a sun-drenched memory from fifteen years ago.
He was a boy again, peering out the window of a silk-lined royal carriage. He saw a little girl in a field, twirling with her arms wide open. She wasn't alone. Hundreds of butterflies—monarchs, swallowtails, fragments of living color—swirled around her in a perfect, shimmering halo. They weren't just near her; they were drawn to her, like moths to a flame.
The young Prince had slipped out of the carriage, heart hammering in his chest. As he approached, the girl didn't speak. She just tilted her head and moved her fingers like a conductor. A butterfly detached from the swarm, landing softly on Kaelor's small hand. Another settled on the bridge of his nose.
The girl had giggled—a sound like silver bells.
"Searing heat!" Phineas voice snapped him back to the present.
The memory shattered. The reality was a nightmare. The fire had been lit.
The orange glow climbed the post, the kerosene-fed flames roaring upward to swallow Echo's silhouette. The crowd cheered, waiting for the first shriek of agony. They wanted the smell of burning flesh.
But Echo just looked at Kaelor. Through the wall of fire, she locked onto him and smiled.
Kaelor lunged forward, his own dormant power screaming in his veins, but it was too late. The smoke thickened, swirling around her not like a shroud, but like a protective, velvet cloak. She looked at him one last time—a look of recognition and deep, dark sorrow—and then, the flames collapsed inward.
The stake was empty. The ropes lay on the ground, unburnt and coiled like dead snakes.
Echo was gone.
The square went deathly silent for one heartbeat before erupting into pure chaos. Villagers backed away, tripping over each other, some screaming and crossing themselves.
"Did you see that?" Phineas gasped, pulling Kaelor back as the crowd began to panic. "She didn't burn! Sire, did you see? That wasn't just magic... that was some demonic shit. She's really a witch!"
Kaelor stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the empty spot where the girl had been. His hand, tucked into his pocket, began to shake. He didn't care about the laws of the kingdom or his father's wrath.
He only knew one thing. The girl from the carriage was alive. And she was a witch?
But he didn't care. He would burn the world down to find her again.
Because if the stories were true…
he was the one destined to kill her.