Blackgrave

The woods were thick, but not impassable. Having known the way, Eija pointed out the path to take. The two walked through the woods in near silence. It was evident to Eija that the Witch Hunter was in considerable pain, and even though he spoke no complaints, he often grumbled beneath his breath and would sometimes squeeze his right arm very tightly, as if to force all his pain into it.

As they drew near, the Witch Hunter took the lead. Though darkness reigned supreme in the woods, the pale blue moon overhead cast faint light on everything else. The sky had cleared, the rain had stopped, and both the Witch Hunter and Eija crept through the brush.

Off in the distance, where the woods opened, Eija’s sister stood. She looked peaceful and was dressed in a fine, white dress that was covered in large, red stains. In her right hand she held a kitchen blade that dripped a thick, red liquid. She stood beside two bodies that were overlapping one another and crossing in the same way as the two rivers beyond her. She smiled triumphantly overtop of the bodies, basking in the glow of the moon.

“Leya!” Eija called as he charged. The Witch Hunter attempted to grab him, but with his injuries, he was too slow to catch him.

“Fool!” the Witch Hunter yelled as he chased after him.

“Leya!” Eija called again as he broke through the tree line. He immediately stopped when he saw the heads of his parents placed facing their bodies. Their eyes remained open, both staring into the boy.

“Hey, Eijaja!” Aleya spoke so matter of fact, as if she hadn’t disappeared at all. As if she weren't standing overtop of the mutilated corpses of their parents.

“Leya...” Eija took a hard look at the bodies of his parents. “What have you done?!” Eija demanded.

“So much since we last spoke.” Aleya smiled for a moment, but then reeled back and lifted her knife when she saw the Witch Hunter emerge from the woods.

“Get back! That isn’t your sister!” the Witch Hunter yelled. He slid his longsword across his hand and the blade went up in a blaze of fire. Eija stood between the Witch Hunter and his sister, unsure of what to do.

“You intend to kill her?” Eija asked in horror.

“She’s a Witch!” The Witch Hunter told him as he closed in.

He pointed his blade towards the girl, never removing his gaze to look at Eija. He had a target, and though this was not his hunt, he had no choice now. Eija looked at his sister and then back to the Witch Hunter. Both were prepared for battle. Just as the Witch Hunter stepped closer, so did Aleya. She lifted her finger, and an orb of fire materialized in an instant.

“Get down!” the Witch Hunter demanded. Eija didn’t think, he just hit the ground as fast as he could. He heard the whizz of something fly by his head. He peeked up towards the Witch Hunter and saw him smack the orb of fire with his own flaming sword, sending the orb flying back towards Aleya.

Terror filled Eija, and the Witch Hunter charged past him. Forcing himself to turn and face them, he nearly broke into tears when he heard the shriveled screams and painful gasps of his sister clinging to life. She laid on the ground, tumbling over herself, and screaming as she attempted to put out the flames that spread to her dress.

The Witch Hunter stumbled over to her and threw himself down on her stomach. Eija charged at the Witch Hunter and tackled him off of his sister. The two fought for a few seconds before the Witch Hunter broke the boy's nose with a powerful headbutt.

“You can’t save her! It’s too late!” The Witch Hunter yelled.

Eija rolled on the ground crying and wailing like a child. The Witch Hunter rose up and looked around but Aleya was already up and moving. She looked at the rivers and made a crescent motion with her hand in its direction. Then, with a final look at the Witch Hunter, she darted across the water as if it were solid. Nearly stunned by the girl gliding effortlessly across the river, the Witch Hunter ground his teeth.

He scanned the river in hopes of a way across. If he jumped where the two rivers intersected with a good sprint he might get close enough where he could swim the side without being taken by the current. His eyes carried the fire of Prejudice within them, and no matter how much pain befell him, he was going to chase her.

He let out a battle cry and jumped at the river's edge. He floated in the air for a brief moment before descending into the cold waters below. The current was strong and sent him careening down the river into a rock. His breath shot from his lungs as he thrashed around beneath the water, losing his sword to the current. He forced himself back to the surface to gasp for air before grasping a vine and pulling himself ashore. His left shoulder busted hard on the rock and he was sure at least one of his ribs were broken, but he refused to yield.

As the Witch Hunter made his way back up to where he first jumped, he saw Eija crying over the bodies of his parents before he spotted the Witch who killed them darting into the swamps beyond the rivers. Shed the pain.

He rolled up his sleeve on his right arm. His entire forearm was covered in deep cuts he had inflicted on himself. Some were fresh, but most were only scarred reminders of the past pains he had suffered through. Taking out his chest dagger, he ran it across the back of his arm and said “I shed this pain for strength. Torment, I beg you to give me the strength to endure this.” The Witch Hunter breathed easy for a moment and took in the feeling of the pain as if it were a delight.

Having focused all the pain in his body to a single point on his arm, the Witch Hunter pressed on into the swamps after the Witch. The whole time he chased her through the dark, endless waters, he kept his eyes fixed to her. She moved through the merciless bog with child-like carelessness despite how quickly she traversed it.

Meanwhile, he trudged through the murky waters and ankle deep mud like a soldier forced to march. The cold air combined with the stillness of the night pervaded an overwhelming silence that blanketed the area surrounding the two of them.

It was as if only the Witch and the Witch Hunter existed. The two of them, forever locked in a chase, one that if he were to catch up to her, would surely lead to one of their deaths. Even though every step he took hurt worse than the last, he pushed himself forward into the night, never wavering in his pursuit. It was far too late to turn back. He had resolved himself to not let her escape, even if it meant his own life was forfeit.

Suddenly, the Witch Hunter found himself in a clearing. One where the waters of the swamps dissipated and left a mound of grass on which he could stand comfortably and look out. The Witch had disappeared somewhere around him, though she was still ever present.

Horrid laughter came from all around him, as if he were surrounded by a cacophony of witches, all hiding behind a different tree. For a moment, he believed himself to be enchanted by dark magic. Where are you hiding?

Not wanting to be taken by surprise, he ran his arming sword across his left hand and the blade went up in a vibrant blaze. The darkness of the swamp dissipated around him, and now the black shadows of trees danced off in the distance. The pain in his hand renewed his vigor, and he was ready to strike.

“Show yourself!” he demanded. He spun around to ensure nothing snuck up from behind. He waved his sword around, casting the flames in whatever direction he heard laughter. But the sound, much like the dark, was all around. He couldn’t place where it originated from, and felt as if the Spirit Shepard himself was waiting just above the swamp, observing him, and waiting for him to fall so he could collect his soul and take him to the Well of Absolution.

The Witch Hunter bit into his lip to stop himself from giving in to the pain in his leg. With all of his weight now on his right leg, his left barely touched the ground. Bloody and nearly losing himself to a mental stupor, the Witch Hunter’s vision grew blurry; his blood loss had finally caught up to him.

“It’s been awhile, Bean,” said a sultry voice from behind. The Witch Hunter turned to face the voice before jumping back and slashing his blade. Standing before him on the water as if it were solid, was a woman. She was enchantingly beautiful, and her dark hair hung down past her chest. The Witch Hunter squinted at her before raising his sword.

“Don’t call me that,” he told her as he inched himself closer. The two stood only a few paces apart, he on the grass mound and she on top of the murky waters.

“But that is what I have always called you.” She wore a plain smile, as if she had not killed their parents 13 years prior in the same way as Aleya. The Witch Hunter stared down the woman with his blade raised.

“I knew I would find you here,” he told her with a half smile. “Even before I came here, I felt it in Sossaboro.”

“You have done well for yourself to figure it all out on your own. It’s a shame your comrades all drowned in their sorrows.” She placed her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow to her brother. “Though, I suspect your determination to find me led many to their deaths.”

“Shut up!” the Witch Hunter cried. “None of that will matter once your head comes with me to the Keep.” The Witch Hunter steadied his breath. In that brief moment, it was as if all the pain in his body had ceased, and every part of him was focused on landing his next strike. His target smiled with delight as she pointed her index finger at him.

“This is as far as you go, brother dearest,” she coldly told him. At the tip of her finger, red, glowing energy circulated into an unstable orb. It sparkled and cracked with electricity.

“Remember when we used to play when we were kids?” As she twirled her finger, the orb of energy did the same.

The Witch Hunter gave no reply. Her words meant nothing to him. He stepped towards her, but was cautiously avoiding getting too close. Magic always had the upper hand, and with how his leg was, he knew she’d destroy him the moment he charged.

“We were so young back then,” she continued as she eyed his steps. “You’d come and find me down by the river, and then we would play catch. It was fun. But...” she stopped and raised her eyebrow, “...sometimes you played too rough.”

She took a step towards him. “Sometimes, you threw it when I wasn’t ready,” she said more rapidly as she took another step. “Sometimes, you would throw the ball too hard!”

Her words quickened again, and then she took another step. “Sometimes, you would hit me in the face!” Her voice boomed with anger, her hair flew in the air, her eyes glowed red, and a dark blackness emanated around her.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, all of it was gone. She was just as he had remembered her: Young, bright eyed, and still wearing the same pale garments she had always worn.

“Hannah…” The Witch Hunter couldn’t believe his eyes. His hardened composure nearly broke, but he knew it was all a lie. “Begone, witch!” he shouted as he stepped towards his sister and drove his blade through her neck.

The image of his sister disappeared as he slashed through it. Startled by this, he panickedly stepped back and turned wildly. He had no idea where the Witch had gotten off to, or if she had actually left at all.

“Bean!” shouted a young voice from the treeline. The Witch Hunter peered into the dark and saw nothing. “Catch!” the voice called, and the swirling orb of energy the Witch had created moments before flew through the air towards him.

The Witch Hunter slashed the orb before it closed in and sent it flying through the air. Black energy crackled beyond it and a portal that swirled purple and black swallowed the orb up. Then, as the Witch Hunter scanned around him, another portal ripped open and the orb came flying from it.

The Witch Hunter slashed the orb away with the same precision as the last. Another portal ripped open, and the process repeated. Soon the Witch Hunter was surrounded by countless otherworldly portals. The orb disappeared after he slashed it away, but it would return as he knew it would. It always had.

The portals gave off a terrible ominous drone, and at the ends of them there were wispy black tendrils that cracked and danced like shadowy fire. He heard the orb, though he could not place where. He braced himself and lifted his blade, steadying his mind for anything that may come.

Just then, the noise of the orb disappeared. Now surrounded by only the slow drone of the portals, the Witch Hunter fell to his knee. The wounds he had been fighting off for so long could no longer be ignored. Blood stained through his shirt, and from all of the swinging, he had reopened all of his old wounds.

Damn it. His vision grew blurry, and he used his blade to keep himself from falling over. My arms are too heavy. He had survived the Witch’s attack, but he could not survive his own mortality. Having no energy to keep himself up, the Witch Hunter fell to his back and looked up at the pale blue moon.

Dark clouds in the sky passed by at a blissful pace. The stars shone brightly in the night sky, and he searched for any constellations he could find. I see you are there, Finnick, he thought as he spotted him among the stars. He was at peace. The gentle wind hit his face, and he felt a calm comfort wash over him. He fumbled around until he drew his dagger and rolled up his sleeve. “I shed this pain for you, my Torment. I hope this blood will help me repent.”

“Poor dear,” a voice said above him. It was Hannah. She appeared as a blurry shadow but he knew it was her. Beside her was another shadow, one he did not recognize.

“Hannah…” the Witch Hunter saw her as the little girl she was before she had been taken in by the Daughters of Chaos. “I’m sorry…” Tears ran down the Witch Hunter’s face. “I couldn’t…save…you...”

“Feel no sorrow for this one,” said an old woman. “He knows only Torment, and, with this, he will have his freedom from Influence.”

“Mother Lellana,” Hannah said. “May I end his suffering?” she asked.

“No, leave him to his Torment, my dear.” The two figures disappeared.

Eija, having resolved himself to chase after the Witch Hunter and find his sister, followed the blood trail he left behind. There on the mound, he found him on his last breath. Eija noticed the blood pooling around the Witch Hunter and knew he would not last the night.

“What happened?” he asked. The Witch Hunter tried to speak, but his words were broken and at times incomprehensible. He spoke of the Daughters of Chaos, and of the number 13. But there was one thing he made sure to convey to Eija. As if talking about the other things had roused him enough to remember something of grave importance.

“Blackgrave…” he said with a cold look of death on his face. “It cannot be searched for...” The Witch Hunter grabbed the boy by the hair and pulled him in close. “Blackgrave…” he repeated as all of his strength left him, and he fell back. Unable to speak anymore, he stared up at the stars until Finnick was ready to take him to the Well.

Eija sat beside the body of the Witch Hunter until night turned to day. He thought a lot of what the man had said, especially of how harrowing he looked when he told him the words: “Blackgrave”.

With his loved ones now gone, Eija had no reason to remain in town. No matter what, he would find out more about his sister. He took the arming sword from the Witch Hunter, grabbed his pack, and claimed them all as his own. He stopped into town and spoke to Gil before he left, telling him everything that occurred. Gil was aghast and horrified at what the boy went through. He wanted him to stay, but Eija had made up his mind and Gil knew the boy could not be swayed. He helped Eija pack his things, gave him some gold, and sent him on his way.

Eija left the town of Eddelsreef without looking back. He knew his sister was alive somewhere out there, that they would meet again down the road, and that, in the end, one of them would probably die. Eija thought about the Witch Hunter who came to town, how he never even learned his name. Sometimes we must shed our pain, Eija thought as he reached the Bryars bridge and peered over to the bodies of his parents. There they were, just as he had left them.

The image of his sister holding the blade basking in the moonlight stuck with him—how calm and peaceful she looked cast in the faint, blue light, how happy she was, and how much blood covered her. Eija’s head was full of questions and he knew only one place where he could find answers: Witchbane Keep. As Eija crossed the bridge, he asked himself if this was the path Fate laid out for him, or if he was a victim of Chaos.