127: A past malice

Third person’s POV

The dimly lit room flickered with the faint glow of candles, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls. It was a forgotten corner of the castle, far from the grandeur of the witches’ main halls, and the perfect place for secrets to fester.

The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and old parchment, but none of that mattered to the man standing at the window, looking out into the dark expanse beyond.

His hands were clasped behind his back, posture rigid, eyes narrowed as he stared into the abyss. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but the hatred that simmered just beneath the surface was palpable. Every breath he took was laced with venom, every thought consumed by one name: Rune.

“How long has it been since we heard from them?” His voice was low, cutting through the silence like a blade.

One of the men seated at the long wooden table glanced up, adjusting his position as though uncomfortable with the tension that hung in the air. “A wee