What do you mean three witches were killed? Lunara asked, her voice troubled.
Yes, three witches went to Purgatory right after you to exchange with the werewolves, but they took too long, and when Lilith went to look for them, she found them dead, said Annie, her voice heavy with sadness. Witches under her roof, killed.
And what about you? Annie continued, her tone now shifting. Why did you take so long to get back?
Lunara explained that a Berserk skeleton had appeared from nowhere, and they had to fight it off.
Annie's eyes scanned her, and she asked, her voice sharp with concern, "Are you hurt?" She began checking her body for wounds.
Lunara didn't want to sadden her mother, so she avoided mentioning the deep exhaustion and the near-death experience she'd had. Instead, she lowered her head and said, "No, it wasn't that big of a deal. We overpowered it with numbers."
At least you're all okay, Annie sighed, relieved. Then, her eyes narrowed. "Was something bothering you over there?"
Lunara hesitated before speaking. "I felt a gaze… watching over us before the Berserk came. But it wasn't him—it was someone stronger."
Annie's face tensed. "Purgatory's a mess right now? Maybe a Purgatorist has been resurrected…"
Lunara's anxiety spiked. "Hopefully not."
Annie shook her head, determined. "But it's not your problem. We'll fix it."
Then, Annie left for the council meeting, while Lunara went to deliver the rest of the bones to the witchcraft. As she entered, she was startled by a loud scream.
"WHAATTTTT?!"
You managed to defeat a Berserk skeleton all by yourself? The witch who worked there asked, disbelief in her voice. I guess I underestimated you, Menma.
Yea, I did, Menma replied, holding the Berserk's severed head in his hands. Look at the split I made on its skull when I killed him.
Lunara entered the room, her expression unimpressed. "The only reason you defeated it is because I already whooped his ass."
The witch nodded toward Lunara. "Oh, you're here. Take the items to the fireplace." As Lunara passed, she couldn't help but overhear Sybil's amazed voice.
"Wow, I can't believe just how much fire these things need to burn."
The witch, still holding Menma's sword, activated a hidden mechanism that removed the flat point of the blade. She gazed at the portal ball and muttered, "I can't believe Myrsel was able to make this…" She sighed. "If she were still here… we'd be much further along."
(Myrsel had been one of Annie's guardians. A prodigy of a witch, she had crafted the teleportation sword Menma now wielded, but both she and another guardian had been killed in a tragic incident in the overworld. Now, only Lilith remained.)
"I wish she were still here," the witch continued, her voice filled with sadness. "If she were, we'd have made so much more progress. But here we are, trying to replicate her work, and still failing."
Menma couldn't help but agree. The hole left by Myrsel's death wasn't just in their abilities but in their hearts.
When the witch began preparing the potion with the liquid that had turned white from the skeleton bones...
Lunara grabbed some rare flowers with a yellow petals and a purple center that only bloomed for a short time every winter, a precious ingredient that could only be preserved with immense care.
The witch also added the final drop—yellow—and watching as the potion turned color. Lunara watched, intrigued.
Saphyra, always the curious one, asked, "Why do we never see how those yellow drops come to us?"
The witch didn't hesitate in her response. "Annie and the other leading witches retrieve them from the oldest witch alive."
Lunara's eyes widened. "I can't wait to meet her. But if she dies, who will remember the recipe?"
Sylvara, ever practical, shrugged. "I'm sure someone knows, maybe Annie."
The witches continued making the potions, preparing for whatever might come next, the weight of the unknown pressing on them.
In the meeting hall, the witches were gathered, sharing their experiences over the past few weeks in Purgatory.
A witch spoke up, her voice trembling slightly, "Last week, when we went to Purgatory to meet Lyra—the mother of the werewolves—she seemed uncomfortable, like someone was threatening her."
"But Lyra's the strongest werewolf," another witch protested.
Lilith, always more observant, interjected, "No matter how strong someone is, if enough people gang up on them, they'll fall."
Annie nodded thoughtfully. "Lyra was the one who approached me for an alliance five years ago. The other werewolves likely didn't agree with it."
A witch turned to Annie. "What did Lunara say?"
Annie glanced at Lilith before replying, "She said she felt someone stronger than the Berserk skeleton watching over her."
Lilith's eyes widened for a moment, as if she might have an answer, but she remained silent.
A witch with a sad expression spoke next, his voice barely above a whisper, "What will we do about my wife?"
Annie's gaze softened. "When we find out who did this, we'll take revenge first, then bury the dead."
The witch nodded, visibly relieved. "Thank you, Annie."
She stood and looked at the group, her voice firm. "So here's the plan: we'll go to the werewolves' den and see if they're involved. If they attack us, we'll bring them hell."
As they prepared to leave, Annie's expression hardened. "If it comes to that, we'll bring them hell."
The witches stepped through the portal one by one, and Annie was the last to follow. Lunara, accompanied by the new guardians, prayed for their safety. As Annie got ready to leave, she glanced back. "Where's Menma?"
Lunara smiled and mimicked Menma's voice. "He said he's going to catch that woodchuck today."
Annie didn't smile. "Keep an eye on him."
"Don't worry," Lunara replied. "I won't let him cause trouble."
As Annie stepped through the portal, the rest of the witches followed her into Purgatory. Their destination: the werewolf den.
Meanwhile, high up on a mountain, Menma stood, his sword gleaming in the sunlight.