Witch, they called the woman, although she was never seen doing magic. He walked toward her tent with disdain. His feet dug into the soft, dew-drenched grass. Each step felt heavier than the last one, though his lustrous military boots weren't the ones to blame, but rather the burden that had fallen on his shoulders. His pointed nose wrinkled in disgust as he approached the tent. His hand clenched tighter around the hilt of his holstered gun with each step

    Mister Mayhalov had done a few trips outside Themnor. This however was a special occasion. Firstly because he was going without his military troop, and secondly because he was going to do something illegal. And it was only one of the many crimes to come.

    The tent appeared to be nothing but a few logs, sticks, and fabrics on top of each other, but he knew it was the inside that made it different; after all, the witch was devoted to the exchange of 'objects'. The trees hugged the tent with skeletal arms, their dark fingers extended as if they wanted enter and exchange their branches and blossoms for one of the relics the witch possessed. Mahalov noticed the forest was annoyingly humid and the trees didn't even have blossoms. Moreover, every plant surrounding the tent was dead or dying.

    A branch cracked. Mayhalov scanned the area and deftly pulled out the gun from his belt. Ready to shoot, he had no problem putting holes in people's head. The man was certain no one had followed him, and no one sane would wander through these woods at this hour. Either way, he couldn't risk being seen so he stuck his body behind the nearest tree. A blue spot appeared in the corner of his eye. Its movements were quick and agile, but too noisy in such quiet forest. The stranger with a gaunt dark blue cloak emerged from the woods and got closer to the tent, glanced at both sides and entered a second later.

    He heard two voices. As he got closer to the tent the voices seemed distant and echoed.

    The minutes dragged on until Mayhalov thought his hand would fuse with the gun. The cloaked being emerged from the tent without the hood on. The girl threw a careful glance at the sides checking to see if no one was there. She hoisted a heavy bag, threw it across her shoulder and bent down to retrieve a long pointed spear. The blade glowed with morning light and a mischievous smile grew on her lips.

    She seemed to sense someone. Her green eyes widened and turned to Mayhalov, who quickly tucked behind the tree. He heard the noisy steps of her running in the opposite direction. Once he dared to look at the tent again, it was like she was never there. Gone, like a ghost that had evaporated into the air. Only specks of dust dancing in the light of the sunrise where she'd been moments before.

    Mayhalov tried and failed to steady his breathing. He pressed his hand on his sweaty forehead, and repeated what his wife told him before heading into the woods.

    Get in, trade, and get out. He nodded. Be in Themnor by ten.

    He got out of his hiding place.

    As he walked towards the entrance with a quicker pace than before, he went over the image of the girl that had been carved in his memory. He couldn't forget the curved scar that ran from the middle of her forehead to underneath her eye, forming a crescent moon amongst tiny freckles like stars. He had heard about those scars, engraved in the skin of people who had committed a crime and banished from Dawarsah, the neighboring kingdom which shared the woods with Themnor.

    Although the sight of the girl's spear made his stomach turn, but he didn't have the time to worry about savages, thieves, or the banished holding a grudge; he certainly shouldn't worry about a young girl either.

    Mayhalov lifted the curtains of the tent with his index finger; the place welcomed him with a mix of herbal incense and perfumes. He cursed under his breath and covered his nose with the back of his hand. Floating lights danced before him like white fire. They followed him with each step he made. He deduced she was an Ilumdya, but how could she control the light's movements if she wasn't facing him. Unless she knew he was there...

    He opened his mouth but she turned around before a word came out of his lips.

    "Viktor Mayhalov, how can I help you?"

    Indeed, she knew.

    Mayhalov gulped at the sight of the elderly woman. Behind the sad excuse for a table stood someone too boney to be considered human. Her eyes had no pupils and iris; white like two shiny pearls. He searched for something to say but his mind was as blank just like the eyes of the woman. She smiled. He wondered if she could read minds, but perhaps the woman only smiled amused of the mute effect she had on Mayhalov.

    "I need something you might have," Mayhalov blurted out, a little low for his liking; he didn't want to appear weak.

    "Not even a single good morning, Mister Mayhalov?" Her voice was soft and sweet, as if she was singing a lullaby.

    She smiled again, showing teeth the color of sand; yellow and dirty. He thought about asking how she knew his name but dismissed the idea. In this particular case he preferred ignorance over the truth.

    "I need a guard uniform from Dawarsah's castle, a map of its rooms and halls, and the kingdom's underground paths."

    The witch frowned but didn't press him for more information. Maybe she too preferred not knowing what her clients were up to. At least she had good manners.

    "What do I get in return?" She asked, leaning forward. Mayhalov could see faded white lines on her grey,wrinkled skin; a reminisce of her past life as a Dawarsah citizen.

    Mayhalov brushed the small bag that hung from his belt with the tips of his fingers. "Seven crystals from Dawarsah and a black dagger."

    "Seven Dawarsah crystals? How many people did you have to kill?"

     Zero, he replied in his head. All seven were killed by his wife.

   He swallowed and touched his gun again. Thinking of how many people Sarsha killed sent shivers down his spine. It wasn't exactly how he wanted to picture his perfect looking family.

    "I'm guessing that's your black dagger, Mister Mayhalov?"

    "That's right, lady..." He waited for her to continue the sentence with her name but she never did. He pretended to cough and she smiled again, rather amused.

    "I'm afraid it's not enough," She said. Mayhalov widened his eyes. "You can have the map of the castle and the undergrounds, but the uniform worths more than seven crystals."

    "What else do you want for it?"

    The woman tapped the table with her long fingernails and said, "The gun you have in your right pocket."

    Mayhalov took a step back and felt something burn the back of his head. He'd almost collided with one of the white fire balls. He puffed a short breath and he quickly regretted it as he tasted the herbal aromatics within the tent.

    He looked down. He had no choice. Mayhalov needed the uniform; how else was he going to enter the palace without anyone noticing?

    Tapping his feet on the ground a few times, he closed his eyes and tightened his fists.

     "Deal," he hissed.

     "Adventurous," was all the witch said before turning around and looking for Mayhalov's items.

    The witch sauntered the tent from side to side, dragging her long silk coat across the dirty ground. Such a wasted luxury. She must have gotten it by trading it for something else. He let his view wander through the tent; from porcelain plates and books on shelves to daggers, swords, guns and every other type of weapon hanging from a rope, all of them on display like a beautiful exposition. The blue-cloaked girl must've traded something for the spear.

    A flash of anger ran through his body imagining his beloved gun being hung there. What could be worse than that? A banished or a disgraceful thief using it.

    "Put the things there," she ordered.

    Mayhalov pulled the pouch from his belt, pursing his lips; his dark brows almost touched one another. Nobody could tell the president of Themnor's Armed Forces what to do. He followed the woman's instructions anyway, and placed the seven collars with their corresponding crystals on the table. Some of them had their red glow tainted by Ilumdya blood. He then placed his dagger followed by his gun onto the table.

    "This weapon is made specifically from dark matter and Dartenik blood, fabricated in Themnor and destined for the city officials only. It doesn't need bullets because it shoots concentrated shadow bullets, which means...it, can only be used by Darteniks."

    "I don't understand a thing of what you said, Mister Mayhalov. But don't worry, there will be someone who can make use of it," The woman laughed and gestured her hands in the air, but Mayhalov remained quiet.

    She returned with two folded papers in her hands and a red uniform under her arm. The woman placed them in front of Mayhalov's, but kept her lanky hands on top of them to ensure he couldn't just take them and run away. She wasn't a fool.

    She leaned towards him, as if she wanted to tell a secret. "I can find someone like you, a Dartenik, who would like to exchange the gun for a few crystals," She whispered.

    Mayhalov directed his fingers towards where the gun had resided and felt the emptiness of the holster. He leaned forward a few centimeters lower to match the height of her bloodcurdling face and said, "I hope you at least understand this weapon's worth."

    "No problem, Mister Mayhalov," She said letting out a rotten breath. "I'll sell it for more than ten crystals."

    Mayhalov groaned and straightened his back. The witch took Mayhalov's belongings from the table and started organizing the things in different barrels. Mayhalov took the palace's map carefully, the worn, beige paper felt fragile. He went through each inked hallway, each painted room, with a hungry gleam until he found what he was looking for.

    "Thank you," Mayhalov said taking everything and heading towards the entrance.

    He felt a chill down his spine and turned around. "You won't..." he began to say.

    "I never say my clients' names to others. Your secret's safe with me, Mister Mayhalov," The witch responded. Mayhalov's lips curved in an attempt to smile.

    She added, "If someone asks, I haven't seen anything."

    Mayhalov frowned, by the look in the woman's empty eyes and the irony dripping down the last words she had said, he decided it was time to go. He turned his gaze towards the witch one last time before leaving; all she did was wave her hand and dedicate him a lively smile.

    It was obvious that the witch knew what his plans were. No Dartenik from Themnor would ask for a uniform, a map of a castle, and the undergrounds of Dawarsah just for some light reading.

    He wouldn't tell his wife that the witch identified him and probably guessed their plans. Sarsha would cut off his hands if she found out someone else knew about them. He needed to be in one piece if he wanted to enter Dawarsah's palace and steal the divine treasure hidden in the fifth underground level.

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Thank you alyssiiamarie for editing this chapter! <3 thank you seventhstar and i-havenoidea for helping me, all your feedback is really appreciated thank you very much <33 Now look at this awesome drawing Vapid_Ink made of the blue cloak girl!! is amazing!