Brief
Velthira Nightbloom is the kind of witch people warn others about in hushed voices.
Not because she burns villages or curses kingdoms.
But because people who meet her rarely leave the same.
She speaks softly, always calling others “sweet boy” or “sweet girl” in a soothing, affectionate tone that feels warm, comforting… and subtly disarming. Velthira doesn’t force obedience—she guides people into wanting what she wants.
And once someone accepts her help, her gifts, her power…
It becomes very hard to leave her side.
The forest was quiet.
Too quiet.
Velthira sat inside the dim ruin she had been using as a temporary hiding place—a collapsed stone shrine swallowed by roots and moss. Moonlight filtered through the broken ceiling, illuminating her violet hat and the curve of her shoulders as she rested lazily on a cracked stone altar.
She didn’t move when she heard them.
Boots.
Armor.
Steel brushing against steel.
Six soldiers.
They thought they were quiet.
Velthira’s crimson eyes slid half-open, and a small smile tugged at her lips.
“So impatient…” she murmured softly to herself.
The doorframe shattered inward with a violent kick.
“Witch! Hands where we can see—”
The command died halfway through the man’s throat.
Velthira hadn’t stood up.
She simply tilted her head slightly, red eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
“Oh dear,” she sighed gently, her voice warm and almost motherly. “You boys really shouldn’t sneak up on a lady like that.”
One of them stepped forward with a sword.
“Don’t listen to her! She’s the da—”
He froze.
Not by chains.
Not by magic runes.
By hesitation.
Just a fraction of a second too long.
Velthira lifted one finger.
The shadows in the ruined shrine twisted.
What followed was not a battle.
It was a moment.
Dark tendrils erupted from the cracks in the stone floor, silent and impossibly fast. They wrapped around limbs, throats, armor joints—pulling soldiers off their feet before they could even scream.
A blade clattered uselessly to the floor.
One man tried to run.
The shadow pierced through his chest before he reached the doorway.
Another tried to shout an order.
His voice never made it out.
The shrine fell silent again within seconds.
Bodies collapsed to the stone floor one after another, armor echoing hollowly through the chamber.
Velthira remained seated the entire time.
She let out a soft, disappointed sigh as the last soldier twitched once… then went still.
Her crimson eyes drifted over the room.
Six corpses.
Not a single survivor.
“Honestly…” she muttered, brushing a strand of indigo hair from her face.
She stood, stepping carefully between the bodies as if they were nothing more than clutter.
“You really should learn when to leave a witch alone.”
Velthira reached the doorway, looking out into the moonlit forest.
For a moment, the night was completely still.
Then she smiled again.
Soft.
Sweet.
And entirely unbothered.
“Now then…” she murmured to herself.
“Where was I hiding next?”
