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Song Recommendation: "The dark ritual"by Adrian von Ziegler
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It was a dark, gloomy night somewhere in the land of Northwick. The distant howls of wolves echoed through the forest, accompanied by the haunting hoots of owls and the relentless chirping of crickets. The air was damp and heavy, carrying with it the scent of wet leaves and moss, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.
A man draped in a long black cloak, his face hidden beneath the hood, hurried towards a lonely house standing deep within the forest.His boots squelched against the muddy path, and every step sent little splashes of muck up the hem of his cloak. Twigs cracked underfoot, and shadows danced in the flickering light of his lantern.
Upon reaching it, he scanned his surroundings for any signs of movement—anything that might have followed him. Once satisfied that he was alone, he knocked firmly on the door.
A moment later, a young woman opened it, her eyes narrowing in irritation.
"You're late," she snapped.
The man rolled his eyes and brushed past her into the house.
"Where's the Mistress?" he asked, his voice urgent. "I don't have much time…"
"She's in the basement," the woman replied coolly.
He nodded and moved quickly toward the stairs leading to the basement, clutching a lantern in his hand. As he descended the creaking wooden steps, he muttered under his breath, "This place could collapse any day. I'll never understand why she insists on staying here."
The basement was cluttered with old, unused goods. Broken furniture, rusting tools, and shelves full of dusty bottles filled the cramped space. The walls were damp and peeling; dark patches of mold spread like bruises across the stone. Cobwebs coated the room like a veil, and something skittered in the shadows as he passed.
The cold air seeped into his skin, carrying a faint stench of damp wood and something metallic — like old blood. He pulled his cloak tighter.
He remembered the first time he'd come here, nearly five years ago. Back then, he was a young spy hoping to make a name for himself, chasing power and secrets. He hadn't realized what kind of monster he'd be serving. Now, he was trapped — bound by a blood oath which he hadn't fully understood.
To his left, a door stood slightly ajar, a faint blue glow flickering from inside. He stepped towards it and cautiously pushed it open.
"Mistress, are you in here?" he called.
In the center of the room stood a table with a cloudy, globe-sized crystal ball, glowing with a bluish-green light.
Adam stared at it, hesitantly stepping closer to the table. "Mi-Mistress?"
A soft chuckle broke the silence.
"Adam," a raspy voice purred. "Still as curious as ever, aren't you?"
He turned toward the sound and saw a woman with long black hair seated on a rocking chair in the corner, her back to him.
The room was dimly lit — the glow from the crystal and his lantern providing the only light.
"Yes, Mistress," Adam replied, bowing.
He had never seen her face. Every visit was the same: she sat in the shadows or turned away.
"What news do you bring?" she asked, taking a slow puff from her ciyar stick.
Adam winced. The bitter scent of the smoke made his eyes sting. Ciyar was a toxic drug favored by dark witches, made from the dried seeds of the deadly ciyathra plant.
"We've secured Drusilla's diary from the Ministry's records," he said. "As you ordered, I've passed it to Pamella for decoding."
Pamella, a white witch, had been taken captive. Dark witches often needed both black and white magic for certain rituals, though white witches were rarely cooperative. As a result, they were typically held against their will. Black witches, on the other hand, helped voluntarily — as long as they were rewarded.
Matilda hummed. "I'll have Rebecca supervise her while she breaks the protection spell."
Rebecca, her younger sister, was the one who had answered the door.
"Anything else?" Matilda asked.
"Yes, Mistress," Adam said. He hesitated before continuing, "Three days ago, Head Minister Rupert held a secret meeting with the Lords."
That got her attention.
"And?" she prompted.
"Lord Theodore, Lord Frederick, Lord Benjamin, and Alpha Dominic were there, along with the twelve elders," Adam explained. "They were locked inside the SCIF room for four hours."
The SCIF, short for Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility, was a spy-proof vault in the Ministry. Only high-ranking personnel were allowed to meet there. (Pronounced 'skiff.')
"What about Queen Aurora?" Matilda asked.
"She wasn't present, Mistress."
Matilda was silent for a moment. "What were they discussing?"
"I'm not sure," Adam admitted. "I sent four maids to infiltrate the Lords' mansions and gather information, but none have returned."
Matilda burst out laughing. Cold and sharp.
"You think they're fools?" she sneered. "Those girls are probably dead."
Adam lowered his head. "I apologize. I'll try some other way to collect information"
"Don't bother," she said. "I'll find out what I need to know myself. For now, keep an eye on Lord Theodore."
"Yes, Mistress."
"There's something off about that man," she muttered. "Find out if there's a woman in his life."
Adam hesitated. Why would that matter?
"I saw a vision," Matilda continued. "He was with a bride. My visions never lie. I want you to find her, and kill her."
Adam's heart skipped a beat.
"May I ask why, Mistress?" he said cautiously. "What threat could she possibly pose?"
The other Lords had wives or lovers. Matilda never cared before.
"I can feel it," she said. "She's a danger to everything I've built."
"But—"
"I SAID DO NOT QUESTION ME!" Matilda shrieked, throwing her ciyar stick across the room.
Adam flinched.
"A-as you wish, Mistress."
She took a deep breath, regaining composure. "Go now. And update me regularly."
Adam bowed and quickly left the room, more than relieved to escape the smoky basement.