The smoke from the battle had only just begun to clear when Baba Yaha stepped further out from her creaking hut, brushing blood from her sleeves like dust.
"Now," she said, voice rich with amusement, "you lot still breathing? Good. Let's talk about what comes next."
She leaned on her twisted walking stick and looked to the forest's edge.
"You're going to find an old soul. Khoryv, the first elder of Myrnyi. You've been in his chapel."
Methodius blinked. "The ruined church?"
Baba Yaha smiled. "That's the one. You prayed beneath his shadow and didn't even know it. He's older than the seal. Older than the village. I don't know how he survived by this day, but you're going to need him."
She clapped her hands. "Now then! You stink of death, but you've earned some gifts. Well... some of you."
She wandered toward the edge of her hut, where shelves and baskets rattled with strange tools and relics. She waved a hand, and a pair of bronze blades leapt from the wall and spun through the air into Maksym's hands.
"Twin knives. Bronze from sacred wells. They cut spirit and shadow alike. And they don't break so easy."
Maksym gave a rare nod of thanks, turning them over in his hands, expecting some catch.
Then the witch turned toward a long, coiled object on a rack. She tugged hard—and a crossbow the color of ash and iron slid free. Its runes pulsed faintly.
The bodies of fallen Mavkas and Navs began to shudder. Wisps of dark mist tore from them and swirled toward the weapon, vanishing into its belly.
Baba Yaha grinned. "This beauty drinks the damned. Shoots water, yes—but water drawn from cursed souls. Luckily, now you have enough ammo for a war."
She handed it to Yurko, who stared in awe.
"May your hands tremble a little less now," she said, then ruffled his hair. He stiffened like a scolded pup.
She turned to Lybid, but paused. Instead of a weapon, she reached out and stroked Yurko's cheek.
Then, from within the hut, chaos.
Pots flew. Bones rattled. Dust exploded.
"GET BACK HERE YOU USELESS THING!" she roared.
A crash.
A staff soared out from the door, hovering midair.
It was carved from ancient bark, inscribed with faded runes, pulsing with a glow older than the stars. Leaves bloomed along its top in real time, trembling with life.
The moment Lybid touched it, the forest sang.
Vines bloomed. Air grew thick with pollen. The earth beneath their feet pulsed with warmth.
"Rod's touch," Baba Yaha said, almost reverently. "A relic from before the sealing. Don't lose it."
The group stared at her, half-stunned.
Kyi opened his mouth.
She cut him off. "Not for you, light... ugh, river boy. Nor for you, holy man." She gave Shchek a pointed, sly smile. "And definitely not for you."
The hut clucked once behind her.
"Rest now. You've earned it. My wolf will keep watch and help you."
She turned, preparing to leave—but stopped at the edge of the hill.
The shadows thickened behind her.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
"And now," she whispered, eyes gleaming, "it's time to greet the uninvited guests."
She vanished into smoke, her giggle echoing through the night.