That night, all the cells in the Queen's Palace stood unguarded. No one had been assigned to watch over them. For decades, there had never been an escape. No prisoner had ever dared break the rules within this powerful city. But for John and Andrew, the city's laws meant nothing. They were newcomers, unfamiliar with the rigid structure and obedience this kingdom demanded. And now, they had broken free from chains, from confinement, from the Queen's authority.
The escape sent shockwaves through the capital. Though the Queen had imprisoned them, she was merely a guest in this land. The true ruler, the King of the North, sovereign over this nation, received the news by morning.
The bells rang loud and long across the city. A sound unheard for decades. The air was tense. Citizens froze in place, whispers spreading like wildfire. What had happened?
Messengers ran to the palace. The King was informed that two young men from the South, believed to be the prophesied sons, had fled the palace prison.
The King's rage was immediate and explosive. No one had ever escaped. No one had dared. And now these strangers had defied their hosts, their laws, and possibly their fate.
A bounty was placed upon their heads, dead or alive. Soldiers were mobilised. Bounty hunters were sent out with orders to kill if needed. The hunt had begun.
John and Andrew, unaware of the full storm behind them, were already deep within the forest, searching for the sorcerer they'd been told about. But the barking of dogs shattered the silence, feral, vicious beasts trained for only one thing: blood.
They ran, feet pounding the dirt, lungs burning.
Suddenly, from the thicket ahead, a bounty hunter appeared. He charged like a shadow from hell, swords raised. In a flash, he slashed at Andrew.
A scream tore through the trees. Blood spilled.
Andrew collapsed.
John's eyes burned with fury. Without thinking, he grabbed a blade left behind, still slick from Andrew's blood and hurled it with all his strength. The weapon sank deep into the bounty hunter's chest.
Silence.
The man fell.
John didn't pause. He rushed to his brother, lifted him into his arms, and continued the escape. Now it wasn't just a flight for freedom. It was a race for Andrew's life.
Behind them, the sound of soldiers drew closer, dogs snarling, blades ringing.
"Brother… don't stop. Keep moving," John whispered, holding Andrew tighter.
Andrew was pale, trembling. He could barely speak.
John ran. The forest thickened. Branches scratched his face. Roots threatened to trip him. But he kept going.
And then signs.
The ones they had been told to look for. Symbols carved into trees, hidden among vines. Strange drawings. Arcane markings. They had reached the edge of the tomb.
A cavern yawned before them, concealed at the base of a cliff. It looked ancient, eerie… but exactly as described.
John entered without hesitation. The air shifted. Behind him, the barking ceased.
Within the tomb, the world grew darker. The deeper he walked, the heavier the air became, like a blanket of silence had been thrown over everything.
He placed Andrew gently down and lit a torch, an old stick soaked in oil. The flame flickered to life.
Drawings covered the walls. Not just symbols, but art, detailed, emotional. This witch was no ordinary spellcaster. She was an artist. A storyteller. A visionary.
As John explored the tomb's walls, Andrew sat against a stone, weak and wordless. The torchlight danced across images that seemed to shift and shimmer.
And then
A voice.
"What took you so long?"
John froze.
Andrew sat upright, startled.
The tomb suddenly bloomed with light. Lamps ignited all at once, bathing the chamber in warm gold.
There, beside a large mural, stood the witch.
She was painting.
"Who are you?" John asked, his voice sharp.
Andrew stared at the canvas. "Why are you painting… that?"
They looked closer.
The image on the wall was them. John standing. Andrew seated. The tomb, the clothes, their very posture, were identical to the moment they now stood in.
"How…?" Andrew whispered.
The witch smiled. "I'll explain. But first, we must hide. They're still hunting you."
With a single stroke of her brush and a whispered enchantment, the painting shimmered. The room around them twisted, blurred, and morphed.
Suddenly, they were in a different world.
A dimension unlike anything they'd seen. Peaceful. Beautiful. Designed by her.
Moments later, she joined them, stepping through her own painted image into this new realm.
"You're safe now," she said. "Only you and I exist in this space."
John narrowed his eyes. "What is this place?"
"I created it. Just as I created your escape. Just as I've waited for you."
Andrew scoffed. "You? A witch? You don't even look eighteen."
She smiled knowingly. "I've saved your life. Healed your wounds. You think age matters?"
Andrew fell silent.
John walked around the realm, marvelling at the serenity, the beauty. "Where are we?"
She explained:
Witches are born with different kinds of magic. But for a long time, I believed I had none. My family thought so too. My father, my grandfather… all tried to train me. Nothing worked. They died believing I was powerless.
But then… I found art.
I became obsessed. I travelled, painted everything I saw. Then one day, I discovered something. When I combined art with incantation… I could shape reality. I could draw dimensions and step into them. And I could bring others with me."
John stared, awestruck.
"I saw you in my visions," she continued. "I knew exactly where you'd be. I painted the moment before it happened. When you entered my tomb, I activated the spell. That's how we came here."
John nodded, stunned. "That's… amazing."
She gave a quiet smile. "Now you understand. My magic is not in destruction or curses. It's in creation. In expression. In escape."
Andrew shifted. "So… what happens now?"
"Now," she said, "we rest. You heal. And when you're strong enough, we'll leave this realm. Because beyond it… Your true destiny waits."
She turned to go, glancing over her shoulder with a wink. "I'll leave you to talk. I have some tea to fetch. Don't worry I'll be back soon."
And just like that, she vanished.
Leaving the two brothers alone, surrounded by a magic born of art, fate, and prophecy.