Ever since John and Andrew entered the strange realm created by the witch, two days had passed, and John had not been himself. It wasn't his brother's wound that consumed his thoughts no. Ever since they stepped into this place, his mind had been trapped elsewhere, obsessed with someone unexpected.
The lady.
They hadn't exchanged a single word since arriving. She hadn't approached them, nor had he dared to go to her. She had vanished into the shadows, yet her image haunted him. Her face, her voice, the elegance in her movements. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen. So breathtaking. So cool. So impossibly beautiful.
How could someone like her, a woman so mesmerising, be a witch?
John found himself wondering over and over. What had made her choose such a path? She looked young, full of life. She could've lived in the world outside, done anything. But instead, she lived in this strange realm. Why? What could've driven her to this? The questions plagued him.
Andrew was barely breathing still, broken, fading fast.. But John barely noticed. His mind was consumed by the witch: her haunting mystery, the gravity of her presence, the unsettling beauty that lingered like a curse. And then, as if summoned by the fever of his thoughts, the Red Witch stepped from the shadows
She glided toward them, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. John couldn't resist. Without hesitation, he stood up from his brother's side and walked toward her. He reached out, gently caught her hand, and walked with her some distance from where Andrew lay.
"I need to know who you are," he said, his voice low and unsure. "You said you've been waiting for me… but why? You even prepared for my arrival. Who are you?"
She looked at him, then laughed softly, almost mockingly. "You foolish boy. You know nothing. You're just a child."
John frowned. "You're calling me a child? You look younger than I am. What made you choose this path? Why are you here?"
She paused. The laughter faded from her face.
"I'll tell you a story," she said. "A long time ago, over a thousand years ago, humans and magical creatures lived together in peace. Dragons, witches, and kings once lived side by side, sharing the same world until everything changed with a single, tragic day."
She looked into the distance as she spoke.
"The Dragon King fell asleep while holding the Queen of the Nine Realms. He was massive, and in his deep slumber, his body collapsed on hers, crushing her. Killing her. It was an accident. A cruel twist of fate. But the human king, her husband, didn't see it that way."
John's eyes widened.
"He burned with grief and rage," she continued. "He declared war on all magical creatures. But dragons can't be killed. They aren't of this world. Their bones are tougher than steel, their breath is fire. Nothing could destroy them.
So the king summoned every witch, every magician, and forged a plan. They took his blood of royal lineage and used it in a powerful ritual. A seal was created. A magical wall that banished all the creatures into another realm. Not because they were evil. Not because they harmed anyone. But because of a single, tragic mistake."
She turned to John again. Her voice is softer now.
"One of the men who helped build that seal… was my ancestor. My great-great-great-grandfather. He also gave the first prophecy: that one day, the barrier would weaken, and the creatures would return. But when they did, a child would be born. A boy. One who could either destroy the dragons or unite them with humankind."
John's breath caught in his chest.
"The prophecy passed from generation to generation. From my great-grandfather, to my grandfather, to my father… and now, to me. I was raised to find you. To guide you. To help you become who you're meant to be."
John stepped back. "Wait… me? Are you saying I'm"
"Yes," she said firmly. "You are the prophesied son. The one born with the power to bring peace or destruction. You can destroy the dragons or save them. You alone."
John's mind reeled.
"I didn't introduce myself before," she added. "My name is Martha. Or, if you prefer the old name, Erragon. But just call me Martha. That's the name my father always used, and I love it. I'm the last in my bloodline. And I was born for this to help you fulfil your fate."
She paused again. Her tone changed.
"There's something else you need to know."
Her eyes shifted toward Andrew, who lay groaning in pain.
"There's something dark in your brother. Something… off. I don't know what, and I don't know how. But I feel it. A darkness surrounds him."
John narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? He's my brother. He's never betrayed me."
"I've seen it," she said. "He is your other half. Your twin. You are light… and he is shadow. Your destinies are not aligned. Where you create, he may destroy. Where you unite, he may divide."
"That's nonsense!" John snapped. "Andrew has been with me through everything. He's my brother!"
"I know," she said quietly. "But the prophecy isn't about loyalty. It's about fate. He bears the curse and the blessing. He is both your mirror and your opposite."
John stood in stunned silence.
She went on, "He will turn against you, not by choice… but by destiny."
The words stabbed into him like knives.
John turned to look at his brother, still trembling, his wound swelling.
"Are you just going to let him die?" John demanded. "Aren't you a witch? Can't you help him?"
Martha looked away. "I can't help him. He's not meant to survive this."
"You're being cruel," John growled. "He's my brother. I won't let him die!"
"He has to die," she said softly. "By nightfall… it will happen. And when he does, your fate will begin. A new war. A new destiny. A new future."
"No!" John shouted. "You can't just watch him die! You're inhuman!"
Tears welled in his eyes. He rushed to Andrew's side, kneeling beside his brother, whose face was pale, his breath shallow. The swelling had worsened. He couldn't eat. Couldn't speak. He was fading.
"Martha, please," John begged. "Do something."
Martha looked down at Andrew, then at John, his desperation, his pain.
And something shifted inside her.
She couldn't let him lose the only person he loved. Not if it meant breaking his spirit. His pure heart.
She knelt beside them and placed her hand on Andrew's chest. Whispering ancient words, she chanted a soft incantation. A glow surrounded her hand.
Moments later, Andrew's body relaxed. His face softened. The swelling eased.
"He's healed," she said quietly. "He'll sleep through the night, and by morning… he'll wake. Whole again."
John looked at her with gratitude and confusion.
"And then," Martha added, "we'll leave this realm. The real world awaits. And so does your true journey."