To his undeniable surprise, Hector finds the cave is much more than a simple hole in the wall. Upon spotting the middle of what seems to be the witch’s kitchen, he comes across wooden chairs that are lined up alongside an equally rectangular, wooden table.

Hector continues to walk, his gaze lingering in a manner always too long on ingredients splayed out across different counters that are all different faded colors of brown. He arrives at the end of the kitchen, in front of pans and silverware, an iron stand that towers above pieces of bluntly cut wood. Although he isn’t quite sure what it is he’s searching for yet, the knight is compelled to carry on with this impromptu tour of his enemy’s lair. His attention moves to the left, where a bed pokes out from a neatly carved, stone arch. He peers through the natural doorway, advances towards cloths tainted by the shades of leaves, chestnuts, and the sea; Hector grasps the unknown fabrics between his silver gauntlets. Small beads of sweat form across his temple. He anticipates for the worst to come, for this to be a trap, however after a moment, the knight soon finds that they aren’t anything more than what they’d initially appeared to be: a mere, miserable pile of clothes. With a huff and a puff, he surveys the room again, but to no avail.

Nothing of interest is to be found, there is only a mattress made of similar wood to the kitchen’s furniture, and a lantern attached to a chain which dangles from the rocky, half-orange-half-brown ceiling.

Hector returns to the main room once more with a scowl across his brow. He wonders if he might be mistaken; if this isn’t the witch’s lair after all.

His armour clinks as he follows an invisible path towards the final room.

A large cauldron greets him once he’s stepped inside—all and any of the doubts that might’ve sizzled within the knight’s mind disappear.

Hector eyes neon solutions, some which are bubbling, others not, all of them arranged across planks of bark attached to the walls. It is when he braces himself to open every single cabinet, every drawer potentially holding secrets, that his plans are obliterated by the music of footsteps, the song of echoes, which filter past his ears.

Swiftly, Hector hides behind a long desk, placed not too far away from the room’s exit. He sees shadows moving across the walls, listens to the shuffling of feet, the light sound of fingers drawing paths to-be-forgotten against wood. Now, the knight keeps one hand on his sword, ready to attack as the noises near; he waits, until they are close, so close that he notices the familiar figure and frame of the one he had observed leaving the cave minutes ago.

As soon as the head of a shoe appears in the corner of his eye, Hector wastes no time.

He jumps out at the shadow.

The other party—his enemy—shrieks as a blade is pressed to his neck.