The sun had been confident in its reign just moments ago, but now rain poured down relentlessly, as if mirroring the uncertainty and unease that hung heavy in the air. Each water drop seemed to serve as a reminder of the turmoil that had swept over the village, the impending events that were about to unfold. Elene walked beside Eric, her steps weighed down by the gravity of what lay ahead: a crucial discussion that could reshape the village's future.

With a firm push, Eric swung open the tall doors of the city hall, revealing a spacious room bustling with people. The gloomy weather had darkened the village, requiring the use of several chandeliers holding numerous candles on the ceiling. The hall was split in two parts, on one side stood the young mage, her true appearance unveiled, rain-soaked white hair and dark clothes clinging to her like a second skin, complimented by her unwavering golden eyes. On the other side stood the villagers, those who had once subjected her to cruelty. Apologies remained unsaid, forgiveness yet to be sought. And in a corner, a distinguished guest, François De Florence, waited patiently. He had been present for days, prepared to intervene if Elene rejected Eric's proposition.

François, with his distinguished demeanour, could easily be mistaken for her father. The resemblance was uncanny, and the age gap hinted at a logical connection. A connection that was hard to ignore—Elene realised with a bitter pang that she was his age when she… died. Yet, that thought no longer froze her with fear; instead, it ignited a fierce rage that consumed her from within.

Questions arose like storm clouds in her mind. How had the count managed to remain childless in a society where lineage was paramount? Her knowledge of their ways whispered of treachery, uncles, and cousins disposing of those without an heir to secure the family's fortunes. Or worse, the monarchs forcing them into arranged unions. Darker tales hinted at the use of magic, a taboo that had been abolished. The Wescait kingdom, the land of François, was a world of intrigue and danger.

A smirk tugged at the count's lips when their eyes met. Elene sensed his approval; he seemed pleased that she fulfilled Eric's promise. As he embraced her, whispering, "Play along, will you," her resolve solidified. She was no stranger to masks, her acting skills were formidable, and she wouldn't disappoint this lesser noble.

Tears welled up, a torrential downpour rivalling the rain outside. The villagers watched as the girl they had wronged wept in the arms of a man who might as well be her father. Whispers buzzed through the room, fueled by shock and uncertainty. The revelation that the beaten girl was a foreign noble sent ripples through the crowd. Her hair and eyes had changed, but her essence remained. Suspicion gave way to silence as the count released her.

"I'm sorry, Father. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have defied you," Elene's voice trembled, her face a canvas painted with despair and drenched in tears.

A shiver ran through François, not unnoticed by Elene. She relished his reaction, her satisfaction fueled by his discomfort. She threw herself back into his embrace, heightening the charade. The count's astonishment wasn't lost on her; her tears appeared genuine, aided by a touch of magic. Eric had briefed him on her true identity—the Kingslayer White Witch, a name that resonated far and wide. Rumours of her escape from her homeland's top knights had circled the continent. Her head carried a weighty bounty—dead or alive—enhanced if captured alive. While the temptation to capture her for personal gain existed, François found more value in her alliance for his inheritance battle.

"My dear, it's alright. I'm here now. Everything will be fine," François murmured.

The room held its breath, absorbed in the emotional tableau. François released Elene, his gaze softening as he studied her. They were evenly matched in their acting prowess, their facade impressive. To the villagers, the scene was charged with emotion. To Eric, it was unsettling. Who were his clients, and what hidden depths did they possess? The chilling thought gripped him.

"Now then, dear Marie, would you care to explain what has transpired?" the count inquired with a gentle smile.

Marie. Elene's new identity resonated in her mind. She had assumed numerous roles in recent days, but Marie felt comforting—a name that fit snugly. Marie surveyed the room, her gaze shifting from one face to another, all under the weight of the count's words. Whispers gave way to a growing murmur, a cacophony of opinions battling for dominance. Eric cleared his throat, a desperate plea for order, but his attempt was futile. Frustration simmered within him, ignited by the discordant chaos.

The sound of Eric's fist striking the desk silenced the room. His anger echoed in the heavy thud, and all eyes turned to him. "Silence!" he roared, his voice cracking like a whip.

"As you are well aware," Eric continued, "our purpose here is to decide how we proceed with the hunt. Marie, the mage who stood among us, has agreed to aid us."

The attention of the room pivoted, faces now fixed on the one they had once pursued. They finally had their confirmation. It was now clear as to who was standing in front of them. Marie, or Elene, regarded them with eyes that seemed empty. While Elene had forgave the villagers, a memory tainted by pain lingered, it etched deep within her.

"Yet," Eric's voice was resolute, "none of you folk has yet offered an apology."

His words carried weight, drawing the villagers' attention to their unspoken transgressions. Eric's firmness was borne from conviction, from a belief that they could– that he could have ended Elene's life without understanding her story. They did owe her at least an apology if not more.

The count's voice cut through the tension, curiosity piqued. "Eric, could you provide an explanation?"

François, intrigued by the depth of Eric's anger, sought to understand the circumstances that had led to this moment.

"Your Grace," Eric's tone held a mixture of respect and urgency, "a pressing matter compels us. I will share the complete story once it's ready to be unveiled."

"Very well, my friend. I trust you," François replied with a regal grace that mirrored Elene's own mannerisms, a reminder of the emotional detachment they both employed.

Eric elucidated the chosen plan of action, a well-thought-out strategy that fused council decisions with Elene's input. François listened attentively, his interest piqued as he grasped the threads of the tale. The plan was simple in its concept—twenty volunteers and thirty knights, united in pursuit. A forest explored, dense and dark, where traces of an enigmatic presence were discovered. A presence that hinted at power, at the enigma of Coal Oath. It was both thrilling and unsettling, a pursuit of money, power, and justice—a pursuit that remained veiled from the world.

Everybody knew it was easier said than done, but they wanted justice, no they needed it and they will get it. Tomorrow morning, when the sun would go up, the hunt would be on.

Ǒ̸̧̞͍̟̪̠̰͙̲͇̜̰̯̑̅̀̅̚͝ͅͅr̷̢̨̢̨͖̬̫̟̩̦̥̟̱̲̝̱͊̅̌̈̕ ̴̢̭͍͖̲̃͋̀w̵̢̟̣͕̩̺͇̲̲͓͓̮̤̰̲̪̫͙̓̓͋̕͜͝o̴̡̡̡̞͖͇͖͖̼̻̣̟͉̭̖̓̃̑̈ͅu̶̺̼̱͑͑͠l̶͚̕d̶̰͍̳̒͆̀̀́̀̌͐̉́͗̔ ̷̢͓͇̖̩̭̦̭͈͗̈́̈́̀̂̐̏͊͆̈́̓̍̎̒̀̚͝͝͠i̵̧̨̢̘̣̩̥̪͎̦̫͇̙͈̫̍̄́̽̆̔̆͋̀̑̊̊̈́͜ṭ̷̨͖̫̼̟͈̘̝̜̖̈̋̀͛͐̀̌̔ͅ?̵̡̧̺̮̝̟̭̤̫̥̹̍̆̎̐͜

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• Author Notes :

Figured I'd start adding notes today, I forgot to add the map I had been working on to make the story easier to understand haha! Thanks again for all your support I'm super happy about it!

I added all the important countries of Roscitan the main continent of Manvalchan.

But what about the other continent?

-> It's confidential as of now. ✍️