Everything was fire.
Everywhere burned ablaze in her eyes.

The wind howled, carrying with it embers and the stench of blood. Smoke filled her lungs until she choked, until her throat tore with ragged screams.

“Mother… Mother, where—” Her voice cracked. She stumbled forward, clutching at her chest, as though the pain inside could rip her open.

She wailed, clawing the dirt with trembling hands. This earth, the earth that once bore witness to her laughter, her daily joys, her village filled with warmth—now it was nothing but a pyre of ruin, flames devouring all she had loved.

“Why…” Her sob turned to a shriek.
“Why!!”

*****

“Was the village finally destroyed?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Then what was foretold will never come to pass.”

The Emperor’s words were calm, but carried the weight of finality, as if by fire he had snuffed out fate itself.

****

“Have you heard? That village—burned to the ground, and all its people with it.”

“What! You mean that village?”

“Yes. The Witch Village.”

Another voice interjected, hushed yet eager. “They say it was the Emperor himself who ordered the burning, claiming the people there had been brewing a spell that threatened the throne and the empire itself.”

“No, no. I think it must have been because of the founding myth.”

“Ah! Yes, that!”

“What myth?”

“You don’t know? Fifty years ago, before the Sebalstin Empire rose, these lands were barren. A wasteland—no tree, no beast, no life at all. But in the far west corner, not even two hectares wide, there was a patch of green. A cottage stood there, and in it lived a witch.”

“Oh, I’ve heard this one!” another chimed in eagerly. “It was said she dropped her blood onto the land and cast a spell to make it fertile. A few years later, a traveling merchant came across her cottage. He was hungry and thirsty, and when he saw that verdant place, he tried his luck. They say the witch was a very beautiful woman.”

The crowd leaned closer.

“The merchant fell in love with her. He stayed, married her, and she bore him twins—a son and a daughter. As a gift for her family, the witch made the barren land bear life so her husband wouldn’t have to travel far to sustain them; what was once a barren land flourished, rivers flowed, forests rose. As the entire land became green and fertile, people moved in and built houses, also because it was near a coast. Before long, it evolved into a town called Seraphin, in the name of the witch.”

The speaker rubbed his chin, lowering his voice.

“But what happened after?”

Another muttered, “That’s the tragedy.”

The tale darkened.

“Alas, a greedy heart is a greedy heart to the end. Though she was beloved by the townspeople for her kindness, they began to notice… she never aged. Her beauty remained eternal. Suspicion grew. And it was her own husband—her husband—who betrayed her. He accused her of bewitching him, of ensnaring him with spells to create a family. He claimed she was no woman but a monster, a witch.”

Gasps rippled through the listeners.

“He turned the people against her. They imprisoned her and her children. And when the time came, they burned them all at the stake.”

“The… the children, too?”

“Yes.”

A hush fell. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“As the flames consumed her and as the people chanted below, Seraphin cried, but didn’t resist. She remained silent amidst their false claims. Her tears glistened in the firelight. Before she died, she spoke these final words:

‘Heavens have borne witness to my life, have known my heart deeper than I know myself. Yet ill fate found me when I opened my door to you. I lament my naivety, my trust in your false love. Hear me, heavens: curse the greedy of heart. Let his bloodline wither, let his children never live beyond twenty years. Let them bore the mark of sinners until I return, until I reclaim what was stolen from me.’”

The voice of the storyteller trailed into silence. Around him, the crowd stood wide-eyed, as if they too could feel the witch’s curse echoing still in the air.