CH285 · Rewrite
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Chapter 285: Answer

The higher Tilly rose, the more of Sleeping Island she could see.

It was no longer the secluded refuge where three hundred witches had huddled in isolation, cut off from the world by choice and necessity. Through negotiations and careful agreements, Crescent Moon Bay, Twin Dragon Island, Sunset Port, and Shallow Water Town had all established trading routes with the island. Some ordinary people from overcrowded Fjord villages had even chosen to settle here—living at the island’s outer edge, at a respectful distance from the witches, but present. Growing. Every witch who awakened on any of the surrounding islands, regardless of where she’d been born, became a member of Sleeping Island’s community. The numbers were rising quietly, the way water rises: you don’t notice until it has changed everything.

Tilly could see the market below, the small figures of the coming-and-going crowd, the patchwork of new construction at the outer ring. It looked, from up here, like the beginning of a city.

“Come down—the wind is picking up!” Ashes shouted from below. “And don’t fall.

“I’m fine!” Tilly waved.

Then her body dropped.

The magic slipped for just a moment—one breath of lost concentration—and she fell a full body’s length before catching herself and stabilizing. Her heart was in her teeth.

“I knew your control wasn’t good enough to fly that high!” Ashes stamped her foot when Tilly landed in the garden. “Next time you stay low or go over the water. If you don’t come down the moment I tell you, I’ll climb the roof and grab you myself.”

“All right, all right.” Tilly pulled the blue-stoned glove from her hand and held it out. “You try it next. Flying is extraordinary. When you look down at the island from that height, everything looks entirely different—like the world has become something new.”

Ashes waved it off. “I’ve never been able to activate the lightning stone from the beginning. I can’t channel into it at all—forget about maintaining a continuous supply. And there’s only one glove. Even if I mastered the control, there’s no way for us to fly together.”

“Then we’ll figure out the principle,” Tilly said, taking the glove back with only a small reluctance. “If we understand why it works, we might be able to make more.”

“You think the stones are man-made?”

“Without question.” No hesitation. “The polish, the specific activation conditions, the way each one does exactly one thing—nature doesn’t produce that kind of precision. The people who built the ruins understood magic far more deeply than we do. It’s a shame they left nothing behind but inscriptions no one can read.”

A sound from above interrupted her—a rushing white shape falling too fast, barely pulling up in time. It hit the garden with a thud that sent a circle of dust billowing outward.

“Maggie?” Ashes raised an eyebrow.

“Oooh, that hurt,” the small girl groaned from the ground, rubbing her head as she stood. “Was I imagining things? Did Lady Tilly just fly? If your hair were the right color, I’d have thought you were Lightning.”

“You weren’t imagining it.” Tilly pressed a smile down. “Did the witches in Border Town ask you to bring letters?”

“Letters and more letters, goo!” Maggie rummaged through the bag that seemed to be somehow part of her hair regardless of which form she wore. “Lotus’s. Evelyn’s. And this one—” She held up a package.

Package was the right word. It was bound with cord and several wrappings of cloth, as thick through as a man’s thumb, so heavy that when Tilly took it her arms dropped slightly with the weight.

From Roland Wimbledon.

“You’ve worked hard, Maggie.”

Ashes took half a wheat cake from her pocket and broke it into pieces. Maggie shook her head, produced a dried fish seemingly from nowhere, and put it in her mouth. Then she turned back into the white pigeon, beat her wings, and was gone.

“Does she seem larger to you?” Ashes asked. “Since a month ago?”

“I’ve noticed the same thing,” Tilly laughed. “Border Town must suit her.”


Back in her house, she broke open Roland’s package.

Inside: one page of dense writing, and more than a dozen painted pages.

She spread one of the painted sheets flat on the table.

The background was a wasteland at dusk. Under a sky stained blood red, two massive figures fought a group of witches at close range. The witches’ abilities—she could see vipers, fireballs, constructions of force—made no visible impact. The creatures moved with a terrible ease, absorbing everything. The last painted page showed several witches fallen in pools of dark blood.

Tilly frowned. The images were painted with witchcraft—only magic produced that kind of precision and life. But were they imagined? Or were they records?

She snatched up the letter and read.

Her stomach clenched at the fifth line. By the tenth, her hands were shaking.

One word appeared again and again: Devil.

“What is it?” Ashes caught her arm. “Tilly.”

“The past of the Witch Cooperation Association.” Tilly patted Ashes’s hand to signal she was steady. “They went looking for the Holy Mountain in the wilderness. You remember the stories.”

“The legendary destination—real peace, real safety.” Ashes’s voice was flat. “A rumor. And the demon bite is the Church’s lie. Here on Sleeping Island we live in peace without any Holy Mountain.”

“Cara believed it was real. She found an ancient book in ruins somewhere in the Eastern Region’s forests, convinced herself it could lead to the gate of an uninhabited land in the forbidden area.” Tilly’s voice had gone quiet. “She led the entire Witch Cooperation Association over the Impassable Mountain range. They didn’t find the Holy Mountain. They found—” She lifted the painted page. “—those.”

Ashes stared at the image. The creatures’ posture, the ease of movement, the casual devastation. “These?”

“Extraordinary strength. Incredible speed. They can control demonic beasts. One of them could release lightning from its hands—just like a witch, the letter says.” Tilly set the page down. “From more than forty witches at the start, six survived. In their desperation, they came to Border Town.”

“So that’s where the Witch Union came from.”

“Yes.” Tilly turned the letter over. “But there’s something else. Something that troubles me more than the creatures themselves. The ancient book Cara found—it contained a passage written in the language of the Four Kingdoms. Not whatever incomprehensible script fills the other inscriptions in those ruins, but ours. It mentioned the Holy City, a war against Devils, and Alice’s experiments creating the God’s Punishment Army. The story of what happened four hundred years ago.” She looked up. “If those people knew our language—why write most of their records in a script no one can read?”

The question had no answer she could see. She set it aside and took out Sylvie’s letter.

Her eyes moved down the page.

At the first sentence, she stopped.

She read it again.

Lady Tilly, I found no signs of camouflage or concealed magic on Roland Wimbledon’s body. Beyond the witches of the Witch Union, there are no other witches hidden in the town. I believe… he may be your genuine older brother.

Tilly sat very still.

The word genuine sat on her chest like a weight.

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