Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 900: The Witches From Afar (Part II)

“Is this really alright?” Wendy kept her voice low, tilting her head toward the ordinary people arranged along the dock. “I mean — we hired strangers to welcome witches from Sleeping Island. If they knew the truth, they’d hardly be pleased.”

“Can you find even one resident who’d welcome them sincerely?” Scroll asked, equally quiet.

”…No.” Wendy hesitated, then shook her head. It was difficult enough to find one or two citizens who would greet witches from the bottom of their hearts, let alone a crowd. The people of Neverwinter had gradually warmed to witches under Roland’s influence, and a few were genuinely beloved — but the newcomers from Sleeping Island were strangers. Asking anyone to abandon their work and stand cheering for people they had never met was asking the impossible.

Without Roland himself, only families of the First Army could be persuaded to come.

“Then there’s nothing wrong with His Majesty’s arrangement.” Scroll shrugged. “Every expense — the red bouquets, the banners, the greeting families — has been drawn from Neverwinter’s municipal budget. If the money isn’t spent here, another department will spend it elsewhere. In fact, His Majesty had planned something far grander.”

Wendy swiped an invisible bead of sweat from her forehead. Ever since Princess Tilly had written that the Sleeping Island witches were coming, Roland had been barely containable. Beyond what Scroll had just described, his planning memo had included ceremonial parades, a musical performance, and fireworks. Had the news from Hill Fawkes not forced him to accelerate the war plan, he would have hosted the reception himself — and the spectacle would have been considerable.

“Which is why hiring people directly is the cleanest solution,” Scroll said, with something that was almost a smile. “We didn’t recruit anyone at random, either. Everyone here was selected from families with clean City Hall records. You have nothing to worry about.” She paused. “The witches are docking. Go meet them — Chief of the Union.”

“Scroll.” Wendy shot her a reproachful look, then gave Princess Tilly a brief nod and walked down toward the guests who had come so far from the island.

“Welcome!” She opened her arms as the two groups of witches came together, and the salt off the river reached her before anything else — that specific harbor smell of water and cut timber and distance traveled. “I’m the superintendent of the Witch Union. Neverwinter is glad to have you.”

Per the agreement, the witches from Sleeping Island would be treated as ordinary subjects of the Western Region — not under the Witch Union’s jurisdiction. Wendy’s first task was to bring them to the new residential quarter for a head count, so the City Hall would know how much food to allocate. The touring and work schedules could wait until everyone had settled and she had a chance to confer with Lady Tilly.

The residential block built exclusively for the Sleeping Island witches had been finished two months before their arrival. It stood close to the Miracle Building and bore the same name as the Bounty Guild: Sleeping Spell.

The new arrivals went quiet when they saw it.

The building rose six stories — its concrete surface polished to an almost liquid smoothness, pale and clean in the harbor light.

“Are those real stones? Why do they look like that?”

“We aren’t actually staying here, are we?”

“Stop dreaming. That must be the Lord’s castle.”

“Imagine the view from the top.”

Wendy let the murmuring run its course, then stepped in. “The building is only half-finished. When complete, it will reach fifty-five meters — about a hundred and eighty feet and five inches. But His Majesty doesn’t live here. His castle is three stories tall and sits at the center of the city.” She paused for effect, then added, “His Majesty developed a construction material that converts liquid slurry into solid stone. This is a pilot project. He believes we will eventually build structures as tall as mountains using it — though none of it would have been possible without the witches.” She turned. “Isn’t that right, Lotus?”

“Hey — you actually built this?”

“But your ability is earth-shaping, isn’t it?”

Every eye swung to Lotus, who scratched the back of her head with visible embarrassment. “I just made ramps for the workers. When they needed to add another floor, I’d raise the earth around the building into a platform so they could work at height more easily.”

A beat of silence. Then the question that had been underneath every other question.

“Did they — hate you for being a witch? Or show it in their faces?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Lotus waved a hand. “They seem to treat me like anyone else now. Sometimes, if I get there early enough, they share their flatbread with me.”

The answer loosened something in Wendy’s chest she hadn’t known was braced. She let the quiet stretch another moment before speaking — and when she did, she hadn’t quite planned the words.

“Many of you are still uncertain about this place. That’s — that’s right. It’s right to be uncertain. Neverwinter is foreign to you, and I’d be lying if I told you everyone here has learned to see past what you are.” She paused, found her footing. “I won’t recite the last hundred years to you. You’ve lived them. But I can tell you that this city has its name for a reason — His Majesty chose it with intention. You are not members of the Witch Union, and no one will press you to become one. But if you are ever in difficulty, no matter how small it seems — I am here.”

“Well done.” Scroll leaned close and gave her a quiet thumbs-up.

What Wendy had not anticipated was that the first real problem arrived with the registration forms.

“What do you need this for?” A red-haired witch held the form at arm’s length as if it might bite. “Didn’t you promise we weren’t being held here? I only came to stay a few days. I don’t see why any of this is necessary.”

“Same here. Princess Tilly said we could leave Neverwinter whenever we liked. I want to go back to the Eastern Region now.”

“The church is gone — there’s no reason to hand over our personal information to anyone. If it falls into the wrong hands, we’d have no recourse.”

She was not alone. Several witches had closed their forms and set them down.

“Azima and her circle.” Ashes’s brow creased. “Again.”

“Azima?” Wendy asked.

“A witch organization from the Eastern Region.” Tilly kept her voice neutral. “They don’t exactly recognize my authority — but they’re considerably better than the Bloodfang Association.” She turned to the red-haired witch. “I understand the pull of home. But this isn’t the time. The church may have fallen, yet the public’s hostility to witches hasn’t. The nobles especially. The Eastern Region is the worst of it — and that won’t change until Roland formally secures those territories.”

“How would you know if you haven’t been there?” Azima’s chin lifted. “Or maybe you’re just siding with your brother.”

“Watch how you speak.” Ashes’s voice was flat.

“Why? Are you going to come at me the way you did Heidi and Skyflare?”

The air in the room had gone flat and still, the way it did just before a storm closed off the harbor. Wendy pressed her lips together. She hadn’t expected this — the bitterness between these two factions ran deeper than a single conversation could bridge, and she couldn’t find the words to cross it.

Then Scroll stepped forward.

“May I ask you a few things?” she said.

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