Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 951: Red and White (Part 1)

Wendy closed the door behind her and swept the room once — faces drawn tight, hands folded, the particular stillness of people who have been arguing and stopped — before settling her gaze on Azima.

“Say what you came to say.” Azima’s voice was flat as iron. “If this is about today’s recruitment, save it. We haven’t changed our minds.”

“Azima…” Doris murmured.

Azima raised one hand. Doris fell silent.

“I won’t forget the care you’ve shown us this past half-month,” Azima said. “But gratitude and this are separate matters. We said from the beginning — once the Church fell, we’d return to the Eastern Region. That position stands.”

“Then let me give you some better news first.” Wendy’s expression didn’t shift. “The city hall received a report this morning. A large group of Eastern Region refugees — as many as twelve thousand — will arrive in Neverwinter within the week. There’s a good chance your families are among them.”

The room changed in an instant.

“Is — is that true?”

“Absolutely. The Sea Transport Department is running its concrete boats east in force — loaded with dry goods and winter supplies.” Wendy clasped her hands loosely in front of her. “It is, after all, already winter.”

“I used to live in Archbridge Town. Could there be anyone from there?”

“What’s the situation in Valencia?”

“A mess, surely—”

“I hope my family isn’t there.” A voice in the corner, quieter than the rest. “It was my father who drove me out.”

“He was under the Church’s sway,” someone else said. “He may have come around.”

The room surged. Wendy waited for it to crest, then clapped her hands once.

“Twelve thousand people,” she said. “That covers most of the cities and towns from Valencia to Seawindshire — it will be harder not to find someone from your home region. Once Scroll has compiled the census, we’ll screen for people with matching backgrounds. And even if your families aren’t in this first group — this is only the start of a long migration. Stay in Neverwinter, and you will eventually meet them.”

She turned toward a younger woman who had gone pale and still at the edge of the group. “There’s no harm in meeting him without forgiving him. But isn’t some news better than none, Whitepear? If he’s repented, at least a door has opened.”

“That’s… true.” Whitepear dropped her gaze.

“Are you planning to relocate the entire Eastern Region to Neverwinter?” Azima asked.

“Not only the Eastern Region.” Wendy allowed herself a small smile. “The North, the South, the Central — the migration plan covers them all. Over time, only a few major cities will remain fully populated; the towns and villages will gradually empty.” She paused. “The king calls it an urbanization process. Food is no longer the constraint it once was, so it’s no longer necessary to keep people scattered. Gathering them in cities lets the city halls organize and deploy them effectively.” A steadier look, directed at Azima. “Which means if you leave, you leave alone. What will your sisters do — forsake their kin and wander ruins with you?”

Azima’s frown deepened. She said nothing.

“Honestly?” A voice cut from behind the gathered women. “That’s just cowardice.”

Every face turned.

A woman in a black robe had appeared on the edge of the square table — seated with her legs raised, one hand resting beneath her chin, watching the room with the mild interest of someone who already knows the outcome. She was entirely unbothered by the sudden attention.

“Who are you?” Azima’s voice dropped low.

“Nightingale!” Wendy spun, real alarm in her voice. “Everyone, please stay calm — she has no ill intent. She’s the Witch Union member assigned to protect me. Discreetly.”

“Did I say anything incorrect?” Nightingale pulled back her hood and let her blonde curls fall loose. “Let me be precise. You won’t serve His Majesty because of your ties to Bloodfang Association. Yet you continue depending on Sleeping Spell. You have no intention of changing. You’re simply waiting.” She surveyed the room without heat. “For what, exactly?”

“That is complete—” Azima’s fists closed. Something tightened in her chest — not quite anger, a sensation more like the moment before you realize you’ve stepped on ice that won’t hold.

“Let me do some arithmetic.” Nightingale’s tone was conversational. “Transportation and food from Neverwinter to the Eastern Region runs roughly twenty silver royals per person. Once there, ten to twelve bronze royals daily — food only, at wartime prices, because most of the villages are now wasteland. Survival costs several times what it once did; that’s why the refugees are all fleeing here.” A beat. “In other words, leaving Sleeping Spell independently requires a substantial sum. If I were in your position, I would be working every available job, building a reserve so the group could stand on its own. That is the foundation for real independence. So.” She tilted her head slightly. “What have you done in the last half-month? You’ve eaten the food Sleeping Spell distributes and hoped Her Highness would fund your departure.”

“I—” Azima opened her mouth. The argument she reached for wasn’t there. Every counterpoint she formed dissolved the moment she looked at it clearly. We’ve been careful. We’ve been waiting for the right moment. We— None of it survived contact with the arithmetic. The money they’d need to travel, to survive in the Eastern Region at current prices, to sustain a group of six — she hadn’t tried to earn a single coin of it.

“That’s cowardice. The same quality that led you to shelter under Bloodfang Association when the Church was hunting you, and the same quality that left you outraged when Heidi Morgan was destroyed — because the relationship let you avoid deciding anything for yourselves.” Nightingale shrugged. “I know nothing of the precise history between Bloodfang and Sleeping Island. But the Bloodfang members who are in Neverwinter know it in full. So let me ask something simple: if Heidi truly considered you sisters, did she tell you she was plotting against Tilly before she moved on Sleeping Island?”

Azima pressed her lips together. The answer was no. The answer had always been no, and she had known it, and she had told herself it didn’t matter because Heidi had helped them when no one else would. That had been true. She could hold both things simultaneously — except that Nightingale was doing the same arithmetic on her loyalty that she’d just done on her savings, and the numbers weren’t different.

“If you want to prove your resolve,” Nightingale said, “start with the most basic things. You have more freedom here than you’d have on a deserted island — Sleeping Spell cannot restrain you. Use it.”

She gave Wendy a light, almost cheerful look — and vanished.

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