Free Web NovelChapter 30: Chapter 30: Wrenhollow
"Looking at you now, you remind me of my dog in my other world," Celestia said.
"Huh?"
Drazeil looked genuinely confused for perhaps the first time since she had met him.
He had been expecting a yes or no answer to his question.
Instead, she was comparing him to a dog.
Celestia pushed herself properly upright beneath the tree and dusted leaves from her dress.
"I would love to go back home," she admitted quietly, "but for some reason I can’t seem to say YES."
"So you do not want to go back."
"I guess so."
She looked upward through the branches for a moment before her gaze returned to him.
"At the very least," she said lightly, "I have you here. And I’m your master now, so I don’t think I have to worry about anything."
Drazeil said nothing. freewebnovёl.ƈom
But something inside him loosened.
A strange sort of relief settled unpleasantly in his chest when she said she didn’t want to leave.
He did not understand why.
And disliked that he noticed it at all.
The sound of horses galloping broke through the quiet.
Celestia blinked.
"The coachman is back."
"He went to find another carriage," Drazeil said.
A few moments later, the coachman emerged through the trees, leading a dark carriage behind him. He climbed down immediately and bowed respectfully.
"My Lord. My Lady. We may proceed now."
Drazeil sheathed Souldrinker and turned toward the carriage.
Before he could take another step, Celestia lightly grabbed his shoulder.
He looked back.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asked suddenly.
A pause.
"Or rather..." she corrected softly. "If I leave... would you miss me?"
"No."
The cold answer came immediately.
Then he turned and entered the carriage.
Celestia stared after him in disbelief.
"Such a jerk," she thought bitterly before climbing in after him.
The carriage began moving again shortly afterward.
For a while, only the sound of wheels against dirt roads filled the silence.
Then the coachman called from outside—
"Where is our destination now, My Lady?"
Celestia pulled a folded map from the bag beside her and spread it carefully across her lap.
"According to this," she said, tracing the faded markings with her finger, "there’s a small rural village about two hours from here."
She glanced toward Drazeil.
"We should stop there and make inquiries. What do you think, Zeil?"
"Sure."
The coachman nodded from outside and urged the horses forward.
The carriage rolled deeper into the forest roads.
___________________
A man stumbled through darkness, clutching his side desperately.
Blood soaked through the fabric wrapped tightly around his wound.
His breathing came unevenly now—wet, shaky, and increasingly difficult.
The room he had hidden inside was small. Cold. Barely lit by a single candle trembling weakly in the corner.
Then—
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Footsteps.
The man froze instantly.
A figure emerged slowly from the darkness.
A girl draped in a black cloak.
The moment he saw her, terror flooded his face completely.
He collapsed to his knees despite the pain ripping through his body.
"Miss Layla," he choked out desperately. "I failed the mission you bestowed upon me."
Layla crouched slowly in front of him.
Very slowly.
Like a cat examining something already too injured to escape.
Her fingers slid beneath his chin and forced his head upward.
"Mm," she hummed softly. "You had one job."
Her voice was light. Pleasant even.
Which somehow made it worse.
"One job," she repeated. "Kill the girl in red."
The man trembled violently.
"You were bragging before you left," Layla continued thoughtfully.
"Something about how easy it would be."
"Please forgive me."
"Too bad," she sighed.
"You have to die."
"Please, don’t kill me—"
The words broke apart when she touched his wound.
The man screamed instantly.
Dark veins spread briefly beneath his skin before vanishing again.
Layla tilted her head curiously.
Then—shakily—the man reached into his coat and pulled out a tiny glass vial.
Dark red blood shimmered inside.
"I managed to collect this before I escaped," he whispered desperately.
"The girl’s blood."
Layla blinked once, then took the vial carefully.
The blood glimmered strangely beneath the candlelight.
Too bright.
Almost luminous.
Interesting.
"What exactly," Layla asked softly while turning the vial between her fingers, "am I supposed to do with this?"
The man swallowed hard.
"I—I don’t know. You’re a witch."
Silence.
Then Layla laughed quietly.
Not cruelly.
Genuinely amused.
"Oh," she murmured.
"You think witches know everything."
The man trembled harder.
Layla lifted the vial closer to the candlelight.
"Please, just give me time to heal. I promise I will kill her."
The man crawled forward desperately.
"Time is not a luxury I have," Layla replied.
"I gave you something useful! Please—"
Something wet pierced through his chest.
The man looked downward slowly.
Black spikes had erupted upward from his own shadow.
Blood splattered across the floor.
His mouth opened. No sound came out.
Layla sighed softly as the body collapsed.
"Unfortunate," she murmured.
"You failed before I could ask more questions."
The shadows dragged the corpse backward slowly into darkness.
The room became quiet again.
Layla stared at the vial of Celestia’s blood for a long moment.
Then smiled.
And this time there was absolutely nothing human in it.
__________________
The carriage wheels rolled steadily against uneven dirt roads.
Celestia sat near the window, watching the scenery pass slowly while afternoon sunlight filtered weakly through the trees.
The farther they traveled, the stranger the roads became.
The forests denser.
The air colder.
Even the birds sounded quieter here.
Drazeil sat across from her with one arm resting lazily against the side of the carriage.
He looked relaxed.
Which she had learned meant absolutely nothing.
Celestia studied him thoughtfully for a moment.
Then—
"You really said no immediately."
One red eye opened slowly.
"What."
"When I asked if you would miss me."
"I answered honestly."
"You answered like the emotionally unavailable male lead in a tragic romance story."
"I do not know what that means."
"It means you’re emotionally constipated."
Drazeil stared at her blankly.
"You speak strangely."
"That’s how we speak where I’m from. I can teach you some things—and also, remember when I told you, ’Fuck you’? I didn’t mean it literally. It’s like a curse word."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Curse?"
"No, not like curses that witches do. Like—argh! How am I supposed to explain this now?"
"You don’t have to."
Silence.
"That was awkward," she thought. "Why did I talk so much? I always feel so excited talking to him but he—he seems unbothered."
When Drazeil noticed Celestia glancing at him, he looked away toward the window.
Celestia smiled to herself.
Then suddenly—
The carriage slowed.
The coachman shifted nervously outside.
"My Lady," he called carefully. "We are approaching Wrenhollow."
Celestia straightened slightly.
Drazeil’s eyes opened fully now.
The carriage rolled slowly through thickening fog.
Too thick for the afternoon.
The village appeared gradually through pale mist.
Wrenhollow.
Small.
Old.
Wrong.
People were there.
But the moment the carriage entered the village square, everything changed.
A blacksmith stopped hammering mid-motion.
A woman carrying vegetables froze completely.
Two children playing near a well were immediately dragged indoors by their mother the second she saw the carriage.
Windows shut one after another.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Celestia frowned.
"Are they frightened by us?"
Her eyes shifted slowly across the village.
Protection symbols covered nearly every building.
Some carved deeply into wood.
Others were painted in ash.
Bundles of dried herbs tied with white thread hung above almost every doorway.
The entire village looked like it was desperately trying to keep something away.
Or trapped. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
The carriage stopped.
Nobody approached them.
Nobody welcomed them.
The villagers simply stared.
Drazeil stepped out first.
Fear moved visibly through the crowd the moment his boots touched the ground.
Celestia stepped out after him.
The fog curled around the hem of her red dress.
Whispers spread immediately.
"The girl in red..."
"She’s cursed..."
Celestia blinked slowly.
"Well," she muttered. "That feels unnecessarily rude."
Then—
something struck her shoulder softly.
Celestia looked down.
A bundle of dried black herbs wrapped tightly in crimson thread had fallen against her dress before dropping to the ground.
The villagers began murmuring louder immediately.
An old woman near the well made a trembling protective sign.
Drazeil bent down slowly and picked the herbs up.
His expression darkened slightly.
"What is it?" Celestia asked quietly.
"Warding herbs," Drazeil said.
A pause.
"Used to repel evil spirits."
"Oh."
Celestia looked around at the villagers staring at her like she personally emerged from the depths of hell.
"Well," she sighed. "That’s mildly offensive."
Then an old woman whispered shakily—
"The Quiet Taking always starts with red mist."
Silence.
The square froze around the words.
"Quiet Taking?" Celestia repeated.
No one answered immediately.
Then—
a small girl standing near one of the cottages pointed fearfully toward Celestia.
"Is she going to disappear too?"
Her mother grabbed her instantly.
"Don’t point!" she hissed fearfully.
Drazeil’s gaze shifted slowly deeper into the fog-covered streets.
Then his expression changed.
Subtly.
But enough.
Enough that something cold slid down Celestia’s spine immediately.
"What is it?" she asked quietly.
Drazeil did not answer at first.
He kept staring into the fog.
At something she couldn’t see.
Then finally—
"There’s blood," he said softly.
And the entire village went silent.
