Long before the beginning of time, humans lived in peace. But one day, the demons of Hell invaded Earth, sparking a devastating war between humans and demons. Despite their valiant efforts, humans were no match for the infernal creatures—thousands died just to kill a single demon.

However, hope emerged when a way was discovered to turn the demons' power against them. Select young women were bestowed with the fallen demons' powers, transforming into witches—warriors of humanity. In response, Heaven intervened, sending divine emissaries and electing multiple heroes to repel the demonic forces. For a time, peace was restored.

But the demons were cunning. They devised a plan to corrupt the minds of men, convincing humanity to see the witches as enemies. Soon, the witches were outcast, shunned by the very people they had sworn to protect. Meanwhile, the legions of Hell waited, biding their time, ready to strike again.

The morning light streamed through my window, casting long shadows across the floor. Today was the day—my witch test. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring outside, hoping that maybe, just maybe, something would happen to delay it. But nothing would. It was inevitable.

My stomach churned with dread. I'd heard the stories all my life—witches were dangerous, evil even. They had turned against us, betraying the very people they were meant to protect. I hated them, feared them. And now, I had to find out if I was one of them.

"Helena!" My mother's voice broke through my thoughts, floating up from downstairs. "It's time to go, sweetheart. We don't want to be late."

I swallowed hard and stood up, my legs feeling heavier than they ever had. Every girl my age had to take the test—it wasn't like I had a choice. Still, the fear of what might happen gnawed at me. I couldn't stand the idea of becoming a witch, of having their power. It would mean becoming the very thing I'd spent my whole life despising.

But I didn't have time to wallow in fear. I forced myself to move, stepping out of my room and down the creaky wooden stairs. My mother was already waiting by the door, smiling in that soft way she always did when she was trying to make me feel better. "It'll be fine," she said, like she always did. "You're probably just a normal girl, nothing to worry about."

I nodded, but deep down, I wasn't so sure. The test would tell me if I had the powers of a witch, and if I did... what then? Would I be cast out like the others? Feared? Hated?

I can't be a witch. I won't.

I clenched my fists as I stepped out into the sunlight. Today would change everything. But for better or worse, I had to face it

We were picked up by the carriage prepared by the empire for its citizens. The test wasn't just a routine magical evaluation—it was a search for witch descendants. Long ago, witches went into hiding, vanishing from the public eye. In response, Emperor Julius von Erzbern decreed a law that has shaped our lives ever since:

"Young girls at the age of nine must attend the witch test, so long as they are citizens of the empire."

That decree echoed in my mind as our carriage rolled along. It was a tradition no one questioned, but for girls like me, it was a shadow that loomed over our lives.

We were in Dresden, the great empire founded during the calamity that nearly destroyed the world a thousand years ago. They said the imperial family descended from dragons, protectors of the realm since the day of calamity. The Emperor's bloodline was different, ancient, and powerful. The dragons themselves were long gone, but their magic flowed through the veins of their heirs. That magic had built an empire that endured wars, famines, and even the invasion of demons.

As our carriage approached the church in the heart of the Capitol, I found myself staring in awe. The city was breathtaking. The Capitol's buildings, with their towering spires and intricate carvings, were like nothing I'd ever seen. The sheer scale of the architecture was overwhelming, as though it had been designed to remind everyone just how small they were in comparison to the empire's power. Even the wealthiest nobles couldn't hope to replicate the elegance or grandeur of these structures.

The church itself loomed ahead, its stone walls shimmering with the faint glow of enchantments. I had heard stories about this place—the seat of the Arcanum's tests, where magic and history intertwined. It was built to withstand the weight of centuries, both the glory and the tragedy of Drakoria. Even though it was meant to be a place of worship and study, to me, it felt more like a battleground. It was here that my fate would be decided.

The carriage slowed, and I glanced at the other girls around me. Some looked as nervous as I felt, while others seemed fascinated by the sights around us. But I couldn't take my eyes off the Capitol. It was a place filled with history, where dragons once flew, and where now, witches were hunted.

My heart raced as the carriage came to a stop in front of the church. Today, I would learn if I, too, was bound by that ancient decree.

I sat on the cold stone bench, waiting. My heart pounded in my chest as the line of girls in front of me slowly shortened. One by one, they were called into the great hall of the church, their names echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. Some came out minutes later, relieved, their faces bright with the knowledge that they were not witches. But others… they never came back out.

I watched as the heavy wooden doors creaked open again. A girl, barely older than me, walked in. Her name had been called only moments ago—Elara, I think. She had been trembling when she stood up, her eyes wide with fear, but there was no escaping the test. None of us could.

The doors shut behind her with a dull thud, and silence settled over the room. I shifted on the bench, gripping the fabric of my skirt tightly in my fists. The other girls whispered nervously to each other, but I couldn't focus on their words. My thoughts were stuck on Elara, on what would happen to her. Minutes passed, and then, suddenly, there was a low murmur from behind the doors. A moment later, they opened again. This time, two men in dark robes led Elara out, their hands gripping her arms firmly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with shock.

She had been confirmed as a witch.

No one spoke as they led her away, the doors at the far end of the hall closing behind them with a finality that made my stomach turn. I had heard stories about what happened to girls who were labeled witches, but no one really knew the truth. They never returned to their villages, never saw their families again. Some said they were taken to secret prisons, others whispered of experiments or worse—forced to serve the empire in ways no one dared to speak of.

I watched Elara disappear down the hallway and shuddered. What would happen to her now? Was she really dangerous? Could she have been one of the witches who betrayed us all those years ago? I didn't know. None of us did.

The uncertainty gnawed at me. No one who was branded a witch ever returned. They simply vanished from the world, as though they had never existed at all. I wondered if Elara even knew where they were taking her, or if she was as terrified of the unknown as I was.

I bit my lip and tried to shake off the thought. That won't happen to me, I told myself, clenching my fists tighter. I'm not a witch. I can't be.

But the fear still crept into my mind. What if I was? What if I never saw my family again? What if I disappeared, just like Elara?

"Helena Rensfeld!"

The sound of my name being called jolted me from my thoughts. My heart leaped into my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't move. The researcher stood at the entrance to the hall, looking down at a scroll in his hands, his voice as cold as the stone around us. He didn't even glance up as he spoke, but I knew what came next.

It was my turn.

I swallowed hard and slowly rose to my feet. My legs felt like lead as I walked toward the great doors. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of centuries of history pressed down on my shoulders. I had watched Elara walk through those same doors, and she had not returned.

Now, it was my fate that hung in the balance.

The doors swung open, and I stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, the cold stone walls lined with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the shadows. In the center stood an altar, draped in cloth embroidered with symbols I didn't recognize. The researcher led me toward it, his expression unreadable. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears as I approached. My knees felt weak, but I forced myself to stand tall, even as fear clawed at my insides.

"Place your hands on the altar," he instructed, his voice flat.

My hands trembled as I did what he said, resting them on the smooth surface of the altar. The runes beneath my fingers seemed to pulse faintly, a subtle hum of magic flowing through the stone. I swallowed hard, praying that the test would end soon, praying that it would reveal I wasn't what I feared.

The researcher began muttering an incantation, his hands glowing with a soft, ethereal light as he moved them over mine. I felt a strange warmth spreading through my palms, traveling up my arms, and then—

A sharp pain shot through me, as though something deep within me had been yanked to the surface. I gasped, my knees buckling as I fell forward, my hands gripping the altar for support. The warmth turned into a burning sensation, and I could hear the faint hum of magic growing louder.

And then, the light faded. The room fell silent.

The researcher stepped back, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at the glowing runes. I could barely breathe, every muscle in my body tense, waiting.

"You've been marked," he said, his voice colder than before. "You are a witch."

I froze. The words hit me like a hammer, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move. My worst fear had come true.

"No..." I whispered, my voice barely audible. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I shook my head, stepping back from the altar. "No, I'm not... I can't be!"

But the runes on the altar didn't lie. The magic had spoken. I had the blood of a witch.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as the doors behind me creaked open. Two men in dark robes, the same ones who had taken Elara, appeared at the entrance. One of them grabbed my arm roughly, pulling me toward the door. I tried to fight, but my legs were too weak, my body too drained from the shock.

"Come on," one of them grunted. "You're coming with us."

"No, please..." I sobbed, struggling against their grip, but it was no use. They were stronger, and the fear that paralyzed me made it impossible to resist.

They dragged me out of the room and through the narrow corridors of the church. I could hear the other girls whispering as I was taken away, but their voices blurred together, drowned out by the sound of my own ragged breathing.

The doors slammed shut behind me as they shoved me into the carriage. I stumbled and fell hard onto the rough wooden floor, the impact jarring my knees. The carriage was filthy—mud and dirt caked the floor, and the smell of rot and sweat hung thick in the air. There were no seats, just a cramped, claustrophobic space where the other girls were huddled, some crouching, others sitting with their backs pressed against the walls.

I pushed myself up, wiping my face with a dirty sleeve, but the tears wouldn't stop. My mind was spinning, still trying to process what had just happened. I'm a witch. The words echoed in my head, twisting in my gut. I hated witches—everyone did. How could I be one of them?

Around me, the other girls were sobbing quietly or sitting in stunned silence, their faces pale with shock. Their clothes were as filthy as the floor, stained with dirt and sweat, as if they had been in here for hours, maybe even longer. I squeezed into a corner, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. I didn't know any of them. I didn't know where we were going. I didn't know what would happen to us. All I knew was that once you were branded a witch, you never came back.

A rough voice barked from outside the carriage, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Silence, damn witches!" The guard banged on the iron bars with his fist, his scowl visible through the gaps. "Quit your crying and knocking around the cage!"

I bit my lip, trying to stifle my sobs, but the other girls couldn't hold it in. Some were still weeping, their tears streaking through the dirt on their faces. I couldn't blame them. We were caged like animals, treated like criminals, and none of us knew why or where we were being taken.

The carriage lurched forward, the wheels creaking as we rolled along the uneven road. I pressed my back against the filthy wall, the rough wood scratching through my clothes. The jostling of the carriage made it impossible to stay still, and every bump sent us sliding across the grimy floor. My hands were shaking, my stomach churning. I didn't want to think about where we were going, but the rumors were impossible to forget.

No one returned after being labeled a witch. They vanished—spirited away to secret prisons, forced to work for the empire, or worse. There were whispers of experimentation, of being used to fuel the empire's dark magic. I didn't want to believe any of it, but now, sitting in this filthy cage, it felt all too real.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted violently, throwing us against one another. I gasped, gripping the bars to steady myself as the carriage came to an abrupt halt. The horses whinnied loudly, and outside, there was shouting—voices I didn't recognize, urgent and filled with panic.

The other girls exchanged frightened glances. "What's happening?" one of them whispered, her voice barely audible over the commotion outside.

I didn't know. My heart pounded in my chest, the fear gripping me tighter than ever. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

There was a loud crash from outside, followed by the clanging of metal. The carriage rocked again, and then—silence.

I held my breath, my mind racing. Was it an attack? Were we about to be rescued? Or was this something far worse?

The door to the carriage remained shut, but outside, I could hear the sounds of a struggle. And then—nothing.

The sounds outside the carriage faded into an eerie silence. I held my breath, pressing myself against the filthy wall, too scared to move. The other girls huddled close, their eyes wide with terror. My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the iron-barred door, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, with a soft click, the lock on the door slid open.

The door creaked and slowly swung outward, revealing two women standing in the fading light. They wore dark, flowing cloaks, their faces half-hidden in shadow. But what truly froze me in place, what made my blood run cold, were their eyes—each of their irises glowing with swirling magic circles, intricate and pulsing with power. The mark of a witch.

I gasped, shrinking back, my breath catching in my throat. They were witches. Real witches. The very thing I had been taught to fear and despise. And now, they stood before us.

The other girls were frozen, just as terrified as I was. None of us moved. None of us spoke.

One of the witches stepped forward, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her glowing eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, the magic swirling inside them alive. "Hello, girl's ," she said, her voice soft but commanding, echoing in the small space. "Pleased to meet you."