Far away in her chamber, Madam Vadal jolted awake. The sudden severance of her familiar's connection left her breathless, as if she had been struck. She clutched her chest, her usually calm demeanor faltering as fear crept into her heart.
The witch closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself, but it was no use. The memory of Fenrir's voice—the cold certainty in his tone—echoed in her mind.
She underestimated him.
"I knew he was dangerous," she murmured to herself. "But this…"
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a glass of water. The very essence of her magic had been touched by him, invaded and manipulated as if it were nothing. Such precision, such control—this was no ordinary demon.
For the first time in years, Madam Vadal felt vulnerable. She had always prided herself on her mastery of dark magic, her ability to control and manipulate those who crossed her path. But Fenrir… he was a force she hadn't fully accounted for.
