On a dark oak table, draped with black velvet fabric, ancient cards gleamed ominously. They looked as though their design wasn't merely crafted but infused with primordial evil. Each of Chthon's cards, arranged in a circle, emitted a faint glow, as if the symbols within were struggling to break free. The room was steeped in dim light, illuminated only by the flickering flame of a lone candle, casting intricate shadows on the walls.
Wanda ran her hand over the cards. Her chestnut hair shimmered in the candlelight, and her emerald eyes intently followed the motion of her fingers. A tiara, delicately framing her face, glinted crimson as she drew the next card.
"Damnation," she murmured, glancing at the image of a serpent coiling around a black dagger. Her voice was calm, with a faint hint of irritation, as if the result hadn't surprised her.
She pulled a second card. It depicted a knot of black chains, each link exuding smoke as though freshly forged in flames.
"Doom," Wanda shook her head. "Of course."
Only one card remained. Her hand paused for a moment, as if fate itself sought to stop her from making this choice. But the witch only smirked, resolutely flipping the card. It revealed a skull encased in the fire of endless war.
"A cursed soul who refuses to die," Wanda bit her lip slowly. "I already like this guy."
The young witch rose abruptly, her simple yet elegant black dress flowing softly through the air, like a dense shadow.
Wanda moved to the corner of the room, where her broom stood. Slender yet sturdy, it seemed like something born of legend: dark wood adorned with crimson patterns that pulsed with light, responding to her presence.
Clutching the smooth handle of her vehicle, she stepped through the window into the night wind. For a moment, the moon illuminated her shadow before she soared into the starry sky, leaving sparks and faint laughter.
---
The bustling streets of Manhattan shimmered with neon lights, the hum of traffic, and the murmur of countless voices. Crowds of people swarmed back and forth like marionettes hurrying to their next act. Wanda stood at the intersection, clutching a bag in her hands. Her hair lifted slightly in the gentle breeze, and her eyes, as always, gazed into the distance, lost in thought. Next to her, arms crossed, stood Pietro—her restless twin brother.
His silvery hair, reminiscent of a lightning flash, was its usual mess, and his T-shirt bore the words: "I'm faster than the Internet." Paired with ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers, he looked like a typical teenager who valued comfort over style.
"So, how exactly are we supposed to find your dark prince in this concrete jungle?" he drawled, glancing around the crowd with mild disdain.
"Don't call him that," Wanda snapped, frowning slightly. "And if you had half a brain, you'd realize the first step is to stop whining."
"I'm not whining," he retorted, though without much conviction. "It's just… this is New York. Millions of people, and all we've got are your cryptic clues."
"Which is why I'm in charge of the strategy," Wanda shot back, pulling a sheet of paper and a pencil from her bag.
She crouched down, smoothing the paper on her knees, and closed her eyes. Pietro watched her with mild confusion, tilting his head.
"You're not gonna… you know, do that thing again, are you?" he muttered.
Wanda didn't answer. Her eyes slowly rolled back, revealing the whites, and her hand began to move on its own, guided by an unseen force. At first, the lines on the paper seemed chaotic and random, but they gradually formed a coherent image. Pietro leaned in closer, watching the process, shivering slightly when Wanda suddenly exhaled and her gaze cleared.
On the paper was the silhouette of a seemingly ordinary school. One of the towers bore graffiti—a white skull.
"What was that?" he asked, frowning.
"Magic," Wanda said calmly, folding the paper. "It's a form of unconscious writing. The drawing is the key to our search."
Pietro smirked.
"Looks more like you were just scribbling randomly. Or did you pick up some new tricks with your mutation?"
"Magic only works for those who believe in it," she retorted, stuffing the paper back into her bag.
She turned to leave, but Pietro stepped in front of her, grinning.
"Wait. So, we're supposed to find a school from your little sketch?"
"Yes, Pietro. Now, instead of all of New York, we only have to search through just a thousand schools," she replied sarcastically.
Her words were drowned out by a sudden gust of wind. Wanda's dress billowed, and her curls fell across her face. When she brushed the hair from her eyes, Pietro was standing before her, holding a box of hot dogs.
"Brooklyn," he said between bites.
Wanda frowned.
"What Brooklyn?"
"Your school, sis. It's in Brooklyn."
"Wait. Are you telling me you just ran through all of New York?" she asked, staring at him incredulously.
Pietro shrugged, taking another big bite.
"Yep. I checked all the buildings with towers and matched them to your drawing. Took me one second. The second second I spent finding the best hot dogs." He spoke and chewed simultaneously. "Can you believe the vendor didn't have mayonnaise? So, no tip for him. Had to spend a third second buying mayo elsewhere. How can anyone eat hot dogs without mayo? I can't imagine."
"You're always thinking about food," Wanda said, rolling her eyes.
"Super speed comes with a price," he replied, swallowing the last bite. "Now that I'm refueled, I can zip us over to the school."
"No, thanks," she said with a shiver. "I'd rather not introduce the pavement to my lunch."
Wanda vividly remembered the time Pietro had "rescued" her from their father's wrath over a broken vase. He'd run so fast with her in his arms, she'd thought her head would pop off.
"We'll get there the old-fashioned way," Wanda said, pressing a key fob. A rented car beeped nearby in response.