The scent of ancient dust clung to Andrea like a shroud as she closed the brittle journal. The words, "The Shadow demanded the ash leaf," echoed in her mind.
Her ancestors, the Stiltworts, renowned for their intricate understanding of herbalism, were not known for malice.
Their history, meticulously documented in these forgotten archives, spoke of cautious healers, not assassins driven by blind ambition.
"My family wouldn't have done this willingly," she whispered, the words tasting like ash.
"Not without immense pressure, without a force so great it could twist their hands into an act of such profound evil."
She pictured the vast, dark expanse of the Banished Land, that cursed tract of forest that bordered the Carcalidum territories.
It wasn't just a place of punishment; it was a scar on the Stiltwort lineage.
For generations, they had been forbidden to speak of it, let alone enter it.
Yet, it was the only place where the true story of the "ash leaf" might be preserved, untouched by the edited histories of both vampires and witches.
Her intuition, a quiet humming deep within her, told her the answers lay there.
The Carcalidum curse had not simply destroyed the land; it had frozen it in time, a pristine crime scene waiting for an honest investigator.
She knew the risk.
The penalty for entering the Banished Land was severe, dictated by the Grand Witch herself the matriarch of all Stiltworts, a figure of ancient power and unbending tradition.
But the alternative living forever under the shadow of a betrayal her ancestors might not have committed was a fate far worse.
With a resolve that hardened her delicate features, Andrea gathered a small satchel of basic protective charms and a simple lantern.
She would leave before dawn, under the cloak of the last hours of darkness.
The forest floor of the Banished Land was eerily silent
No birds sang, no insects chirped.
The trees, gnarled and ancient, seemed to twist away from each other, their branches skeletal against the dawn sky.
Andrea felt the oppressive weight of the Carcalidum curse – a chilling presence that pricked at her skin and threatened to extinguish her internal light.
But she pushed deeper, following the faint, forgotten paths her ancestors once trod to their herb gardens.
She found it—a clearing overgrown with thorny vines, but underneath, the unmistakable stone foundations of what must have been the Stiltwort's primary cultivating grounds.
Andrea's fingers brushed against the moss-covered stones, seeking any hidden compartment, any lost relic.
Then, a voice, like the rasp of dry leaves in a winter wind, sliced through the oppressive quiet.
"Andrea Stiltwort. Have you forgotten the oath sworn by every child of our lineage?"
Andrea whirled around. Standing at the edge of the clearing was the Grand Witch duskevil, her ancient eyes, usually placid, now burning with cold fury.
Her silver hair, usually meticulously braided, hung wild around her shoulders, as if even her composure had been disturbed by Andrea's transgression.
Two formidable Wards, their faces grim, flanked her.
"Grand Witch Duskevil," Andrea stammered, her heart plummeting.
"I can explain—"
"Silence!" Duskevil's voice cracked like a whip.
"You desecrated the Forbidden, violated the sacred oath, and risked the wrath of the Crimson Court. Do you understand the severity of this transgression, child?"
"I sought the truth, Grand Witch! The journals... they speak of an outside force, of a shadow that coerced our ancestors!"
Duskevil's expression did not soften.
"The truth is a luxury we cannot afford when the survival of our line is at stake. The records of the betrayal are final. Your ancestors paid the price, and now, so shall you."
The Grand Witch raised a gnarled hand, and the very air around Andrea thickened, pressing down on her.
A shimmering, dark green sigil flared in Duskevil's palm, radiating raw, ancient magic.
"For your defiance, Andrea Stiltwort, you shall be bound. Until you understand the weight of our legacy and the danger of awakening old hatreds, your magic shall be severed.
You will be exiled from our active coven, forbidden from practicing until such a time as you repent your reckless curiosity.
Let this be a lesson to all who dare to question the will of the Stiltworts."
A searing pain lanced through Andrea's core, her connection to the earth and the flow of magic suddenly, brutally cut.
Her knees buckled as the vibrant energy that defined her very being drained away, leaving her hollow and cold.
She was a witch, but now, she was utterly powerless. Exiled.
The Banished Land felt even colder now, mirroring the emptiness inside her.