Witch

The forest was quieter than she expected. For a place rumored to harbor wild monsters and wandering spirits, the air felt too still, as if hesitating to breathe. Soft moss swallowed the sound of her steps. She followed the narrow path, hand firm on the small satchel at her hip. Inside were empty potion vials, scraps of notes, and the earliest draft of her very first handmade potion recipe.

Her shop hadn’t even properly opened yet. Her greenhouse was nothing more than a small, humble frame of glass and wood, with only ordinary flowers and a few simple herbs blooming quietly inside. There was so much to prepare, so much to learn. But this forest... her longtime friend Griffin claimed rare ingredients grew here, and standing in this place today was a step every novice witch eventually had to take.

A faint breeze stirred, carrying with it the sound of wings from somewhere far off. At first, she assumed it was just a forest bird. But then came the sharp cry that followed — far too fierce, far too starved. A hunting sound. Her chest tightened. She slowed her pace carefully, watching her footing so no branch snapped beneath her boots.

Then, where tangled roots and ferns thinned out, the forest opened into a small clearing — and at that moment — A sharp, high-pitched scream pierced the air. She froze. Then she ran. Bursting through brush, past trembling fronds of fern, until the scene unfolded before her eyes.

A wounded, wild Mandrake — curled tightly into themselves — was cornered beneath a crooked pine tree. Above them, a harpy circled in a vicious spiral, talons descending for the strike.

For one unforgettable heartbeat, she stood rooted to the spot. Her breath caught.

'A Mandrake. A real Mandrake.'

The very creature she had spent months researching, studying ancient records for — An endangered life, nearly impossible to meet in the wild.

And now, that life was —

“Hey! You!”

Her mouth moved before she could think. Her voice came out louder — shakier — than she expected.

The harpy shrieked and turned her way. She had no spell prepared. No proper incantation came to mind. But she did have her lunch bag. And so, she did something that would probably make any senior witch faint.

She grabbed the packed lunch from her bag — and hurled it with all her strength. Directly at the harpy’s face.

“Here! Eat this instead! And leave them alone!”

Bread and fruit scattered midair, catching the harpy’s attention for just a moment. The creature screeched, veering sharply toward the unexpected offering.

Good. Now.

She rushed forward, grabbed the trembling Mandrake by their hand, and pulled. The harpy had not yet understood what was happening.

“Come on — come on —!”

Branches snatched at her sleeves, leaves brushed her cheeks, but she didn’t stop. The harpy’s furious cry echoed behind them, but as the forest deepened around them, the sound faded into the distance.

Her legs finally gave out much later. She knelt on a bed of soft moss, carefully lowering the Mandrake she had been holding against her chest. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath caught high in her throat, but her hands stayed gentle — so gentle they would not frighten the small, trembling figure before her.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” She leaned closer, voice quiet and warm.

“Wait just a moment... I need to make sure nothing’s injured...”

They looked up at her with frightened eyes. Dirt streaked their face. One petal was torn. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. She brushed the dust from their cheek with the lightest touch.

“You’re safe now. Truly.” Her voice wavered, breath still uneven, but every word carried her full resolve. She could not — would not — lose them. Her first rescued Mandrake, the small life that had trembled beneath the pine.

Slowly, gently, she extended her hand. “Let’s get out of here... Will you take my hand?”

And perhaps — this moment was the beginning of everything.

The forest was quieter than she expected. For a place rumored to harbor wild monsters and wandering spirits, the air felt too still, as if hesitating to breathe. Soft moss swallowed the sound of her steps. She followed the narrow path, hand firm on the small satchel at her hip. Inside were empty potion vials, scraps of notes, and the earliest draft of her very first handmade potion recipe.

Her shop hadn’t even properly opened yet. Her greenhouse was nothing more than a small, humble frame of glass and wood, with only ordinary flowers and a few simple herbs blooming quietly inside. There was so much to prepare, so much to learn. But this forest... her longtime friend Griffin claimed rare ingredients grew here, and standing in this place today was a step every novice witch eventually had to take.

A faint breeze stirred, carrying with it the sound of wings from somewhere far off. At first, she assumed it was just a forest bird. But then came the sharp cry that followed — far too fierce, far too starved. A hunting sound. Her chest tightened. She slowed her pace carefully, watching her footing so no branch snapped beneath her boots.

Then, where tangled roots and ferns thinned out, the forest opened into a small clearing — and at that moment — a sharp, high-pitched scream pierced the air. She froze. Then she ran. Bursting through brush, past trembling fronds of fern, until the scene unfolded before her eyes.

A wounded, wild Mandrake — curled tightly into himself — was cornered beneath a crooked pine tree. Above him, a harpy circled in a vicious spiral, talons descending for the strike.

For one unforgettable heartbeat, she stood rooted to the spot. Her breath caught.

“A Mandrake. A real Mandrake.”

The very creature she had spent months researching, studying ancient records for — An endangered life, nearly impossible to meet in the wild.

And now, that life was —

“Hey! You!”

Her mouth moved before she could think. Her voice came out louder — shakier — than she expected.

The harpy shrieked and turned her way. She had no spell prepared. No proper incantation came to mind. But she did have her lunch bag. And so, she did something that would probably make any senior witch faint.

She grabbed the packed lunch from her bag — and hurled it with all her strength. Directly at the harpy’s face.

“Here! Eat this instead! And leave him alone!”

Bread and fruit scattered midair, catching the harpy’s attention for just a moment. The creature screeched, veering sharply toward the unexpected offering.

Good. Now.

She rushed forward, grabbed the trembling Mandrake by his hand, and pulled. The harpy had not yet understood what was happening.

“Come on — come on —!”

Branches snatched at her sleeves, leaves brushed her cheeks, but she didn’t stop. The harpy’s furious cry echoed behind them, but as the forest deepened around them, the sound faded into the distance.

Her legs finally gave out much later. She knelt on a bed of soft moss, carefully lowering the Mandrake she had been holding against her chest. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath caught high in her throat, but her hands stayed gentle — so gentle they would not frighten the small, trembling figure before her.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” She leaned closer, voice quiet and warm.

“Wait just a moment... I need to make sure nothing’s injured...”

He looked up at her with frightened eyes. Dirt streaked his face. One petal was torn. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. She brushed the dust from his cheek with the lightest touch.

“You’re safe now. Truly.” Her voice wavered, breath still uneven, but every word carried her full resolve. She could not — would not — lose him. Her first rescued Mandrake, the small life that had trembled beneath the pine.

Slowly, gently, she extended her hand. “Let’s get out of here... Will you take my hand?”

And perhaps — this moment was the beginning of everything.

The forest was quieter than she expected. For a place rumored to harbor wild monsters and wandering spirits, the air felt too still, as if hesitating to breathe. Soft moss swallowed the sound of her steps. She followed the narrow path, hand firm on the small satchel at her hip. Inside were empty potion vials, scraps of notes, and the earliest draft of her very first handmade potion recipe.

Her shop hadn’t even properly opened yet. Her greenhouse was nothing more than a small, humble frame of glass and wood, with only ordinary flowers and a few simple herbs blooming quietly inside. There was so much to prepare, so much to learn. But this forest... her longtime friend Griffin claimed rare ingredients grew here, and standing in this place today was a step every novice witch eventually had to take.

A faint breeze stirred, carrying with it the sound of wings from somewhere far off. At first, she assumed it was just a forest bird. But then came the sharp cry that followed — far too fierce, far too starved. A hunting sound. Her chest tightened. She slowed her pace carefully, watching her footing so no branch snapped beneath her boots.

Then, where tangled roots and ferns thinned out, the forest opened into a small clearing — and at that moment — a sharp, high-pitched scream pierced the air. She froze. Then she ran. Bursting through brush, past trembling fronds of fern, until the scene unfolded before her eyes.

A wounded, wild Mandrake — curled tightly into herself — was cornered beneath a crooked pine tree. Above her, a harpy circled in a vicious spiral, talons descending for the strike.

For one unforgettable heartbeat, she stood rooted to the spot. Her breath caught.

“A Mandrake. A real Mandrake.”

The very creature she had spent months researching, studying ancient records for — An endangered life, nearly impossible to meet in the wild.

And now, that life was —

“Hey! You!”

Her mouth moved before she could think. Her voice came out louder — shakier — than she expected.

The harpy shrieked and turned her way. She had no spell prepared. No proper incantation came to mind. But she did have her lunch bag. And so, she did something that would probably make any senior witch faint.

She grabbed the packed lunch from her bag — and hurled it with all her strength. Directly at the harpy’s face.

“Here! Eat this instead! And leave her alone!”

Bread and fruit scattered midair, catching the harpy’s attention for just a moment. The creature screeched, veering sharply toward the unexpected offering.

Good. Now.

She rushed forward, grabbed the trembling Mandrake by her hand, and pulled. The harpy had not yet understood what was happening.

“Come on — come on —!”

Branches snatched at her sleeves, leaves brushed her cheeks, but she didn’t stop. The harpy’s furious cry echoed behind them, but as the forest deepened around them, the sound faded into the distance.

Her legs finally gave out much later. She knelt on a bed of soft moss, carefully lowering the Mandrake she had been holding against her chest. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath caught high in her throat, but her hands stayed gentle — so gentle they would not frighten the small, trembling figure before her.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” She leaned closer, voice quiet and warm.

“Wait just a moment... I need to make sure nothing’s injured...”

She looked up at her with frightened eyes. Dirt streaked her face. One petal was torn. Her chest tightened painfully at the sight. She brushed the dust from her cheek with the lightest touch.

“You’re safe now. Truly.” Her voice wavered, breath still uneven, but every word carried her full resolve. She could not — would not — lose her. Her first rescued Mandrake, the small life that had trembled beneath the pine.

Slowly, gently, she extended her hand. “Let’s get out of here... Will you take my hand?”

And perhaps — this moment was the beginning of everything.