“They’re here, High Witch,” a novice whispered, her voice trembling not from cold, but from the sheer gravity of the woman before her.
Seraphina glided to her throne—a throne carved from the petrified heart of a redwood she herself had raised from a seed a century ago. She sat, crossed one leg over the other, and let the silence expand until it hurt. Dominant Witches
But Seraphina had no intention of simply helping . “They’re here, High Witch,” a novice whispered, her
The younger man, mouth still sealed, made a muffled, desperate sound. But Seraphina had no intention of simply helping
The age of dominance had only just begun.
“Here are my terms,” she said, walking toward them. Each step echoed like a gavel. “First: The Eastern Coven assumes governance of all climate policy. No votes. No oversight. Our word is the final weather system. Second: Every nation dismantles its nuclear arsenal within one lunar cycle. Not because we fear them—but because we find them tasteless . Third: A tithe. Not gold. Not oil. The old growth forests you’ve been saving as ‘carbon offsets’? They become ours. To rewild. To rule. To remember.”
Seraphina smiled. It was a predator’s smile—wide, serene, and utterly without mercy. She raised her left hand. Outside, the rain stopped. Not tapered off—stopped, mid-fall, hanging in the air like a billion frozen tears. Then, with a casual turn of her palm, she sent it blasting back into the clouds, which shredded apart to reveal a sky of violent, peaceful stars.