Chapter Text
Air has never been so suffocating in the Witches’ Castle. But it wasn’t just the humidity, the dampness the eastern winds carried along with themselves from faraway lands — it was the silence, too eerie even for this place. Normally the walls would have rumbled as the bricks shifted from one place to another, the dripping of water would’ve echoed in the dungeons, and of course, at least one of the witches would’ve thrown a loud fit over an unfair game of cards. Now it was all mute like the jungle before a predator’s eyes. No screams, no whispers, just soundless waiting.
“She’s out”, a melodic voice broke the dreamlike state of silence.
“Finally”, Cinderia exclaimed. “I thought I’d lose my mind in this awkward… well… this.”
She looked around herself, eyes meeting with a dozen fierce gazes. The witches were all in the Hall of Spells, most of them with arms crossed, shoulders against walls or on the elaborate divan.
“You tell me? One more minute without noise and I’d have broken a vase just to stop it”, sighed Volumia, the one who announced Her departure.
“Bones”, smiled Tempestia. “Breaking bones would've felt better.”
Nobody laughed at her grim attempt at a joke, they were still preoccupied with digesting what had just happened.
Ever since they had started their attack on the five kingdoms, they were met with failure. First it was Diluvia’s demise, but it took no time for Chionos, Acacia and Pirea to fall under the very same spell that struck the witch of the seas — a sleep so deep it might have been eternal, just like the one the Wise King once used against his tyrannical predecessor on the throne. Yet it couldn’t have been the same spell, the silver plates had been destroyed, hells, Pirea even used them as material for her enchanted armor warriors. Besides, if it was so similar, She would have woken up the witches already, right? It wouldn’t have taken more than a single snap of her fingers. The Grey Witches didn’t know which one was worse: being trapped in a hollow nightmare with help denied voluntarily, or having been cursed by something so powerful that even the Witch of the Witches, Nomenziona herself couldn’t undo it.
But one of the witches present was especially thrown off by this train of thought. She stood still, fists clenched and eyes slightly squinting, as if she was unsure what to do next.
“Well, it was nice knowing you.” Cinderia tapped the shoulder of the hesitant figure before leaving through the doorway, leaving only a fuzzy trail of ashes behind.
A few of the other witches followed her, while others stayed, either out of concern or merely out of curiosity of what their unmoving companion would do next.
“She’s only mad because she envies the attention you got.”, Mimisia sighed, referring to Cinderia. “Though if she were in your place, she would despise it.”
They were the witch of knowledge, so they must’ve been right.
This seemingly gave strength to the other witch, as she finally looked up and scrambled a few strands of black hair out of her face. It was Petagma, the witch of levitation, and now the next one to launch an attack. Nomenziona’s outburst left her perplexed, but the disturbance started to wear down little by little, and she was finally able to utter a coherent sentence.
“I’ll be ready by dawn.”
“In sixteen hours and twenty-eight minutes?”, Chronia didn’t even need to check her pocket watch.
“Make it fifteen.”
That’s all she said before announcing her departure with a smooth curtsy. Her sleeves billowed playfully from the movement, with the textiles falling in a bit of a delay.
“Petagma and her theatrics-”
But she didn’t hear the complaints that followed, and was already on her way to her chambers. Her purple skirt danced slowly around her like she was floating above the cold stone tiles — maybe she was. It was no secret that sometimes she wore nothing more than tights on her feet, since what use would shoes serve someone who was almost always suspended in the air?
Petagma spent a lot of her time floating around the ever-changing corridors of the witches’ lair. Once she lost focus of her surroundings — as she often did when deep in thought — the decorative potted plants and lit candles would follow her around, either until they met a wall, or until Petagma snapped her fingers and let them drop on the floor tiles. Of course, the broken ceramics would gather a few annoyed glances from the others, but every witch had their own odd habits and quirks, so it wasn't extraordinary for the castle to suffer from their powers. Tempestia, for instance, brewed up storms in the hallways, aiming to concoct the most destructive one. Chionos froze up an entire corridor once, turning it into a skating rink under the unsuspecting Pirea’s feet. And last but not least, nobody could forget about the time Diluvia flooded one of the main salons, which earned her a place in the dungeons for a week. Admittedly, Petagma thought it was well-deserved. Diluvia’s fish people always made her uncomfortable for some reason, and according to her it was high time the witch of the seas learned the castle wasn't an aquarium. But these were all just distant memories ever since the witch of the seas, along with a bunch of others, fell asleep.
“Wait up, Petagma!”, an exasperated voice resonated in the swirling passages.
When Sulfurea finally caught up, the witch of levitation stopped abruptly, eyes glowing in the dim torchlight. Sulfurea was the closest thing she had to a friend amongst the Grey Witches, and while she knew time was ticking and her plans were yet to be orchestrated, hearing that wispy voice made her freeze.
“You needn’t rush things”, Sulfurea looked frustrated. The loss of the others and the lecture from Nomenziona upset her so much, if Petagma didn’t know any better she would have assumed the witch of air was worried for her. The two of them had spent a lot of time together, being so similar in both spirit and powers. As one of them was the substance and the other one the motion, both witches felt a connection through their shared element. Sulfurea controlled air, as in the matter, smells and sensation, while Petagma commanded gravity to act in accord to her wishes, moving objects or even living beings however she liked. While their powers seemed to overlap to some extent, anyone with observant eyes could notice they weren’t so similar as one would have imagined.
“I’m not in a hurry. As Chronia said, I have plenty of hours to kill before my attacks.”
“Fifteen hours?”, Sulfurea smirked. “Arrogance never suited you.”
The witch of levitation crossed her arms and sighed, drifting slowly backwards in the air.
“Fine, I may have to focus on my strategies until then. But time won’t be a problem, that’s for sure.”
“It took days for Pirea to prepare her army. Diluvia also needed at least a week to…”
“That’s the point!”, Petagma exclaimed. “They waited, perfected unnecessary forces. I’m going in myself, and I will waste no time destroying those kingdoms. The only reason I’m adamant on starting at dawn is for the visuals… Imagine the look of the rising sun, the shaking of the morning dew on those awfully fresh leaves, while I’m-” She stopped in her monologue when her back hit the door leading to her suite.
“Right. Listen, I know you need a confident mindset, but isn’t this a bit of an overkill?”
Petagma scoffed as she stepped into her spacious room with the witch of air trailing right behind her. It was a cavernous area with a high ceiling. The walls were decorated with bookshelves, leading up in a spiral until the top, where the shadows of the unlit dome seemed to have hidden a bunch of hanging chains. Aside from these, the only proper furniture was a little table, which was wrapped in iron chainmail, attaching it to the floor tiles.
“I’m beginning to question your intentions here, dear Sulfurea”, Petagma ascended further from her companion who channeled a small cloud to lift herself up as well. “Don’t you want me to succeed?”
The witch of air didn’t answer for a while, either out of embarrassment or plain annoyance. She might’ve stayed silent longer if she hadn’t noticed something that gave her an idea. The bookshelves were all built into the walls of the tower, with neat metal straps that ensured no copies would fling into the air when Petagma was close. Sulfurea knew very well how cautious the witch of levitation was when it came to weighing down the objects in her suite. If only she had the same mentality towards the belongings of others…
Before Petagma could look back and realise what was happening, Sulfurea grabbed one of the delicate straps and ripped it out of its place, causing the books to immediately shoot up into the air and swirl towards their mistress.
“You absolute- ”, Petagma’s sentence was cut short by a rapidly approaching volume about sea birds, which she dodged by ducking down.
Fortunately for her, she quickly gained control of the papery tornado. With a sudden rush of rage and disbelief, she commanded the tomes after Sulfurea, who shrieked and ran, creating clouds that served as platforms in the air. The attacks were vicious, but the witch of air somehow managed to evade them. Perhaps they were never intended to hit her, although Petagma’s amused laugh said otherwise.
“Enough, Petagma!”, yelled Sulfurea, battling a ferocious encyclopedia.
“Oh, now you want to stop? You were so eager to set these books free. And here I was, thinking you would quite enjoy this.”
Sulfurea let out an annoyed groan, then leaped over to the door of Petagma’s suite.
“I tried to warn you”, she said, before quickly shutting the door on another wave of rabid books.
And just like that, Petagma’s little weapons all fell to the ground, as if dying a glorious death on a battlefield. Their mistress was left alone, floating in the dim lights of her tower, observing the state of her floor.
“Impulses, huh?” Her voice was softer now. “She should know better than to teach me about them. How ironic…”
She might have continued her snickering, but suddenly her eyes fell upon a little red volume which lay on top of its defeated sisters. It called out to her, she could almost hear it whisper in her ears. Petagma slowly descended, but once her feet were mere centimetres above the ground, she stopped abruptly. A few seconds passed. Was she scared to approach the ground? Whatever troubled her in that moment, she seemed to have gotten over it, and finally, she stepped onto the pile of tomes. She took a shaky breath once her heels landed, then reached out for the scarlet book by hand. It was unlike her to go after items she could've easily moved in the air herself, however, this time it was different. With an elegant bow, she grabbed it and handled it with care and respect.
“Here you are, old friend.”
The red book gently opened by itself and flipped its own pages, much like a playful little dance. A greeting.
Petagma chuckled.
“We have some plotting to do, you and I.”
Fifteen hours later, amongst the dangling chains in the dome of her tower, Petagma sat on a chainmail net, surrounded by hundreds of feathery figures. The scarlet book lay beside her, having done its job, and a more than satisfactory one at that.
“It's been a while since I summoned you all”, the witch looked around, making sure to meet the eyes of at least half of her enchanted companions. “You must’ve had time to sharpen your beaks and claws, look at you all! Our arrival will certainly outdo the others’ in the sense of presentation.”
One of the shadows leapt up from its place, gently landing on the shoulder of Petagma. It was a huge, grey bird with feathers on its head obnoxiously pointing towards the skies. Its dark eyes twinkled with a spark of grey magic in them. Whatever creature it had been before its transformation was long gone, and the only thing that remained was a vicious harpy eagle.
“Your flight shall be steady, for your wings bring gloom and commotion”, the witch whispered softly to the bird of prey. “Now go, conquer the skies!” She spoke to all of her creations, which started flapping their wings, and took off.
The dome of the tower swiftly split in two, giving way to the first rays of sunlight, which hit Petagma’s freckled face. She squinted at the harshness of it, but knew very well the brightness would not last long. The harpy eagles raced until the top, and once they got out, they immediately started circling around. Their huge wings almost touched as they soared in a fearsome pack, blocking almost all of the light, much like the canopy of the densest forest.
Lastly, in a formidable mess of fabric and chains, Petagma rose from the depths of her tower. Her dress fluttered violently in the wind caused by the birds, making her resemble a strange purple flower, a water lily from the heavens — a graceful illusion, which was only broken by her sharp laugh.
“Finally”, she exclaimed, spinning cheerfully in the storm of feathers. “It’s high time we played our part.”
She shot one last look towards the witches’ castle, knowing very well the others were watching her through the windows. Were they only cheering on for her demise? It didn’t really matter. At last, the stage was hers, and she was determined to make sure she would be present for the curtain call.