I lingered atop the old tower, the world stretching out beneath me, still trembling from the storm I'd left behind. The witches had scattered, their courage spent, their magic broken. I could feel their fear like a pulse in the air—sharp, bitter, intoxicating.
It's always the same, I mused. They reach for power, thinking they can bind what they don't understand. They never learn. Or perhaps they do, and the lesson is simply too much for them to bear.
Below, the coven's leader, Isolde, clutched the feather I'd left—a token, a warning, perhaps a promise. She was clever, that one. Not clever enough to win, but clever enough to survive. I respected that, in my way.
I shifted my weight, letting my boots scrape against the stone, savoring the sound. The world was so full of noise, yet so little of it mattered. What mattered was the tension, the delicious uncertainty that followed in my wake. I was chaos, and chaos was freedom.
A raven circled above, cawing once before disappearing into the gray sky. I watched it go, feeling the threads of fate twist and tighten. Somewhere, a king was making a foolish decision. Somewhere else, a monster was being born. Everywhere, the world spun on, oblivious to the storm that had passed through its heart.
I could have left. There were other lands, other games to play. But something about this place called to me—a sense of unfinished business, of stories yet unwritten. The witches would whisper my name in secret, and that was enough for now.
I turned from the edge, descending the crumbling stairs into the shadowed halls below. My fingers trailed along the damp walls, tracing runes half-swallowed by moss and time. Each step echoed with the memory of power, the promise of more to come.
At the base of the tower, I paused. The valley was quiet now, save for the distant calls of birds and the soft sigh of the wind. But beneath that calm, I felt the world shifting. My presence had left a mark—one that would spread, subtle and unstoppable.
A smile tugged at my lips. Let them fear me. Let them wonder and whisper and warn their children. I was the shadow in every legend, the storm behind every silence. And I was only just beginning.
With a thought, I summoned a flicker of lightning to my palm, watching it dance and crackle. Power was a beautiful thing—especially when it was yours alone.
I stepped into the light, leaving the tower behind. The world awaited, trembling on the edge of chaos. And I, Sagar Jadhav, was ready to see what would break next.