The mill did not react with violence when the fight began. It took it the way one takes something long expected. At first, the change was subtle, almost imperceptible, as if the entire cursed place had been built precisely for that moment. The deep heartbeat running through the wood grew stronger with every blow, more present, more personal. It no longer sounded like a call, but like an answer. They descended without haste. They did not fall upon us like desperate predators, but like something that already knew the outcome of the hunt. We were like tamed lions inside a cage of thorns. Their twisted bodies slipped between the beams as if they had no bones, and when they touched the ground, they did so with a softness that clashed with the violence they carried.
—You came —one of them said, tilting her head.
It was not a question meant to be answered. Aldric moved first, as always. Reckless. Without order, without signal. His sword traced a clean arc, straight for the neck of the nearest one. It was a perfect strike. And still, it failed. The witch's image dissolved beneath the blow.
—A little more to the left —the other mocked, from a place that did not match where she had been a moment before.
Aldric turned mid-motion, adjusting the strike, but his blade cut through air again. A short, dry laugh vibrated through the wood.
—Not like that —said the first.
Maelor raised his hands, murmuring under his breath. I felt the pressure of a void pulling at the air. In his palms, a mass of energy struggled to take shape within the dense atmosphere of the mill. When he released it, the spell surged forward like a contained discharge, aimed directly at one of them. The witch did not move. She only tilted her head slightly.
—Three heartbeats earlier —she whispered.
The impact never came. The energy veered just a few inches aside, as if pushed by an unseen force, and crashed into one of the beams, making the entire structure groan. The old wooden walls tensed like skin under heat. The central axis turned with a deeper, wetter sound, and for a moment I felt the place adjust itself, as if correcting something.
—You are not fighting us —said the second witch, walking slowly around the group—. You are fighting something that already happened.
Serah stepped forward, placing herself between them and me. Something in her eyes sensed what the rest of us could not see. Her hands began to move, tracing circles that barely held together within that warped space. The roots she summoned struggled to emerge, snapping as they broke through, twisting, resisting the mill that rejected their presence.
—Don't come closer —she said, without looking at me.
But I already was. Every step cost me more than I was willing to admit. The wound was not the problem. I could feel the poison burning through every vein. Every heartbeat was a bitter injection of sludge moving through my blood, crawling across every inch of my muscles, until it reached my heart and spilled darkness into it. It consumed everything inside me. And worst of all, it kept growing. It was only a matter of minutes before I fell. Still, I advanced.
—Captain… —Serah's voice tightened—. You have to...
—I'm fine —I said.
It was not true. But it did not matter. One of the witches turned toward me with a smile that refused to settle into one meaning.
—No, you're not —she said softly, stepping closer—. This is where you raise your shield and try to cover the left flank… because you still think it matters.
My hand moved. Before I could stop it, before I could decide, the shield was already up exactly as she had predicted. The witch's smile widened. Aldric attacked again, this time with fury but no precision. His strikes lacked calculation. They were pure will. Failing to land a blow, he pushed forward in an even more reckless assault, chaining one strike after another, forcing one of them back. For a moment, it worked. But that moment did not last.
—Something new, yes… but not very different —said the other, without even looking at him.
Her foot shifted slightly on the damp floor, just enough to break his balance. The opening was minimal. Almost nothing. But they did not need more. The claw came down. I moved slower than I expected. The shield intercepted the blow, but the force pierced through the metal, ran along my arm, and exploded in my chest, right where the wound had begun to spread. Something gave inside me. I think a piece of my liver fell apart. I stepped back, forced. And the world tilted.
—You see? —the witch whispered, now in front of me—. You're already too late, Captain.
Serah appeared at my side, placing a hand on my arm. Her touch was warm, though the warmth was fading. It was not the missing flesh at my side that made her break. It was the sight of the blood pouring from my wound, now completely black.
—This isn't right —she said, desperate—. We have to go— She did not finish.
The sob overtook her. I pushed her back with what little strength I had left, barely moving her. Through one of the openings in the mill, I saw outside. The dead had changed. They were no longer scattered. They had gathered at the walls, forming a dense mass, all facing inward, trampling each other in their attempt to get in. Dozens of them. Hungry.
—There is no way out —one of the witches said, following my gaze—. Not outward.
The other tilted her head.
—Nor forward.
Maelor cast another spell, more desperate than precise. The energy came out uneven, unstable, but it struck. One of them stepped back. A real step. Tangible. It felt like victory. Aldric seized the moment and surged forward with all his weight behind the strike, shouting Eldran's name. His blade came down in a straight line, meant to split her in two. For an instant, time tightened.
—Now —said the witch.
I did not know if she meant him… or me. My body answered before my mind. I turned, extended my arm, trying to close a space that had not yet opened. The second witch materialized behind Aldric.
—Always late, Captain —she whispered, and with a single swipe tore Aldric's right arm from his body.
My voice came out like a delayed echo. Serah screamed. Maelor tried to react. Eldran still did not move. Rage flooded me again. My muscles burned beneath my skin and my wounds spilled blood in heavy bursts. In that instant, the mill's pulse grew stronger, calling to me, and within my trance, a second of clarity broke through. They were not heartbeats. They were the rhythm of a march already written. Like an old song playing over and over again. The valley was a music box. And I was its dancer. I was not fighting to survive. I was following a choreography. My decision had sealed everyone's fate. I had chosen the music, and the witches were playing it while my companions danced to the rhythm of the condemned. My anger vanished instantly. They laughed when they saw my face change, twisted by the truth. I raised my gaze. I watched my companions fight with everything they had. And even though I already knew the end of this infernal melody… I chose to continue. Despite the pain. Despite the poison. Despite fate. I tightened my grip on the sword and moved forward.
—You won't escape this, Captain. You already made your choice… —the witch said, turning slowly toward me—. And once again, you chose wrong.