Password

The next morning, after tightening every strap and checking their gear for what felt like the fifth time, the three finally set out. The road was clear, sunlight dripping lazily through the clouds, and the distant outline of their next destination stood against the pale blue sky.

Kael walked ahead with confident strides, squinting at the silhouette of the mountain that waited for them. “This one looks taller than the last,” she said, with the straightforward certainty of someone making a simple observation. “Lian, how high is it?”

“In truth,” Lian replied, tugging at the hood of his cloak, “it’s much smaller. Barely three hundred meters tall. More of a hill than a mountain, really.”

Kael stopped for a moment, staring at him. “Three hundred? That’s all? Huh. For once, I was preparing for the worst.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Mira said, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “What bothers me more is the name. Dajti… then Dajti 2. Who names a mountain like that? It sounds like they got lazy halfway through their job.”

“Maybe they were bored,” Kael suggested. “Or drunk.”

“Or,” Lian said with mock seriousness, “maybe the first Dajti had a twin brother. Mountains come in families too, don’t they?”

Mira rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the corner of her mouth from twitching upward. The three kept tossing theories back and forth, their voices filling the empty path as the sun climbed higher. Eventually, the trees began to thin, and the trail opened onto a clearing.

There it stood.

An ancient stone castle, worn down by wind and time, its towers leaning slightly inward as though whispering secrets to one another. Moss crawled up the walls, and the heavy wooden gate looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades. Yet someone was clearly there.

A lone figure stood guard at the entrance. A witch.

Her robes were black as raven feathers, trimmed with threads of deep violet that shimmered faintly when the light touched them. Her staff rested easily in her hand, though her stance suggested she didn’t need it to be dangerous. She turned her head slowly as the three approached, her gaze sharp, her lips curving in the faintest hint of a smile.

Lian leaned slightly toward his companions. “Remember. We improvise. That strategy has never failed us.”

Mira shot him a flat look. “That’s not a strategy. That’s reckless optimism.”

“And yet,” Lian countered smugly, “we’re still alive.”

The witch’s eyes fixed on them, unblinking. Lian used his mind-reading power, feeling the surface of her thoughts like ripples on water.

“That boy… dressed so strangely.”

Lian’s eye twitched. “Oh, come on! Is there a universal conspiracy against my clothes?!”

Mira instantly understood what was happening and she burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her sleeve, while Kael blinked at him in confusion.

“Never mind!” Lian snapped, straightening his back.

The witch’s voice carried across the clearing. “Who are you?”

Lian stepped forward, forcing calm into his tone. “We are… soldiers, here to request an audience with the Demon King.”

“Oh, really?” the witch purred. “Then tell me the password.”

Lian dipped into her thoughts again. Her mind was sharp, disciplined, but not immune. “He doesn’t know the password is I’m such an idiot.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Lian declared confidently.

The witch’s smile widened. “I agree.”

Kael smacked his shoulder. “Lian! This is serious! Stop joking around!”

The witch’s laughter was harsh and cutting, echoing off the castle walls. “You fool. Did you truly think that cheap trick of reading minds would let you slip past me? Do you think you’re the first arrogant adventurer to try? Pathetic. Leave now, before I, Rowemn - The Great Witch, decide to make you regret stepping foot here.”

Lian didn’t answer immediately. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face, her irritating playfulness, the cadence of her laugh, the subtle way she tilted her head. A thought struck him, unwelcome yet undeniable.

“Wait a second…” he said slowly, pointing at her. “You’re Morwen’s sister, aren’t you?”