The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis

I smelled her before I saw her.

Fear, masked with floral perfume and false pride. It clung to the air like cheap wine left out too long—sweet, spoiled, and begging to be noticed.

She stood at the edge of the clearing, her arms stiff at her sides, and wearing military robes pressed too sharply for someone who belonged here. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, the tip of her boot digging a nervous circle into the dirt. Her eyes locked on me like I was the enemy she'd been training for in some fantasy she hadn't yet realized would get her killed.

I didn't slow my stride.

"You."

The word snapped out like an accusation. No rank. No bow. Just raw, adolescent emotion wrapped in fabric she hadn't earned.

I raised a brow, more curious than annoyed. "Excuse you?"

"You're Zhao Xinying."

"Last time I checked."

"I heard them."

I stopped walking, but only because her voice cracked on that third word—heard them. Past tense. Not imagined. Not fabricated. She'd been eavesdropping.

"I heard General Sun and the Second Prince talking," she rushed on. "About you."

I let silence stretch between us. I'd found it more effective than speaking, especially with girls like her—ones who didn't yet know the weight of words, only the sound of them.

"They said he watches you. That he talks about you like…" Her fists clenched. "Like he wants you to be his."

There it was. The wound, the bleeding pride.

I let my gaze slide over her slowly. She was probably in her mid-twenties, her skin was smooth and pristine, while her black hair hung down her back like a curtain. She was pretty in the way a child's drawing is pretty: earnest but unrefined. Her uniform was too clean, her sword unscarred. It was like it was more of a decoration, rather than a tool. She stood like she thought her rage could make up for the fact that she didn't belong in the same world as the people she wanted to claim.

I tilted my head. "And what does that have to do with me?"

Her voice lifted in a shrill edge, desperate to carry authority she didn't possess. "It means you need to stay away from him. He's not yours to look at. He belongs to me."

I blinked slowly.

Then laughed.

Not a soft laugh. Not polite. I let it rise from my chest like smoke curling from a battlefield—dark and amused, the kind that made lesser soldiers flinch because they couldn't tell if it was cruelty or indifference.

"Oh, sweetheart," I purred, my lips curving into something more pity than malice. "You're barking up the wrong tree, little puppy. I'm not interested in your master."

She flinched at the word 'master'. Good.

I stepped closer to the woman blocking my way. I was calm and relaxed, like a predator who didn't need to roar to be terrifying.

"Why don't you take all this energy," I continued, tone light as silk, "and direct it toward him? Let him know you're so desperate for his attention, you're willing to confront every woman he so much as glances at. I mean, the men here do have harems. You still might be able to be a concubine at the end of the day."

She tried to speak. I didn't let her.

"Trust me," I continued, leaning forward even more until my lips were almost pressed against her ear. Her perfume tickled my nose and I couldn't help but scrunch it. "If he were mine… you'd know it."

Her face twisted. She was trembling now—rage, shame, heartbreak, all twisted together in the way only a girl could twist herself when she realized the man she wanted saw her as a shadow in his rearview, and the woman she hated wasn't even competing.

"I saved him once," I added softly. "Not because I wanted to. Not because I felt anything. Because someone I do care about asked me to. That's it."

"You don't deserve him," she hissed like I had just told her that there was no Christmas and that Santa didn't exist. "You are nothing more than a pretty vase that the Crown Prince keeps on his arm until he is tired of you. Then you will die a horrible, horrible death."

I didn't blink as she spewed out her hate. "I don't want him," I told her with a shrug of my shoulders. Straightening my back, I tried to walk past her, only for her to block my way again.

"Liar!" she hissed, reaching for her sword. "There isn't a single woman in this country who doesn't want him." She reached for her sword, ready to draw it on me, but Shadow moved before I had to.

The air went cold, and a low growl echoed through the trees—not loud, but deep. A sound that came from the marrow of the forest and made the ground tremble just slightly beneath our feet.

From the gloom beneath the pines, he emerged.

Shadow.

Massive. Silent. A living shadow pulled from the edge of a nightmare. His black fur shimmered like liquid obsidian, each movement too smooth, too deliberate. His yellow eyes locked on the girl with an eerie calm that didn't blink.

He didn't snarl. He didn't bark. He simply existed, and that was enough.

The girl backed up so fast she tripped on a root and stumbled, catching herself before she hit the ground. Her face had gone pale, her grip on the sword completely forgotten.

"Now," I said softly, never looking away from her. "Turn around. And go bark at someone else. This wolf has teeth."

Shadow took one step forward, and his teeth caught the last of the sunlight.

She ran. She didn't scream, and it wasn't quite a retreat. But her pride crumpled like wet paper behind her.

I waited until her footsteps vanished into the underbrush before turning to Shadow.

"You didn't eat her," I grunted, almost disappointed.

He exhaled through his nose, more sigh than a huff. "Going soft on me? Do I need to get Tank to take you home so you can eat someone?" I asked dryly.

His ears flicked.

I reached down, resting a hand on the thick fur between his shoulder blades. His heat grounded me, that familiar tension always coiled beneath the surface.

I glanced up at the darkening sky. The sun was beginning to set, casting blood-orange across the tree line. Somewhere in the camp, music started—low strings and wind flutes. The nobles would be gathering for another meal, another toast to nothing.

Let them.

I wasn't here to play at court.

I was here to protect what was mine.

And Longzi?

He wasn't mine; he never had been.

"Come," I said, turning back toward the ridge. "Let's find something worth hunting."

Shadow padded after me, the leaves curling away from his steps like even nature had learned not to get in our way.