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

The morning light was just starting to show by the time I reached the northern ridge.

The child was still in my arms—small, light, and half-starved. He was small for his age, more limbs than muscle or fat, but I would change that fast. He was still sleeping even with all my movement. His face was smudged with dirt, his skin far too pale from months of winter with no fire. He didn't stir as I descended the slope, shadowed by Yaozu and Shadow, the only two I trusted to follow me anywhere without question.

We didn't speak. I was still too angry to form words, and Yaozu was at least smart enough to understand that I didn't want to hear his opinion. The silence of the trail spoke louder than any words. The trees here were warped from heat of the fire, their bark curled in strips like old paper. Even the frost had retreated, melted and corrupted into slush where my mountain's blood had spilled. I could feel it in the soil—what was taken from me, what they'd tried to bury.

Ahead, the wind shifted.

The mountain narrowed into a sharp outcropping, a finger of stone that jutted out over the valley below. From here, I could see it all—where Daiyu's reach ended, and the borders of Baiguang and Yelan began. Three nations met at this point. Three armies had dared to climb this far.

And now they would all remember the price of trespass.

I passed the boy into Yaozu's arms.

"His name is Lin Wei," I said quietly. "He's mine now."

Yaozu's eyes flicked down to the child, then back up to me. "Does Mingyu know?"

"I'm not asking for permission." I reached out and smoothed the child's hair once. "He will be raised as my son. Protect him like you would protect me."

Something on my face must have alerted Yaozu not to push too far, because he only nodded once, not protesting any further.

I turned and stepped onto the ledge, looking down at Yelan and Baiguang.

The wind whipped my cloak back, dragging snow and ash in spirals around my legs. Shadow growled once behind me, sensing what was coming.

The hellhound was smarter than most humans on any given day, but today…

Today would be a day that no one would forget.

My fingers stretched outward, my palms to the sky.

Black mist curled up from beneath my skin like ink rising through water. It began at my feet, swirling slowly, then climbed my ankles, my thighs, my chest, as though it had been waiting—eager to be released.

I didn't resist it, and for once, I didn't hold back.

"You were warned," I murmured into the cold, my eyes narrowing on the nations at my feet.

The first wave of mist rolled off the ridge like a wave. It crept forward, spilling over the stones like a silent tide. The white snow turned gray, then black. Trees hissed as it touched them. The valley below began to scream silently, everything that the mist touch turning to rot and death.

I didn't flinch.

"You called me a witch," I continued, my voice even, "a monster… a child of demons. You weren't wrong."

Another gust of wind rose. The mist surged forward like a living thing, cascading down the cliffside in ribbons of poison. It was beautiful in a terrible way. Graceful. Endless.

"You sent soldiers into my mountain. You touched the soil I bled to protect. You burned what I built."

The sound of agony echoed from below—men shouting, women weeping, animals screaming as the mist reached their farms, their temples, their beds.

Not a single soul was spared, not a single piece of grain, chicken, pig, or cow. If it had been alive before I started, it was no longer.

"You thought you could steal from me, and I would do nothing. That I would obey the rules of your world because I wore silk now instead of the simple green linen dress that I had before."

I opened my arms wide, and the mist obeyed.

It unfurled like wings across the valley, stretching in every direction—Baiguang, Yelan, even skimming the edge of Daiyu's northern border. It didn't discriminate. It had no borders, no flags, no compassion.

It only obeyed my will.

"You were wrong."

Something shattered in the village below. I heard it faintly—like glass breaking inside a dream. Then came the sound of footsteps—desperate, uneven—racing through frozen fields as villagers tried to flee what couldn't be outrun.

I closed my eyes.

"I tried to do this your way," I whispered. "I let Mingyu decide the war we would fight. I let the court decide what was 'honorable.' I spared your homes. I burned empty fields. I didn't touch the weak."

I stepped forward, the ledge crackling beneath my foot.

"But you came for my mountain. You trampled on my bottom line, thinking that I was a toothless paper tiger that would let you walk with impudence in my territory."

My voice was calm now. Detached.

"You called it strategy. I call it sacrilege."

Below me, a distant figure fell to the ground, black mist blooming around him like a flower.

I opened my hand again, and the mist pulsed outward, expanding its reach. The clouds above me churned in response, slow and heavy like mourning.

"You wanted me to be a ghost. A forgotten myth. But now you'll choke on my name."

I didn't yell.

I didn't need to.

The air carried every word forward.

"You think this is vengeance," I said, eyes fixed on the burning horizon. "But this is only a gentle reminder of why I was called the Witch."

A scream rose sharp from somewhere beyond the ridge. Then another. And another. It didn't matter where they came from. It was never about who.

I had warned them, again and again.

But no one listens to a paper tiger.

I lowered my arms and turned back.

Yaozu stood at the edge of the trees, Lin Wei still cradled in his arms. The boy had woken but said nothing. His eyes were wide, reflecting the mist. Shadow stood beside them, tail low, ears forward.

I walked slowly back through the snow.

"It's done," I said simply.

"No one survived?" Yaozu asked quietly.

"Don't know," I shrugged. "Don't care."

He said nothing to that.

I reached out and brushed my fingers against Lin Wei's cheek. He leaned into the touch without fear now.

"You'll sleep well tonight," I told him. "No one will ever take this mountain from us again."

He nodded—just once.

Then he laid his head on Yaozu's shoulder and closed his eyes.

I looked back once, toward the ridge.

The mist continued to pour downward, unchecked, winding through trees and rivers and broken towns. It would settle where it wanted. And where it did, no memory of conquest would remain.

Only silence.