Chapter 1 - The Witch Who Was Forsaken

Hauntspire High,

May, 2025.

The air on the ruined rooftop was cold. It smelled of ash, ozone, and fresh, coppery blood. A relentless, dirty wind whipped Lumira Duskbane's silver hair around her face. Her crystalline purple eyes stared fixedly at the indifferent sky.

Her body was failing. Every muscle screamed from the demonic fight. She felt hollow. Her soul stretched thin, nearly snapping. At her feet, the immense spell circle, etched in her own spilled life-force, still held a faint, purplish light. The runes guttered.

'Finally,' Lumira whimpered, 'It's been sealed.'

She let out a ragged breath. The breach was closed. The demon horde was banished... she had paid the ultimate price.

'We did it, Lumira.' Silvie's faint voice echoed in her mind. 'I am sorry.'

His spirit was fading, consumed by the magic. She felt the painful snap of their final bond.

Then came the heavy sound of boots rushing up the stairs.

Alpha Jaxon's entrance was violent. The steel door was flung open with a deafening crash. He thundered onto the roof. He was the Lycan Prince, dressed in ceremonial gold. His amber eyes blazed with cold suspicion.

His Beta, Mason, and Gamma, Caleb, stood rigid beside him. They looked like executioners. Not saviors.

Lumira turned slowly. Every movement was a struggle against collapse. She managed a faint, weak smile.

"You came..." she started. The words were raw and foolish.

Jaxon's voice was sharp. He instantly interrupted her.

"What game are you playing, witch?"

He ignored the closed portal. He ignored the blood. His gaze raked over the scene. There was no relief, only immediate interrogation.

"Was this your scheme with the demons to gain my affection?" he demanded.

The accusation was a physical blow. It shattered the last bit of hope inside her. Her chest locked tight. She felt sick.

'He still believes the lie?'

Gamma Caleb then stepped forward. His face was hard with disgust.

"You reek of corruption," Caleb spat. "Admit it. You bargained with the demons to ruin the Luna's mating ritual."

'The ritual...?'

Of course! That was all that mattered. Not the saved school, not the thousand lives she had preserved. Just his precious Saintess and her perfect fate.

Jaxon took a step closer. His disappointment was a crushing weight.

"I can forgive all the atrocious things you've done to my Saintess," he said. His voice trembled with cold rage. "But betrayal… I cannot forgive it. You are nothing more than a curse to Hauntspire High."

His final words stole the remaining air from her lungs. Her knees buckled beneath his judgment. She sank down, catching herself on the crumbling concrete railing. The stone felt rough and cold against her burning skin.

A violent rattling cough seized her. Dark viscous blood spilled across her pale, trembling hands. It ran down her wrists. The sight was sickening.

"So, this is my reward?" Her voice was a ragged whisper. It shook with immense despair. "I saved you all… and still, you hate me? Is this all I am to you? A monster?"

That instant, Beta Mason, lunged forward. A flicker of humanity broke his composure. His face was pale with anguish.

"Your Highness, look at the runes! Lady Duskbane saved us! She closed the portal! If not for her…"

"Silence!" Jaxon commanded.

His voice was a slicing sound, colder than polished steel, and Mason froze in submission. His grief collapsed into hopelessness. He looked at Lumira, then looked away.

Lumira swayed, as a bitter, jagged, laugh escaped her lips.

"You won't believe me." She met Jaxon's golden eyes. She felt the desperate need to make him see her, just once. "I thought I mattered. If all I'll ever be is a monster in your eyes… then why live?"

"Lady Lumira, don't!" Mason screamed.

She didn't hear him. She was already beyond listening, as she let go of the railing.

Her body tipped backward. It was heavy and final. The world pitched violently. Her silver hair streamed out against the dark night.

In the second of the fall, she saw it: a flicker of true fear in Jaxon's eyes. It was a small, agonizing crack in his perfect composure.

The air shrieked past her ears.

Then, a crushing impact, a sickening bone-jarring crack echoed through the night.

The White Witch of the West lay broken on the cold, unforgiving stone below.

Jaxon turned away. He walked with a steady stride toward the firelit gym, where his Luna waited, while Lumira's blood pooled across the jagged pavement, the dark spreading stain...

-----

Rina's Room,

New York.

Rina's POV

The aggressive pale blue glow of the phone screen was a brutal, sickening reflection in the gloom of my cramped dark bedroom.

"She died… for nothing?" I choked out the whisper. Hot tears instantly streamed down my cheeks, burning my skin.

The unceremonious end of my favorite character was a betrayal too raw to bear. It felt personal. I hurled the device onto the mattress. My chest heaved in ragged, furious bursts. The collective venom of the online forum, still blazing on the screen, was a physical press of hatred I couldn't ignore.

User23: Finally! That witch got what she deserved.

SilverWolf: Good riddance to bad rubbish. Now the real romance starts with Selene.

MoonReader: Took the author long enough. Lumira was a trashy villain.

"She's not a villain!" I screamed into the suffocating darkness of my room. "She's desperately lonely! She saved them all and they spit on her corpse! Can't anyone see that?"

"Rina!" My mother's voice, sharp and demanding, sliced through the thin bedroom door. "Stop crying over those silly e-books and get yourself out to the market! We need food! Now!"

I flinched hard. I scrubbed frantically at my face, wiping away the tears and sweat. I couldn't let her see me cry over a "fictional" girl. She wouldn't understand this fury.

I snatched up the phone and bolted from the room.

Outside, the late evening air was cool and damp. It carried the faint scent of city pollution and last night's rain. The asphalt was slick. I walked quickly, head down, lost in a furious replay of the final chapter.

I hated the author. I hated Jaxon. I hated the entire world of the novel.

My phone, clutched tightly in my pocket, felt like it was burning against my thigh.

When I pulled it out, I recalled the cryptic number rumored to belong to the novel's anonymous author. I had saved it months ago. Now, it was my only... outlet.

My thumbs flew across the screen, my fury found its target.

"Why did you kill her like that? Did you have to make her so completely alone? She saved them all! You're a coward for ending her that way! She burned her life for them and got nothing! She deserved at least one chance!"

Message after furious message poured out. A chaotic unedited stream of grief and outrage. When I was done, I kept walking on, expecting nothing. I was just screaming into the digital void.

But as I rounded the corner of the market, a single sharp notification chimed.

The sound felt like a gunshot in the damp, shadowy night.

I stopped dead under the fractured glow of a street lamp to read it. The text was brief, simple, and impossibly unsettling.

"You also feel that Lumira died an unjust death, just like me? Then let's see how you change the story."

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, as I stared at the glowing screen.

'Change the story?'

"Who is this?" I typed back, fingers shaking violently, and the reply was instant.

"The Author. I regret it too but the publisher forced my hand. They wanted the villain dead. They didn't care about her sacrifice. They wanted the cliché."

I stood frozen. The grocery bag almost slipped from my numb fingers.

The Author?

Regretting it?

Cliché?

"If you care so much," the text continued, "take the pen. Finish the new story the way it was meant to be written. Who knows if you can save her."

A file attachment popped up. Chapter_2_Rewrite.p*f

"Save her," I whispered. The words resonated in my bones. It felt like a mission.

"I will," I typed. "I'll change it."

I hit send.

The world around me seemed to blur. The humid blend of damp asphalt and spices from the market faded into a dull roar. I was so consumed by the promise on the screen that I stepped off the curb without looking. My mind was already in Hauntspire High.

HONK!

The sound was a deafening blast. It was sharp and immediate.

I looked up to see a massive green truck was barreling down the slick street.

But I wasn't the target.

A child - no older than six - stood frozen in the middle of the road, paralyzed in the twin glare of the headlights.

"NO!" The scream tore from my lungs.

My body surged forward, propelled by an unthinking surge of adrenaline. I collided with the little girl, shoving her hard with every ounce of strength left in my body. She toppled backward, tumbling onto the safety of the sidewalk.

And then the truck struck me.

The impact detonated a pain that was bright and savage. The world spun into a sickening kaleidoscope of black and red. Metal shrieked. My body was hurled across the pavement, crumpling against the concrete curb.

The pain vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, creeping numbness that started in my limbs and climbed toward my heart.

My gaze, desperate and failing, sought the child.

The little girl sat upright on the sidewalk. She was completely unhurt. She wasn't crying or screaming.

She looked at me. Her dark eyes were fixed on my broken body with an unblinking, unsettling intensity.

"It was worth it," I rasped, blood bubbling past my lips.

The child smiled, but it was not the smile of an innocent girl. It stretched too wide and it was sharp. In the depths of her eyes, a chilling darkness swirled like a bottomless void that was ancient and hungry.

She rose slowly. She stepped toward me, crossing the bloody asphalt. She crouched beside my dying form.

"Hello, Rina Vale," she whispered. Her voice was soft, melodic, and terrifyingly ancient. "Rejoice. You have passed the test."

My failing heart lurched. Terror, pure and absolute, surged through me. This wasn't a child. This was something that had been waiting.

"The story is yours now," she said.

My vision dimmed. The darkness closed in. My heart stuttered once, twice… then ceased its desperate futile beating.