The Witch's Apprentice

When Theo arrived at the cottage deep in the Wraithwood, he had been a wide-eyed boy with calloused hands and a heart full of wonder. The stories of witches and their wisdom had reached his ears like distant, tantalizing songs, promising a life far removed from the backbreaking labor of his parents’ farm. When he first saw the witch, Master Greya, she had been stirring a cauldron, her long fingers casting herbs into the bubbling brew as though she were orchestrating a symphony. Her sharp, angular face and piercing green eyes were otherworldly, and her voice, when she greeted him, was both kind and commanding.

Under her tutelage, Theo learned to call the winds, to charm unruly animals, and to brew potions that could heal or harm. He collected spell ingredients from the forest and memorized incantations until they became second nature. Greya was a strict but patient teacher, and over the years, Theo grew confident in his craft. He felt proud to serve her and the villagers who sought her aid. They brought offerings of fresh bread and fine linens, always careful not to cross the threshold uninvited.

But the first thread of doubt unraveled on a cold, gray morning when a villager arrived in tears. The woman, a widow named Maren, clutched a lock of golden hair and begged for Greya’s help. Her young daughter had vanished near the edges of the Wraithwood, and no search party had found a trace of her.

“Please,” Maren sobbed. “You must find her. They say witches can call the lost home.”

Greya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The woods have their own will, Maren,” she said, her voice cool. “Even my power has its limits.”

Maren’s cries lingered long after she left, and Theo found himself unable to shake the unease creeping into his chest. Greya’s refusal felt… wrong. She was the most powerful person he knew, and yet she had turned the grieving woman away without so much as trying. That night, as Greya slept, Theo took one of her divination crystals and crept into the woods. He whispered the spell for locating the lost, his voice trembling in the still air.

The crystal glowed faintly, then sputtered and went dark. He tried again, but the spell refused to take hold. Frustrated, he returned to the cottage, slipping the crystal back into its place before dawn.

It was weeks later, while searching for rare nightshade blooms, that Theo stumbled upon something that made his blood run cold: a circle of charred earth deep in the Wraithwood, littered with blackened bones and ash. At its center stood a stone altar, etched with runes he didn’t recognize. The air was heavy, charged with a sinister energy that made his skin crawl. He fled back to the cottage, his mind racing.

That night, Greya watched him carefully over their modest supper. Her green eyes seemed sharper than usual, and her silence was heavier than the cauldron hanging in the hearth. When he finally worked up the courage to speak, his voice came out uneven.

“Master Greya… have you ever—have you ever worked dark magic?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she set her spoon down with deliberate calm. “What a curious question, my apprentice,” she said, her tone as smooth as silk. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Theo stammered something about the stories he’d heard in the village, but her gaze pinned him in place, a predator toying with its prey. “Be careful with your curiosity, Theo,” she said, rising. “It has a way of leading young minds astray.”

From that moment, Theo began watching her more closely. The way she lingered near the woods at twilight, murmuring words that seemed to make the very trees shiver. The strange, metallic smell that sometimes wafted from her workroom. The locked cabinet she refused to let him touch, always guarded by a warding spell that burned his hand the one time he tried.

One evening, while Greya was away gathering moonlit dew, Theo broke the ward with a counter-spell he’d learned in secret. Inside the cabinet, he found a journal bound in cracked leather, its pages filled with entries written in Greya’s sharp, spidery hand. The journal told a story that turned his stomach.

Greya was not the benevolent witch she pretended to be. The villagers’ offerings weren’t gestures of gratitude—they were tributes, demanded to keep her dark hunger sated. The circle of charred earth Theo had found was a sacrificial site, where Greya drew power from the lives she took. The missing child, the strange smells, the uneasy silence in the woods—it all fit together like pieces of a terrible puzzle.

His hands trembled as he closed the journal. He knew he couldn’t confront her outright; her power far outstripped his own. But he also couldn’t continue to serve her, knowing what he now knew. The realm deserved better. The villagers deserved better.

The next day, Theo made a decision. While Greya was in the market, he gathered what few supplies he could carry and slipped away into the Wraithwood. He sought the help of an ancient being he had only read about—a forest guardian, said to dwell in the deepest part of the woods. It took days of searching, but eventually, he found the guardian: a great stag with antlers wreathed in glowing moss, its eyes as old as the earth itself.

“I need your help,” Theo said, his voice steady despite the fear coiling in his stomach. “Greya is poisoning this land. She must be stopped.”

The stag studied him for a long moment before lowering its head. “The cost will be great,” it said, its voice like the rustling of leaves. “Do you understand what you ask?”

“I do,” Theo said, though he wasn’t sure he truly did.

The stag granted him its blessing, a magic older and wilder than anything Greya had taught him. When Theo returned to the cottage, he found her waiting, her green eyes blazing with fury.

“You ungrateful wretch,” she hissed. “You dare betray me?”

“I dare to stop you,” he said, standing tall.

Their battle shook the Wraithwood, magic clashing like thunder. In the end, Theo’s newfound power proved stronger, but it came at a price. The blessing burned through him, leaving scars both visible and hidden. Greya was banished, her name reduced to a warning whispered in shadows.

Theo stayed in the Wraithwood, using what he had learned to undo the harm Greya had caused. The villagers came to him for help, bringing offerings not of fear, but of gratitude. And though the scars on his hands reminded him of what he had lost, they also reminded him of what he had gained: a realm made safer, and a magic he could wield with pride.