Chapter 4

Morgause had always been wild.

But lately, she’d grown restless.

The village was too small. The nights too quiet. The same crooked paths and stiff traditions, day after day, were suffocating her like a noose around her neck.

And every time she stood on the hilltop near the old shrine and stared at the dusty road that led out of Greythorn, her heart burned.

The city called to her.

She’d never seen it, only heard stories, towers that scraped the sky, lights that swallowed darkness, people who didn’t look at you like you were cursed. Her dreams pulsed with it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it… and her reflection standing in places she'd never been.

One morning, she finally said it out loud.

“I want to go to the city,” she told Granny Ivy, arms crossed, boots planted firm in the kitchen.

The wooden spoon in her grandmother’s hand stilled mid-stir.

“You what?”

“I’m leaving. I can’t stay here anymore. I’m not meant to rot in this ghost village.” Her voice shook but not from fear.

Granny Ivy slowly turned. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes those deep, ageless eyes burned with something primal. Something terrified.

“No, Morgause,” she said, low and sharp. “You’re not going anywhere near the city.”

“But why?! What’s there you’re so afraid of?” Morgause snapped. “Every time I ask about where I came from, about my parents, you shut down. What are you hiding from me?!”

“You want the truth?” Her voice dropped, brittle like old bone. “Fine. You were born into darkness. I pulled you out of it. I hid you from it. The moment you step into that city, it will find you.”

Morgause laughed bitterly. “So I’m just supposed to stay here forever? Because of some cryptic witchy prophecy you refuse to explain?”

“I’m protecting you!”

“No,” Morgause hissed, grabbing her coat. “You’re controlling me. You’re scared. But I’m not.”

And she left, slamming the door so hard that the bones hanging from the ceiling clattered like teeth.

Granny Ivy fell to her knees and wept softly "heaven knows am just tryna protect you"

She was gone all day.

Wandered to the edge of the forest. Sat under the shrine. Tried to scream the ache out of her chest. The truth scared her more than she'd admit, but the anger was louder.

When dusk fell, she returned home.

And her world ended.

Smoke.

That was the first thing she saw black tendrils rising from the cottage roof.

Then: shouting. Crackling. Fire.

"unhand her, give us the cursed child of prophecy!"

"you would die for something that u know not of or concerns you not!"

Morgause broke into a sprint. “Granny?!”

She burst into the yard to find three men cloaked in black, surrounding the house. One of them held a bloody machete. Another dragged a bag of something heavy and limp, it took her a second to realize it was her grandmother.

“No—no—NO!”

She screamed and charged.

One of the men turned, startled, and reached for her. But Morgause was already swinging. Her fists flew like fury. She broke his nose with one punch, kicked another in the throat, but the third one—

The third one drove a blade straight through Granny Ivy's chest.

Time collapsed.

Morgause screamed so hard her voice tore.

Her grandmother fell to her knees, blood soaking the dirt. With her final breath, she reached out and clutched Morgause’s hand.

“They know now,” she rasped, her eyes soft and wide. “You must go. The city… Your sister…”

“Sister?!” Morgause sobbed. “Granny, no—no—don’t—”

“They’ll kill you too. Run.”

"you've always wanted to go to the city Morg, now is perfect, go my love, ill always be with you" Granny Ivy smilled at her as she breath her last

And then she was gone

"No no no granny, not this way, no, i want to go together with you , GRANNY!!!!!!!!!!!"

Morgause stood frozen, her hands shaking. The fire behind her roared. The wind screamed through the trees. The men turned toward her.

She ran.

Into the forest. Into the night. Into destiny.

Tears blurred her vision. Blood covered her hands. Her breath came in shudders. But deep inside her, something cracked open. Something old. Something angry.

She didn’t look back.

Because the fire had taken everything.

Now it was her turn to burn the world.

Morgause didn’t remember the journey.

She remembered the blood.

She remembered her grandmother’s last breath.

She remembered running.

Through the woods. Through the cold. Through pain that bit harder than any blade. Her heart shattered, her lungs on fire. The village behind her burned and she never looked back.

Days passed.

Or maybe it was weeks.

She hitched rides in the backs of trucks, slept in bus stations, begged for water in towns that spat at her feet. She fought off men twice her size, stole food when she had to, traded scraps of gold beads for fake IDs.

Grief was her only companion.

And rage kept her warm.

Then, one morning, she saw it.

The city.

Not in her dreams. Not in whispers. In flesh and smoke and steel.

Skyscrapers rose like gods, choking the sky. Horns blared. Engines coughed. The air stank of sweat, metal, and rot. But it was alive. Fast. Loud. Unforgiving.

And for the first time in her life… Morgause felt something close to hope.

But it wasn’t home.

Not yet.

She stepped off the last bus with nothing but a torn backpack, scraped knuckles, and a heart stitched together by fury. Her clothes were dirty. Her boots half-split. Her dirty blonde hair matted in places, blowing across her face as city winds howled between buildings.

People stared.

Some in pity. Others in suspicion.

No one helped.

She didn’t need them to.

Her first night in the city was brutal.

She slept in an abandoned metro tunnel, curled against a pipe, rats scratching behind her. She clutched her backpack like it was her soul. Her grandmother’s scarf was still inside it, torn and stained, but it smelled like home.

And when she closed her eyes, she dreamed of fire.

But not the village.

Another fire. A girl screaming. A mirror cracking. A name—Morgana—whispered over and over like a curse.

The next day, she rose and started walking.

No map. No direction.

But her feet seemed to know.

As if something inside her was pulling her forward. A gravity she couldn’t fight. The city wasn’t just chaos, it was familiar.

Somewhere here, something was waiting for her.

Or someone.

By the end of the week, she had found a squat near the south side, a half-collapsed apartment with squatters, spray paint, and broken windows. She offered to protect the other girls living there in exchange for space. The deal was sealed in blood after she laid out a man who touched one of them.

Now they called her Morg the Ghost.

But even as she earned respect, as she rebuilt herself brick by broken brick, something was missing.

That name still echoed in her head.

Morgana.

A sister she didn’t remember.

A city she wasn’t supposed to reach.

A fire that hadn’t yet begun to burn.

Elsewhere…

Morgana jolted awake in her luxury bed, soaked in sweat.

Her mirror had cracked in the night.

And she didn’t know why…

…but she suddenly felt less alone.