The Witch's Call

**Chapter 4: The Echoes of the Land**

Elara’s world exploded in light. The air around her crackled, thick with an energy that hummed through every fiber of her being. The pain, sharp and all-encompassing, was at first overwhelming—like every atom of her body was being torn apart. She wanted to scream, but the air itself seemed to swallow her voice. The earth beneath her feet was no longer solid; it pulsed, thrummed, and she felt herself being drawn into it, her very essence unraveling and dissipating like smoke in the wind.

The blinding light consumed her, and for a moment, there was nothing—no sound, no sense of time, no sensation of existence. Only the hum of the world, the silent song of the earth itself.

But then, slowly, the light faded. It was as though the land had inhaled her, pulling her deeper into its heart, into its very core. Elara’s body, her consciousness—everything—had become one with the world around her.

She opened her eyes—or, at least, she thought she did. She could see now, but it wasn’t with her human eyes. The world around her stretched and shifted, fluid and alive. The trees that had once towered over her were now a part of her, their roots intertwining with hers, their branches brushing against her thoughts. The land stretched out before her like a vast tapestry, its pulse quick and steady, alive with the magic of the earth.

She was no longer *herself*. She was part of everything. She could feel the pulse of the forest, the rhythm of the wind through the leaves. She could sense the flow of water in distant streams, the gentle movement of creatures in the underbrush. The land had accepted her—absorbed her—and she was now woven into its very fabric.

A voice whispered to her, soft and familiar. The witch. The one who had guided her to this moment. "You are the land now, Elara. You have become part of its spirit. Its magic is yours."

Elara’s heart—if it still beat—swelled with the enormity of the transformation. She could feel it deep within her—the essence of the earth, the ancient power that had long slumbered, waiting for someone to unlock it. She was one with the world now, as she had always been meant to be.

Yet, even as the world embraced her, she felt a lingering emptiness. A space where Elara had once been, where the girl from Thornebrook had lived and dreamed. The sensation of *self* had faded, like the last echo of a dream upon waking. She was no longer that girl. She was no longer just Elara.

The land did not speak with words; it spoke through feelings, through images, through sensations. Elara could feel the ache of the world—the land itself was dying. The curse had not been completely lifted. The price of the sacrifice had not been enough to undo the damage that had been done.

Her essence expanded, reaching out across the land. She felt the sickness of the earth—its deep-rooted poison, the same poison that had corrupted the land long before the witch had disappeared. It was a curse, yes, but not just any curse. It was a wound that ran through the heart of the world, a festering scar that no magic, no matter how strong, could completely erase.

But Elara was now part of the land, and that meant she could do something the witch could not. She could feel it now—the remnants of the curse, buried deep in the soil, tangled in the roots of the trees, woven into the very fabric of the land’s spirit. It was like a cancer, spreading slowly, steadily. And with each pulse of her newfound power, she could feel it—like a shadow, always there, clinging to her, to the land, to everything she had become.

But there was more. Elara felt something else, something distant and separate, calling to her. It was a familiar pull, like a thread that reached across time and space. A presence, faint but unmistakable. Her mind, now entwined with the magic of the earth, recognized it at once.