The Witch's Call

**Chapter 25: The Shifting Earth**

The morning after the hunger had risen was a quiet one. The village, though still shaken by the events of the night before, seemed to breathe a little easier. The dark mist had retreated, the earth no longer trembling beneath their feet. But Dara knew it was not over. The hunger had not been destroyed; it had simply been calmed. The earth’s cycle, its forces of life and death, creation and destruction, would continue. There was no final victory. There was only the delicate balance that had to be maintained.

As the sun rose over the village, casting its light across the fields and rooftops, Dara stood at the edge of the woods, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She had spent the night out in the open, not wanting to return to her mother’s cottage, not yet. The weight of what she had done, of what she had shown the villagers, was still heavy on her heart. It was one thing to stand firm in the face of the hunger, to call on the earth’s power, but it was another thing entirely to know that the village had witnessed it.

The villagers had not seen her as they once had. She was no longer the girl they had known, the one who had tended to the animals and the sick, the one who had played in the fields and laughed under the sun. Now, she was something different, something more—something they could not entirely understand. And yet, they were looking to her for guidance, for answers to questions they had never dared to ask before.

Dara had shown them the hunger, had revealed the earth’s power, but she had also shown them the possibility of balance. She had proven that the land’s hunger was not something to be feared, but something to be understood. Now, it was up to the village to decide what they would do with that knowledge.

She exhaled slowly, her breath a cloud in the crisp morning air. Her mind was restless, a swirl of thoughts and emotions that she couldn’t quite untangle. She had always known that this moment would come—the moment when the villagers would ask her to lead them, to show them the way forward. But even now, after everything that had happened, she didn’t know if she was ready. She didn’t know if she was the right one to lead them.

“Dara.”

The voice broke through her thoughts, soft yet steady. She turned to see her mother approaching, her face tired but calm, her eyes reflecting the quiet strength that had always been her mother’s greatest gift.

“You’ve been out here all night,” her mother said gently. “Come inside. You need rest.”

Dara nodded, though she felt no real desire to sleep. She wasn’t sure she would ever feel truly rested again. Not with the weight of what had happened—and what was still to come—pressing on her shoulders.

“I’m not tired,” Dara replied, her voice distant. “I just… I needed to think.”

Her mother’s eyes softened, and she took a step closer, placing a hand on Dara’s shoulder. “You did what you had to do. You showed them the truth. You’ve done more than anyone could have asked of you.”

Dara shook her head, her gaze turning back toward the village. “It’s not enough. It’s never enough. The hunger… it’s still out there. The balance we’ve found is fragile. I don’t know how to keep it.”

Her mother studied her for a long moment, then sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years. “No one does, Dara. No one can control the earth’s power. Not fully. All we can do is learn to live with it. And you’ve shown the village a way forward. You’ve taught them to respect the land, to understand its hunger. That’s all anyone can do.”

Dara felt a flicker of doubt stir within her, but she didn’t speak it aloud. Her mother had always been wise, always known what to say, but Dara was beginning to realize that wisdom didn’t make the weight of responsibility any lighter.