The Witch's Call

**Chapter 26: The Final Trial**

The seasons shifted quietly around the village as spring unfolded, and yet, despite the blossoming flowers and the vibrant green of the fields, a sense of unease lingered. Dara could feel it in the air, an undercurrent of tension that never quite dissipated. The hunger, though dormant for now, was a force that could never be fully ignored. It waited, always waiting, like a predator circling its prey.

The balance she had worked so hard to establish—the balance between life and death, creation and destruction—had held. The villagers, under her guidance, had begun to learn the rhythms of the earth, to understand the hunger and the way it interacted with their land. But Dara knew better than anyone: it was not a matter of if, but when, the hunger would rise again.

In the months that followed their initial confrontation with the hunger, Dara had poured herself into the work of teaching the village, preparing them for the next trial. She had shared everything she had learned from the land, from her time spent with the witch, and from the experiences that had shaped her understanding of the earth’s forces. The villagers had grown more attuned to the land. They had learned to listen for the signs of the hunger—subtle shifts in the wind, the restless stirring of the earth beneath their feet, the flickering change in the light at dusk.

But even with all their preparations, Dara could not shake the sense of impending danger that weighed on her chest. The hunger was not a force that could be reasoned with or tamed forever. It was a part of the earth’s natural cycle, a cycle that was as old as time itself, and it would come again.

The signs were already there.

It started with small tremors. A crack in the earth here, a sudden shift in the winds there. The air felt heavy, thick with a restless energy. At first, it was easy to ignore. The villagers went about their work, planting their crops, tending their animals, carrying on with their lives as if nothing had changed. But Dara knew better. She had learned to read the subtle language of the earth, and the signs were unmistakable. The hunger was rising.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Dara stood alone at the edge of the village, gazing out across the fields. The wind carried a chill now, a bitter bite that made her skin prickle. The trees on the far side of the village seemed to sway in unnatural patterns, as though caught in some unseen current. The birds had fallen silent.

A sharp tremor shook the ground beneath her feet, a deep, rumbling growl that made her stomach tighten with dread. This was it. The hunger was waking.

She closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses, feeling the land’s pulse beneath her, feeling the hunger stirring, deep in the earth. It was not yet fully awake, but she could feel its presence, like a dark cloud gathering on the horizon, ready to burst.

Dara’s heart pounded in her chest as she turned toward the village. She needed to warn them. They had been prepared, yes, but no one had ever been fully ready for what the hunger could bring.

The wind howled as she ran, her footsteps heavy against the earth. The village square was eerily quiet when she arrived, the familiar sounds of daily life replaced by a strange stillness. The villagers were gathering, their faces pale, their eyes wide with fear.

Elder Mari was the first to step forward, her expression grim. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she asked, her voice steady but filled with the weight of years of experience.

Dara nodded, her throat tight. “It’s rising. The hunger. It won’t be long before it comes again.”

A murmur rippled through the villagers, a mix of fear and uncertainty. They had seen the hunger once before, but that had been under Dara’s control, under her guidance. What would happen this time?

“We must prepare,” Dara said, her voice sharp, commanding. “Everyone needs to gather in the square. I will call on the earth, but we must be ready to fight if it comes to that.”

The villagers moved quickly, their steps rushed but purposeful. The elders took their places at the edges of the square, while the younger villagers moved into the center, forming a circle around Dara.

Dara stood in the center, her feet planted firmly on the earth, her arms outstretched as she called upon the land, calling on the deep power that had once helped her control the hunger. Her breath slowed as she reached out to the pulse of the earth, feeling the tremors, feeling the hunger stirring beneath the surface.

But as her connection deepened, something felt wrong. The earth was restless, yes, but it was not responding to her as it once had. There was something different about the way the hunger was rising—something darker, more aggressive.

She pushed deeper, reaching for the ancient power that she had learned to tap into, but there was nothing. The hunger, instead of answering her call, seemed to recoil from her presence, as if it were repelled by her touch.

Her heart skipped a beat as panic bubbled in her chest. The hunger was not listening. It was beyond her control.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet cracked open, the earth splitting in violent, jagged lines. The air turned thick and heavy, a suffocating, oppressive pressure that made it hard to breathe. The villagers staggered back, some crying out in fear, others frozen in terror. The hunger had returned—and it was more powerful than ever.

A dark, swirling mist began to rise from the cracks in the earth, spreading out across the village square. The air grew heavy with its stench, thick and cloying, like rot and decay. The hunger was here, and this time, it was different. It was not just a force of nature—it was an entity, a living thing, driven by a mindless, insatiable desire.

Dara’s breath caught in her throat as the mist spread, the villagers scattering in all directions, seeking shelter from the growing storm. But there was no escaping it. The hunger would not let them hide.

“Dara!” Elder Mari shouted, her voice lost in the chaos. “What do we do? We’re not ready!”

Dara didn’t answer. She was too focused on the earth beneath her feet, on the darkness rising from the cracks. The hunger was not just a force of the land—it was something far more ancient, something deeper, and it was stronger than anything she had faced before.

Her eyes narrowed as she reached out, trying once more to connect with the earth. This time, she did not try to control it. She did not try to fight it. Instead, she reached for the only thing that might save them—the balance.

But the balance was shifting. The hunger was pulling at it, twisting it, unraveling everything Dara had worked so hard to build.

Her heart pounded as she realized the truth: the hunger was not something that could be controlled, not even by her. It was something that had to be faced head-on, something that had to be fought.

Dara’s mind raced. There was no time for hesitation. She had to act now. But how? How could she possibly stand against a force so vast, so relentless?

Then, the answer came to her—not in words, but in a feeling, deep in her chest. The hunger was part of the land, yes, but so was she. She was the bridge between the two worlds—the human and the earth. And it was time for her to fulfill her true purpose.

With a shout, Dara plunged her hands into the earth, her fingers sinking deep into the soil. She felt the land tremble beneath her, the hunger pulling at her, testing her resolve. But she did not pull away. She held firm, calling upon the ancient power she had learned to respect.

The earth answered.

The hunger howled in response, its tendrils twisting and lashing at her, but Dara held her ground. The balance was not something to be controlled—it was something to be embraced. And for the first time, she understood that the hunger was not her enemy. It was her challenge.

As the mist swirled around her, Dara closed her eyes and gave herself to the earth. The land, the hunger, and her—together, they would find their way forward.

The final trial was here.

And Dara was ready.