Moira's sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight as she watched the Ravencrest mansion. The flames danced in her white eyes, and for a moment, she looked less like a mentor and more like a demon.
"Tell me about the Great Purge," Lyra said but the words felt heavy on her tongue.
"Ah." Moira's smile faded. "You're ready for that truth now?"
"I need to know what I'm fighting for." Lyra stared at the burning house. "Fedrick screamed about his great-great-grandfather. About finishing what Marcus started."
"Then you shall see."
Moira reached out and pressed her ice-cold palm against Lyra's forehead. The world exploded into visions.
She stood in a vast field under a blood-red sky. Hundreds of wooden stakes rose from the earth like a forest of death. Supernatural beings were chained to each one - witches, shapeshifters, fae, even children who couldn't be more than ten years old.
"The Deadlands," Moira's voice echoed in her mind. "Three hundred years ago, this was called the Crimson Plains. Green fields where farmers grew wheat and corn."
A man on horseback rode between the stakes. Tall and proud, with the same dark hair as Thomas. The same cold eyes. The Ravencrest crest gleamed on his armor.
"Marcus Ravencrest," Lyra whispered.
"The first of his line to taste power." Moira's voice dripped with hate. "He convinced the King that supernatural beings were a threat to the realm."
Marcus raised his hand. Soldiers with torches stepped forward.
"No," Lyra breathed. But she couldn't look away.
The fires lit one by one. Screams filled the air. The smell of burning flesh made her gag even in the vision.
"Two thousand souls died that day," Moira said. "Men, women, children. Healers, teachers, farmers. Their only crime was being born different."
A young woman with silver hair fought against her chains. She looked exactly like Moira, but younger.
"She was your relative," Lyra realized.
"Yes my younger cousin, She was burned alive for delivering babies safely. The humans called her magic 'unnatural.'" Moira's voice cracked. "She was twenty-three. Had a daughter of her own."
The vision shifted into a small cottage in the woods. A woman who looked like Lyra's mother from her first life cowered in a corner, holding a baby.
"Your mother," Moira whispered. "She escaped that day. Lived long enough to have children of her own."
"But not long enough to save them." Lyra said as her chest tightened.
"No. Marcus's son continued the hunt. Then his son's son. Then his great-grandson. Each generation found new ways to torture our people."
The vision changed again this time around a public square in Ravenhold City. A gallows with thirteen nooses. Shapeshifters swinging in the wind while crowds cheered.
"The Crimson Order," Moira said. "Marcus's legacy. They've killed thousands more since the Great Purge."
"And now?"
"Now they're led by Lady Vivienne Ravencrest. Marcus's great-great-granddaughter. She's turned witch hunting into an art form."
The vision shifted to show a woman in expensive robes. Beautiful but cold, with eyes like chips of ice. She held a silver dagger that gleamed with runes.
"She invented new tortures," Moira continued. "Blessed blades that burn supernatural flesh. Binding spells that prevent us from using our powers. Iron chains that drain our life force."
"The children Fedrick mentioned?"
"Three little witches. Sisters. Eight, ten, and twelve years old." Moira's voice turned deadly quiet. "Vivienne had them burned in the town square and made their parents watch."
Lyra saw it. The three small faces, frightened but brave. The oldest held her sisters' hands as the flames rose around them.
"They sang," Moira whispered. "A lullaby their mother taught them. They sang until the smoke took their voices." The vision ended as Lyra staggered backward, tears streaming down her face.
"Every single member of that family has blood on their hands," Moira said. "Every single one has chosen to continue Marcus's work."
"All of them?"
"All of them." Moira's white eyes blazed. "They've had three centuries to choose differently. To show mercy. To stop the killing."
"But some of them must be innocent. Children who"
"They are raised to hate us from birth." Moira said as she grabbed Lyra's shoulders. "Lady Vivienne's nephew is fifteen. Last month, he personally executed a sprit who was stealing apples to feed her starving family."
"Fifteen." Lyra's voice was hollow.
"They poison their children's minds before they can walk. Teach them that we're monsters. That killing us is holy work."
The flames from the mansion cast dancing shadows on Moira's face as she looked ancient and terrible."You think I'm cruel," she said. "You think I'm turning you into a monster like them."
"I think you're hurt. And angry. And you want them to pay."
"I want them to burn like my grandmother and cousin burned. Like those three little girls burned." Moira's voice was barely human. "I want them to scream like our people have screamed for three hundred years."
"And after? When they're all dead?"
"Then we'll be free."
"Will we?" Lyra said as she touched her chest where the rage lived. "Or will we just be empty?"
Moira stared at her for a long moment. Then she reached into her robes and pulled out a different piece of paper. Unfolded it carefully.
"These are the names of supernatural beings killed in the last year alone," she said. "Forty-three souls. Burned, hanged, drowned, torn apart by blessed hounds."
Lyra took the paper with shaking hands. So many names. So many lives cut short.
"The Ravencrest family runs the Crimson Order," Moira continued. "They fund the witch hunters. They write the laws that make our existence illegal."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Moira's eyes searched her face. "And then there's the heir," Moira said quietly. "Peter Ravencrest."
The name made Lyra's stomach turn.
"He's the one to watch," Moira went on. "The future of their bloodline and maybe its deadliest legacy. Rumours have it that he is more ruthless than his aunty Vivienne."
Lyra's blood turned to ice. "He's..."
NEW TARGET DETECTED: PETER RAVENCREST
THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME ESTIMATED KILL
COUNT: UNKNOWN RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE ELIMINATION
"More ruthless than Lady Vivienne?" Lyra's voice was barely a whisper.
"They call him the Young Butcher," Moira said. "He's personally overseen the executions of at least twenty supernatural beings. Including a family of werewolves. Three children and their parents."
"Children."
"He watched them burn. Smiled while they screamed." Moira said as she folded the paper carefully. "He's everything his ancestors were. Everything they raised him to be."
"Where is he now?"
"Ravenhold City. Living in the family estate. Planning his next hunt." Moira's eyes glittered. "Your next target, dear child."
"When do we leave?"
"Now. Tonight. Before he can kill again."