Kitty

Chapter 2: Kitty

The air inside the tower was thick with the stench of decaying wood and old, damp stone. Shadows clung to every corner, and the faint, unnatural hum of magic resonated through the walls, like the echo of a forbidden chant. Knickon and Gren moved silently, their footsteps muffled by layers of dust that hadn’t been disturbed in years. The two brothers, born to the wilds, knew how to navigate the dark without making a sound.

They followed the scent of burnt herbs, animal blood, and something even more sinister—an unnatural, metallic tang that bit at their noses. It was the scent of dark magic, a corrupt energy that weighed heavy on their senses.

After passing through a narrow corridor lined with crumbling stones and rotting wooden beams, they found themselves peering into the central chamber of the tower. It was an unsettling place—a twisted altar room filled with strange totems, bones, and symbols etched in blood. Flickering candles cast a faint, sickly glow over the grotesque scene. And in the center of it all stood a hunched figure cloaked in dark green robes, his hands raised in a ritualistic gesture. Beside him, three men—his followers, dressed in similarly ragged robes—were chanting in low, guttural tones, their eyes closed as if entranced.

But what captured the brothers’ attention most was the figure lying bound and weak on a raised stone slab. A young woman, her wrists and ankles shackled with iron bands, her face pale and contorted with pain. Her long hair was tangled, and her breath came in shallow gasps. Though battered and bruised, her beauty was undeniable—her features sharp and wild, a primal grace even in her suffering.

Kittalia.

Knickon and Gren exchanged a quick glance, their eyes communicating what words did not. They would save her.

As they watched, the lead druid raised his voice, his words laced with a cruel satisfaction. “Yes… yes… her essence, her wild soul, will be ours,” he intoned. The followers chanted louder, their voices blending into a dark, sinister harmony.

The druid reached out and placed his hand on Kittalia’s forehead. She shuddered violently, her back arching as if in pain. Her eyes flickered open, but they were unfocused, glazed over as if her spirit was being pulled from her body.

“This is the price of your gift, witch,” the druid sneered. “Your life… for our power.”

The brothers had seen enough. Knickon’s grip tightened around his war axe, and Gren’s hand slid to his greatsword. They shared one last look of silent understanding, then surged forward, their fury igniting with each step.

They moved as a single force, crashing into the room with a rage that could not be contained. Knickon swung his war axe in a wide arc, shattering one of the follower’s chants as the blade cleaved through the man’s chest. The other two followers stumbled back in shock, momentarily breaking their concentration, which gave Gren the opening he needed.

Gren lunged, his greatsword flashing in the dim light, and drove it deep into the second follower’s abdomen. The man crumpled with a gurgle, and Gren turned to face the druid, a savage grin on his face.

But the druid was not defenseless. He raised his hands, his eyes burning with malice, and a bolt of dark energy crackled forth, slamming into Knickon and sending him stumbling back. A lesser man would have been felled by the blast, but Knickon snarled, shaking it off, his eyes filled with wrath.

The druid’s lips twisted into a sneer. “You think you can defy me? I am the will of the forest! I command its darkness!”

Another wave of dark energy burst from his hands, directed at Gren this time. But the brothers’ Fury was unstoppable. They roared as one, shaking off the impact of the spell like rain off their skin. No spell, no charm, no curse could tame the raw power of their barbarian spirits.

With a howl, Knickon lunged forward, dodging another spell and bringing his war axe down with brutal force. The final follower fell to his knees, clutching his chest as Gren delivered the killing blow, his greatsword slicing cleanly through.

Now it was just the druid.

The druid hissed, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes as he backed away, raising his hands to cast yet another spell. “No… no! Stay back!”

But Knickon and Gren were relentless, closing in on him, their expressions grim with the certainty of their wrath. They hacked through his defenses with savage efficiency, each swing of their weapons weakening his hold on his dark powers until he was left defenseless, cornered against the stone altar.

With one final swing of his greatsword, Gren cut the druid down, the man’s dying scream echoing through the tower.

As the last of the cultists fell, silence settled over the tower. The brothers turned to Kittalia, who lay still and silent on the stone slab. Her breathing was faint, her face pale and bruised.

They moved to her side, their expressions softening in the aftermath of battle. Knickon reached out and gently brushed the hair from her face, his usually rough hands surprisingly tender.

“Alive,” he murmured, his voice filled with relief.

Gren examined the iron rings around her wrists and ankles, noticing the dull, faint glow of runes etched into the metal. "These… they’re binding her."

Kittalia’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at the brothers with a faint smile. “Thank you… I thought… I thought I was done for.”

“Who are you?” Gren asked softly, crouching beside her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, her voice barely a whisper. “My name is… Kittalia. Some call me… Kitty.”

Knickon nodded. “Kitty.” The name felt right, fitting her wild, untamed beauty.

She looked at the iron rings on her wrists, her eyes filling with loathing. “Please… can you remove these?” She lifted her wrists weakly, the shackles glinting in the flickering candlelight. “They bind me… I can’t use my gifts.”

Knickon and Gren exchanged a glance, curiosity lighting their faces. “What gifts?” Knickon asked.

Kittalia hesitated, then seemed to decide that she owed them the truth. She met their gazes, her eyes a deep, wild blue. “I am Wild-born,” she said softly. “A… lycanthrope from the mountains.”

Gren’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“I was born human,” she explained, her voice steady despite the pain. “But in my sixth summer, I… changed. I turned into a snow leopard. My parents… they didn’t understand. My village… they cast me out.”

Her voice grew softer, tinged with sadness. “I learned to survive in the wild, alone, until an old witch named Anistal found me in my tenth year. She took me in, taught me the ways of the Wild Women. She… she became family.”

She paused, a glint of sorrow in her eyes. “But Anistal… she passed this last winter. I took her books, her knowledge of potions, spells, everything she taught me. But these… these men…” Her voice trailed off, the horror of her capture fresh in her mind.

“They wanted your power,” Knickon growled, anger simmering beneath his words.

Kittalia nodded. “Yes. They wanted to steal my lycanthropy… my gift.” Her gaze softened as she looked at them, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Thank you… both of you. You saved my life.”

The brothers nodded in unison, then, without hesitation, tore the bindings from her wrists. The iron bands snapped under their strength, and the runes flickered and died. Kittalia sighed, her body relaxing as the magic restraints fell away.

Gren grinned, his eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. “So… can you really do it?”

“Do what?” she asked, bemused.

Knickon’s grin matched his brother’s. “Turn into a snow leopard! Do it! Do it!”

Kittalia laughed softly, a sound like the rustling of leaves. “Very well,” she said, her smile turning playful.

The air shimmered around her, and before their eyes, she began to transform. Her form shifted, fur rippling over her skin, her limbs elongating, her face narrowing into the sleek muzzle of a great cat. In moments, she stood before them as a magnificent snow leopard, her coat pale and spotted, her eyes gleaming with intelligence.

The brothers gasped, their expressions filled with awe. Kittalia was breathtaking, a creature of grace and raw beauty, her wild essence untamed and powerful.

They knelt beside her, their hands reaching out tentatively. Kittalia didn’t flinch as they stroked her fur, each of them marveling at the softness of her coat, the strength beneath.

“So soft!” Knickon whispered, running his hand over

The last remnants of the sun dipped below the treetops as Kittalia, newly freed and still weak from her ordeal, joined Knickon and Gren at the entrance to the dark tower. The three of them lingered just outside its sinister walls, as if casting off the shadow of evil that clung to the place. Kitty retrieved her satchel and a small black dagger—a wicked-looking blade with runes carved along its length, exuding a faint, otherworldly energy.

Gren glanced at the dagger, then at Kitty, curiosity gleaming in his blue eyes. “Your weapon?” he asked, voice thick with intrigue.

Kitty nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “Every witch needs a blade,” she replied, slipping the dagger into a concealed sheath along her belt. “It’s been with me since my training with Anistal. It… has certain properties that come in handy.” She patted her satchel, a worn but sturdy bag that looked ordinary on the outside but held far more than its modest size suggested.

Together, they left the tower behind, stepping into the clearing where the forest opened up to a wide view of the surrounding land. The sky above had turned to a deep, star-pinned indigo, and the first breaths of night cooled the air, filling it with the scents of pine and damp earth. The evil they had defeated still hung thick in the atmosphere, lingering like an oily residue, and Knickon and Gren had no intention of leaving it standing.

The brothers gathered dry branches and logs they had found scattered nearby, piling them at the base of the tower. With a deft twist of flint and steel, Knickon ignited the kindling, and soon flames licked hungrily at the rotten wood and moss-covered stone. They watched as the fire grew, consuming the tower with a crackling fervor, sending dark plumes of smoke spiraling into the night.

Satisfied, the three of them settled down on the grassy ground nearby. Knickon and Gren opened jugs of ale they’d scavenged from the druid’s lair, while Kitty found some dried meat and cheese in her satchel. They sat in a loose circle around a smaller fire they had started, its flickering light casting their faces in a warm glow, while the druid’s tower burned ominously in the background.

Knickon took a swig from his jug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he offered it to Kitty. She accepted, her eyes glinting in the firelight as she drank deeply. There was an unspoken energy between them, something primal and untamed that each of them felt in the presence of the other. The warmth of the ale eased the tension left from battle, and for the first time, they all relaxed, laughter weaving into their conversation as they shared tales of the wilds and their travels.

Kitty leaned back, her face turned toward the stars, her wild hair cascading over her shoulders like a shadowed waterfall. “You two… you’re not like the others I’ve met,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper above the crackling fire.

Knickon raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on her with a fierce curiosity. “How so?”

“You understand the wild,” Kitty replied, turning her gaze to meet his. “You carry it with you, like a second skin. The cities, the towns—they’re unnatural to you. You don’t belong there any more than I do.”

Gren chuckled, his laughter low and rumbling. “Towns are full of loudmouths and fools,” he said. “We pass through for coin and ale, not much more.”

Kitty studied them both, a faint smile playing on her lips. She hesitated, then spoke, her words measured but sincere. “Then… perhaps I could travel with you.”

Knickon and Gren exchanged a glance, and then burst into laughter, their voices loud and genuine. Kitty’s cheeks flushed, and she sat up straighter, crossing her arms.

“I’m serious,” she said, a hint of impatience in her tone.

The brothers looked at her, their laughter dying down. It was Knickon who spoke first, a touch of awe in his voice. “You’d travel with us? A witch like you?”

Kitty smiled, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Yes, a witch. Your witch, if you’ll have me.”

Gren’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “We’ve never had a witch before,” he said, grinning widely.

Knickon leaned forward, his expression serious now. “It’s not a light life, the way we travel. There are dangers—few comforts.”

Kitty nodded, her face resolute. “I know. I have no taste for the cities and their crowds. I’ve wandered alone long enough. With you two… I feel there’s something more. A purpose, perhaps.” Her gaze was earnest, vulnerable in a way that betrayed the strength she carried.

Knickon and Gren exchanged another look, and then Knickon extended his hand. “Then it’s decided,” he said. “You’re our witch.”

Kitty shook his hand firmly, her grip surprisingly strong. She grinned at Gren as he gave her a playful nod. “Welcome, Kitty,” he said. “To whatever trouble we’ll find together.”

They sat together by the fire, talking until the embers began to die. The tower blazed in the background, a pyre to the dark deeds it had harbored. They watched it until the fire finally burned low, leaving only a smoldering shell where evil had once stood.

The fire eventually flickered and died, leaving only faint wisps of smoke rising from the remains of the druid’s tower. The night was silent, save for the occasional whisper of the wind through the trees. The three of them slept near the fire, in a circle, each instinctively protecting the others. For the first time in a long time, Kittalia felt a deep sense of peace, of belonging.

The sky began to lighten just before dawn, casting a pale blue hue over the forest. Kitty stirred, her senses alert as she watched the first glimmers of light filtering through the trees. She gathered her belongings, ensuring that everything was safely stowed in her satchel.

When Knickon and Gren awoke, they found her packing up her things with quiet efficiency. They both watched, bleary-eyed, as she carefully adjusted the worn leather strap on her satchel.

Gren’s eyes lingered on the satchel, a bemused expression on his face. “That bag of yours… doesn’t seem quite normal.”

Kitty chuckled, patting the satchel. “It’s a satchel of holding. A gift from Anistal. It can hold more than it appears.”

Gren’s eyes widened in awe, while Knickon looked at her with newfound respect. “That’ll be useful.”

Kitty smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “One of you can carry it if you’d like… but you’ll need to pack my clothes.”

The barbarians looked confused, a slight furrow in their brows as they tried to understand her words. And then, before they could respond, Kitty began untying her tunic. She slipped out of her clothes with a playful wink, unbothered by her own nudity.

Knickon and Gren’s eyes widened in surprise, but they quickly grinned as they watched her transform. Her body shimmered with magic, her form shifting, bones and sinew reshaping in a graceful, seamless transition. In moments, the woman was gone, and in her place stood a majestic snow leopard, her fur glistening in the early morning light.

The brothers burst into laughter, delighted by the transformation. They quickly gathered her clothes, stuffing them into the satchel. Gren slung the bag over his shoulder, giving the snow leopard an affectionate pat.

“Ready, Kitty?” Knickon asked, his voice filled with childlike glee.

Kitty’s feline eyes glinted with amusement, and she stretched, her powerful muscles rippling beneath her thick coat. She gave a low, rumbling purr and nodded, indicating she was ready to go.

The sun began to rise, casting a faint pink glow over the horizon, but the beauty of dawn was short-lived. Dark clouds rolled in, heavy and ominous, and soon a cold rain began to fall, drenching the forest and soaking the ground. But the barbarians paid it no mind; they had lived in harsher conditions. The rain was nothing more than a passing annoyance.

Knickon and Gren took a deep breath, tapping into their uncanny ability to find the Hidden Highways and Byways. They could feel the forest guiding them, as if unseen paths were opening beneath their feet, cutting through the trees, winding through the underbrush.

They set off at a brisk pace, their long strides covering ground quickly, each step quiet and calculated. Kitty padded alongside them, moving with the elegance of a true predator, her paws leaving faint impressions in the soft, rain-soaked earth. She fell into their natural slipstream, as if she had always been a part of their world.

The three of them moved as one, bound by a silent understanding, a shared wildness that set them apart from others. The rain poured down in sheets, but they pressed on, the forest a blur around them. They ran through the trees, swift and relentless, as though they were part of the forest itself, moving in harmony

Kitty