King Paul regarded him quietly for a long moment, then moved to the table, where an old map of the continent was laid out — marked with faint borders, faded ink, and symbols of ancient tribes long gone. He ran his fingers across it, tracing the upper edge of the parchment — the frozen expanse marked simply as The Northlands.
“There is a difference, my son,” he said finally. “Between magic… and witchcraft. Between mystics… and dark witches.”
He straightened his back and turned toward them, his tone taking on the weight of a teacher recalling forbidden knowledge.
“The North does not dabble in the same forces as the witches we’ve faced. Those women and men twist the essence of life — they corrupt nature, forcing power to serve their greed. That is dark magic. It poisons everything it touch
