Theo

The witchboy sat cross-legged inside the circle, idly thumbing through the grimoire. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just killing time until she returned to awaken the legions of the Underworld and plunge the universe into a hellscape of blood and magic. At least, he thought that’s what she’d said. Truth was, he hadn’t been listening. 

Harry Crowley had winked at him from across the room—and after that, nothing else existed.

The ritual circle hummed with latent haemo-kinetic energies, carved deep into the bare stone floor and inlaid with detailed silver runes that caught the torchlight. Theo was meant to be the anchor, the conduit through which her magnum opus would flow. His raw power would fuel her apocalyptic vision. But she'd been gone for hours now, gathering the final components, and he found himself distracted by more pleasant thoughts.

He turned the pages slowly, raising an eyebrow at the macabre, intricate depictions of each enchantment.

A spell to strip flesh from bone. How vulgar. It peeled away organs where the victim stood, leaving only a skeleton amid charred meat and entrails. No. He wouldn’t use that one. Not unless he had to.

A spell to bend will and break minds? Please. He’d been doing that since childhood—ever since he’d first discovered "his gift". It hadn’t been intentional, not at first. The power had erupted in panic as they beat him in the woods -

He flinched as his mind raced back to that fateful day. 

He'd squeezed his eyes shut, cowering in terror, arms thrown over his head to shield against the blows. Begging. Pleading. Screaming for mercy. The older boys had cornered him after discovering his secret—that he loved Thomas Hartwell, the blacksmith's son. In their small village, such feelings were an abomination worthy of violence. Some people had been killed for less. 

Then, as the final kick landed—everything went black.

The next thing he remembered: he was lying in a clearing strewn with red-gold leaves. His tormentors lay scattered around him, frozen in the violence of their final moments. They'd killed each other. Savagely. Without restraint. 

Theo blinked. 

"Breathe. Just breathe. You're fine. You're safe. Just breathe." 

His hand trembled slightly as he turned another page.

=============================================

Hidden in shadow, she had watched it all—that terrible, harrowing scene. She waited, calculating. Perfect ingredients for her potions and spells. All it would take was one slice of a blade to harvest what she needed.

But then—impossible. Such power. Smoke tendrils had whipped around the child, burrowing into their flesh, twisting bodies into grotesque, unnatural shapes before seizing their minds. Mind magic of this magnitude required extraordinary emotional intensity and iron will to maintain consciousness during the casting. Few adult witches could manage it.

She stared at the pale, unconscious teen lying serenely - hauntingly - among the leaves while carnage painted the ground around him. That was power. Raw, unrefined, untrained power—the kind that could reshape the world. What she wouldn't give to claim it for herself. She could take it. He was in no position to fight.

She crept closer, blade drawn—and struck.

A scream tore from her throat as a deep gash split open along her right side—exactly where she’d cut the boy. Yet his body remained untouched.

She cursed and spat and howled, trying desperately to heal herself. Nothing would close the incision. The unconscious teen didn't stir. She tried again—a sharp slap across his face. She hissed as the blow landed on her own cheek instead.

He was impervious to harm—or perhaps, in desperation and grief, he'd conjured a ward so strong it rejected the world itself. Protection wards were meant to shield against magical attacks, not create perfect mirrors of harm. This was something else entirely.

This wouldn't do. Not at all. She was the One True Witch. Queen of Magic. Herald of the End Times. Yet here she stood, unable to claim a single boy's power. Humiliating. And he was too dangerous to leave alive—anyone with that much strength would inevitably become her rival.

She would need a different approach. If she couldn't kill him or steal his power, perhaps there was another way to bring him to heel.

=========================================

"Hmm." Theo's fingers found a familiar page.

A spell to bind a familiar. 

A spell to find one’s true love.

Harry Crowley whistled softly, lounging against the stone wall. Theo glanced up from the tome and smiled. Dressed in leather and silk, Crowley was every inch the incubus—twinkling eyes, a moonlit shimmer across his face.

"Is she coming back soon?" Harry asked lazily.

"Don't know. Maybe. Don't you?"

"I don't actually care. It won't work—this age of blood and magic nonsense. Some little hero will swoop in, save the day, and she'll wind up banished. Or dead. Or both. Along with all her followers. It's played out. Boring."

"Then why follow her if you think it's folly?"

"Because I like the company she keeps… little witch."

"Yeah?" Theo ducked his head, hiding a smile.

"Yeah. You fascinate me. A witch as powerful as you, content to play second fiddle to a tired cliché like her. Yet you don't crave power or status. No, you want something purer. Something you'll never truly have." Harry's smirk was knowing.

"What makes you think I don't already have it? I'm happy. Content. And that can't be taken—"

"But it can. And will. You know it, don't you? Deep down. You can pretend for her sake, but you're not the besotted familiar she treats you as. If she succeeds, you can kiss goodbye to your precious coven. Your precious family."

"That's hypothetical, not fact. And I'm not a familiar—I'm relied upon. She asks for my counsel, my wisdom, my guidance. That has to count for something." Theo paused, then rose and crossed the room. "But suppose you're right. What then? Abandon her? Betray her? I think not. Never."

"Won't you?" Harry purred, moving closer. "Then you'll share her fate, which will be gruesome. And that would make me very sad. What I'm offering, if you'll let me, is a chance to step out of her shadow. To run away... with me."

Theo's heart raced. How did Harry know his exact preferences? The scent was intoxicating, deliberately so. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and surrendered to the demon's kiss. He gasped lightly, feeling Harry's fangs pierce his lip, drawing blood. The pain was sharp and sweet.

"Don't you want this every day? Someone who loves and adores you. You can have it if you run away with me."

"I... I can't." The scent began to sour as Theo pulled back, so suddenly that it startled the demon. "Why not stay with me and the coven instead? Why must it always be on your terms? 'Run away with me.' I must always do something. Never you. It's all about serving you. I'm not some pawn you can string along."

“Really?” Harry scoffed, his amber eyes going cold. He grabbed for Theo, but his hand burst into lilac flame on contact. He recoiled, staring at the shimmering red ward that enveloped the witch. "Protection ward? Always the protection ward with you... Let me tell you something, witch boy—you’re the very definition of a pawn. Pathetic. And you don’t even see it. You're being used in someone else's game. Tell me, Theo: when has she ever loved you? When has she ever cared about you... Like I do?"

"She took me in. Protected me. Trained me."

"To be a tool. Bless me, you naïve fool. I can see into hearts. Do you really think she loves you? That this covenant love you? They tolerate you. You're their pet, not their family."

"Liar!... Liar..."

"I am many things to many people, but I am not a liar." Harry grabbed the forgotten grimoire and flipped to a page near the back. "You want proof? Fine. You already possess it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your ward. Haven't you wondered why it's almost always active? Especially around her?"

Theo's breath caught. He had wondered. The ward responded to genuine threats, but it never fully relaxed in the coven's presence. He'd attributed it to his trauma, to hypervigilance from his childhood abuse. The feeling of being constantly on edge, anxious about when and where the next attack would come from. 

"I... I can't control it. Hell knows I've tried."

"Yet you lowered it for me. When we kissed."

"That was clearly a mistake."

"You trusted me completely. The ward recognised that. Protection wards are curious things—they remember who has hurt them and how. Especially when paired with this little spell." Harry's finger traced an incantation on the page. "A spell to reveal hidden memories. To show what the mind has forgotten or chosen not to see."

"No." Theo stepped back. "I remember everything about that day. Every detail."

 

"Do you? Then you won't mind if I show you what your ward remembers?"

Before Theo could protest, Harry's eyes flashed gold. The air shimmered, and suddenly she stood before them—exactly as she'd appeared the day she found him. But something was wrong with her face. She looked hungry, cold, calculating. The knife in her hand was cruel, barbed, meant for harvesting more than healing herbs.

 

"This ... isn't real." 

The illusory witch advanced on him and struck. Instinctively, he threw up his hands to shield his face, but the blade never touched him. Instead, she collapsed, clutching her bleeding side—the scar she'd never explained.

"This... this can't be." Theo peeked through his fingers, shaking. "This didn't happen. I would remember—"

"Your ward remembers," Harry said quietly. "Did you never wonder how she got that scar? Why she refused to speak of it?"

"I don't remember this! It's not real! I remember that day perfectly! The worst day of my life. They beat me, kicked me, because... because I loved him." Tears wet Theo's eyes. "Don't you dare tell me I don't remember!"

"You don't remember because you were unconscious," Harry said with an exasperated hiss. "You fell unconscious after your power manifested. Mind magic requires intense emotional focus—you managed the emotion but not the endurance. Not bad for someone so young and untrained."

 

The illusion flickered but held. Theo watched, horrified, as the enchantress tried again and again to harm his unconscious form, each attempt rebounding on her own body.

"She saw your potential and tried to claim it," Harry continued. "When she couldn't steal your power—or kill you—she brought you into her coven, hoping to try again once you were... compliant. She trained you grudgingly, but the ward remembered her touch, the wound it gave her. It stayed active because you were never safe here. Until me."

"How... how did you know about that day? About what happened to me?"

"Lucky guess, but thank you for confirming it. I know enough about magical trauma to recognise the signs. Your ward isn't just protective—it's punitive. It remembers every attempt to harm you."

"But she saved me. She gave me a home, a family—

"She gave you a cage with prettier bars." Harry's voice was almost gentle now. "I never meant to hurt you by showing you this."

"But you did hurt me." Theo's voice cracked.

"Yes. I did. And I'm sorry for that. But you deserved to know the truth."

Theo sank to his knees, the illusion finally dissolving around them. Everything he'd believed about his rescue, his family, his place in the world—all of it was built on a lie. The ward twinkled and gleamed around him, stronger now, as if responding to his emotional turmoil.

Although sadness coloured his voice as he reached out to stroke Theo's hair, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The witch shuddered.

"Leave," he whispered. "Now."

"But I—"

"You won't want to be here for this." Theo's voice was ice. "If you love me as you claim, do as I ask."

"Theo..."

"Harry. Leave."

"Will I see you again?"

... ... ... 

"I see," Harry said finally. "Theo... whatever you do next, remember that you deserve better than this. You deserve love that doesn't come with conditions. Come find me when you are ready for something real ... my friend."

"Leave... Please. Just leave."

Harry melted back into the shadows and was gone, leaving Theo alone with the weight of revelation.

 

The truth sat with Theo for what felt like an eternity. He wanted to deny it, to find some other explanation, but the evidence was undeniable. The ward had never lied to him—it couldn't lie. It was pure instinct, pure protection, and it had been trying to warn him for years.

When the coven returned an hour later, Theo was still sitting in the circle, staring at nothing.

"Oh, Theo darling. There you are." Her voice, once soothing, now dripped with poison—false sweetness in every word. "I've got everything we need for the ritual. Are you ready to—Theo, what are you doing?!"

She'd noticed the grimoire in his lap, open to the memory spell. Her eyes darted to the disturbed air where Harry's illusion had been, reading the magical residue with practised ease.

"What did you see?" she demanded.

"I saw you," Theo said quietly. "I saw what you tried to do to me."

"That incubus has been filling your head with lies—"

"My ward doesn't lie." Theo stood slowly, power beginning to leak from him in visible wisps of smoke. "It's been trying to protect me from you all these years. I thought it was broken...  but it was working perfectly."

The other coven members began to emerge from the shadows—six figures in black robes who had been his family for so many years. They moved to surround him, hands already glowing with defensive spells.

"Theo, you're being ridiculous," Marcus, the eldest of the coven, said sternly. "She saved you. We all saved you."

"To use me," Theo replied. "Always to use me."

"And what's wrong with that?" The witch's mask was finally slipping. "You think your power belongs to you alone? You think you earned it? You were nothing but a broken child when I found you. I made you what you are."

"You tried to kill me first."

"I tried to harvest your power for the greater good. If you'd died, your strength would have served a higher purpose. Don't you see that? When that didn't work, I saw you as the Chosen One. The Prince of a New World. My successor and heir." She laughed bitterly. "Though I see now that was a mistake."

The circle of coven members tightened. Theo felt their spells pressing against his ward, testing its strength. These people he'd called sister, brother, family—they were preparing to subdue him. Or worse.

"You won't leave here," she continued. "You know too much, and you're too dangerous to let go. But don't worry—it will be quick. Quicker than you deserve after this betrayal."

Theo's hands trembled violently. The power building within him was enormous, far beyond anything he'd ever accessed. Years of training, careful study, and restraining his true potential to avoid hurting his coven—all of it craving release.

"I never betrayed you," he said, tears streaming down his face. "I loved you. All of you. I would have died for you."

"And now you will," Marcus said sadly. "I'm sorry, Theo. Truly."

The first spell struck his ward and rebounded with triple force. Marcus screamed as his own magic tore through him. The others attacked en masse, a coordinated assault that should have overwhelmed any single witch.

But Theo was no ordinary witch. He scrunched his face, feeling the familiar sensation of his power spiralling beyond his control. Only this time, he didn't try to resist.

He screamed—deafening and raw, rolling down the halls like thunder. The walls shuddered and cracked, tearing free from their foundations. Dust showered down as the building groaned and collapsed. Magical energies lashed and writhed through the air like serpents, striking everyone and everything they could reach.

They shouted hexes, hurled spells, screamed his name—but nothing stopped the inevitable. The mind-magic that had killed his childhood tormentors was nothing compared to this. His power didn't just break their wills—it unravelled them completely, turning their thoughts against them with surgical precision.

He watched in horror as they turned on each other, their faces twisted with manufactured rage. The witch who had claimed to save him drew her blade and drove it into Marcus's chest. Marcus retaliated with a curse that stripped the flesh from her bones. The others followed suit, their magical bonds of loyalty shredded by Theo's overwhelming influence.

It was over in minutes. The chamber fell silent except for the settling dust and Theo's ragged breathing.

He dropped to his knees in the eye of the storm, sobbing. His protective ward glowed like a beacon around him, a sphere of perfect safety in a room full of death. Everything in his life had been tainted. Rotten. A lie. Everyone he'd ever loved was now nothing but ash.

But beneath the grief, something else stirred—a terrible, liberating relief. For the first time in years, his ward was completely quiet. The constant background thrum of danger had finally stopped.

He was free.

=============================

Three months later

The road stretched and wound ahead of him, snaking through forests and hills and meadows. What once would have been picturesque and beautiful now seemed fraught with untold danger. Theo had forgotten what it was like to live in peace. He'd been walking for weeks now, living rough, avoiding populated areas. The Council would be looking for him—the Blood Witch, they called him now. The one who'd destroyed his entire coven in a single night. The one who had murdered the self-proclaimed One True Witch.  

He'd tried to lose himself in the wilderness, to disappear entirely, but loneliness was its own kind of death. And something Harry had said kept echoing in his mind: "You deserve love that doesn't come with conditions."

The first time he'd encountered other magical beings after the massacre, Theo had been prepared for fear, for violence, for the hatred that surely followed his reputation. Instead, he'd found curiosity.

He'd been camped by a stream when the Moon Elf emerged from the treeline—tall, graceful, with silver hair that caught moonlight like dewdrops in cobwebs. Theo had tensed, ready to run or fight, but the stranger had simply sat down across from him and begun preparing their meal.

"You're him," the elf said eventually. "The Blood Witch."

Theo had nodded, waiting for the attack that never came.

"I'm Sam," the elf had continued, offering him their wineskin. "Sam Oswin. I knew your former coven leader by reputation. Nasty piece of work. Good riddance."

It had been the first kind words Theo had heard in months.

The second encounter had been even more surprising. The demon—Rodrigo Willowood, as he'd introduced himself—had appeared at Theo's campfire one evening with a pair of conies and a tale of his exile from the courts of Dis.

"I heard what you did," Rodrigo had said, his forked tongue flicking nervously. "The other demons are calling you dangerous. The angels are calling you damned. The witches are calling you a murderer." He'd paused to take a long drink. "I'm calling you brave."

Slowly, over shared meals and long conversations, the three of them had formed an unlikely bond. Sam had been cast out from their clan for refusing an arranged marriage, seeking freedom to love whom they chose. Rodrigo had been exiled for showing mercy to mortals, a weakness deemed incompatible with demonic nature.

They were all outcasts, all seeking something better than what they'd left behind.

"We could be a coven," Theo had suggested one evening as they watched stars emerge in the darkening sky. "Not like the old ones, with their hierarchies and power games. Something new. Something equal."

"A coven of three?" Sam had asked. "Is that even possible?"

"Why not?" Rodrigo had grinned, his fangs gleaming. "We're already family in all the ways that matter."

Family. The word had made Theo's chest tight with longing and fear in equal measure. But his ward remained quiet around them, and that silence spoke louder than any declaration of love.

Now, as they approached the borders of civilisation once more, Theo felt a mixture of anticipation and dread. They'd decided to seek official recognition for their coven—a risky move that would put them directly in the crosshairs of magical authority.

"Are you certain about this?" Sam asked, adjusting their travel pack. "We could keep wandering. Stay free."

"Freedom without recognition is just another kind of hiding," Theo replied. "I'm tired of hiding."

Rodrigo chuckled. "Besides, what's the worst they could do? Kill us? I'm technically already dead, Sam's immortal, and Theo's..." He gestured vaguely at the protective ward that shimmered around their friend. "Well, Theo's Theo. We'll be fine."

Theo hoped he was right.

=========================================

Epilogue: The Blood Witch

"Is it true? Are they coming? Here?"

"Indeed. According to their scroll, they will arrive within the week."

"How marvellous. How truly marvellous. We must prepare."

"There isn't much to prepare. They only wish for bed and board for a few nights before they continue their journey."

"I know, I know, but... this is a big deal. It's not every day we receive such a visit from ones so esteemed."

"Just don't make it too fancy. We don't want to appear presumptuous. Besides, they hate all that pomp."

"I suppose you're right."

 

The message echoed throughout the entire castle, urging everyone to prepare for the arrival of the visitors and welcome them with open arms. From turret to dungeon, the walls buzzed with rumours and stories about their anticipated guests. There was much intrigue surrounding them, particularly the one cryptically referred to as "the Blood Witch." One so powerful that they destroyed their whole coven in a single night. However, by all accounts, they despised that name and did everything they could to put others at ease.

 

The church bells had just chimed six o'clock when three cloaked, bare-footed figures finally crossed the drawbridge and knocked on the heavy doors.

"Yes, yes? What is it? What do you... Oh... My deepest apologies. I hadn't known you would be arriving on foot, my lord. Guards, open the gates at once!"

"No need for formalities, please," Theo said, waving away the apologies. "We're a bit earlier than expected. I hope that won't be an issue?"

"No... no issue at all, my lord."

"Excellent." The masked figure to Theo's right hissed, narrow eyes flashing through the slits of his mask.

 

The council chamber fell silent as the three took their seats at the head of the table. All eyes were on them, measuring, calculating, judging.

"With the Blood Witch in attendance, we can begin this conference," their host, Lady Grovener, said at last. "To determine whether we grant him permission to start a coven of his own after... the unfortunate accident with his last one."

"Permission?" Rodrigo Willowood clicked his forked tongue. "From you? For us to be a coven? I don't see why that has anything..."

"Hold your tongue, demon. You are permitted here only because I allow it. I tolerate you for the sake of the lord you swore fealty to. Nothing more." Grovener growled impatiently.

"With all due respect, Lady Grovener," Sam Oswin said, removing their hood to reveal pointed ears and silver hair, "though we have chosen to follow Theo unequivocally, he is not our lord."

"Then what pray tell are you to him? Concubines? Slaves? Familiars?" There was mockery in her voice.

"Partners. Friends."

"Equals. Lovers."

"Hmmm. Does this elf... this demon... speak the truth, Blood Witch?"

Theo's ward pulsed gently, each beat in time with heart—not in warning, but in acknowledgement of truth spoken freely. "Yes. Sam and Rodrigo speak the truth. We are equals in all things."

"I see. Most... unorthodox. Though not the most unusual thing about you or your request. Not by a long shot. We do question the company you keep, however."

"You wouldn't be the first."

"Nor the last, I assure you. You put us in quite the dilemma here, Blood Witch. The coven you 'lost' included our 'beloved, magnanimous, benevolent'"—Lady Grovener could barely keep a straight face—"Grand Queen. You caused quite the power vacuum with your little temper tantrum. On one hand, I should kill you here and now for regicide, and yet... I was planning to instigate a coup against her anyway, and you did my job for me. I would thank you, had I not been looking forward to murdering her myself."

"You're going to kill me?" Theo asked, though his ward remained calm.

"I don't know. I don't think I could kill you, even if I wanted to. That pesky ward around you makes it impossible. You're too powerful to keep around, yet too useful to eliminate. If I were to permit you to officially form this coven, how can I be sure you won't scheme for more power and become our rival?"

Theo leaned forward, his voice steady. "Lady Grovener, I understand your concern. But I don't want what you think I want. I just want to live in peace with my family." He gestured to Sam and Rodrigo. "I thought by seeking the council's approval for our coven, I could... legitimise what we've built. Maybe even settle down for good, somewhere far away. I'm tired of wandering aimlessly. I have found peace. Found acceptance. Found a home. And I just want our unity to be recognised."

Theo's admission caused a stir among the Council. It was more vulnerability than he had shown in months, but something about this formal setting demanded truth.

"A pretty speech. But I have doubts. Bring him in. We will determine if he's telling the truth."

 

There was a low murmur as one of the council members slipped from the room. Theo's ward suddenly glowed with nervous energy—not danger, but anticipation. He knew who they were bringing before the doors opened.

A few moments later, they returned, followed by Harry Crowley. He grinned at Theo as he took his seat opposite, but there was something different in his expression—a carefully controlled distance that hadn't been there before.

"Incubus. You have been summoned before the High Council of Witches to..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. Big whoop. But I don't know what answers you expect to get out of me." Harry's casual arrogance was intact, but Theo noticed the way his hands remained carefully folded, never reaching toward him.

"We want a judge of his character. And you seem to know him... intimately."

"Hmm... I see," Harry began, swinging back on his chair casually. "Well, besides being powerful enough to obliterate you miserable meat-sacks into dust without batting an eyelid—great use of magic, by the way, babe, truly inspiring—he is also one of the most disgustingly honest, irritatingly astute mortals I've ever had the... the... pleasure of meeting."

"Harry... I..."

Harry continued nonchalantly, adjusting his cuff. "If he tells you that he wants no part in your paltry, pathetic games, then he wants no part in them. If he tells you he has moved on, he has moved on. And if he has found people who support him, who follow him despite personal danger, out of loyalty, admiration and... and... love... then it is because of who he is. Not the title he carries. What's more, he is one stubborn, determined and frustratingly inspiring pipsqueak. He will forge this coven with or without your blessing."

"I do not doubt that."

"So the question you should ask yourself is: do you stand aside and let them, or end up like the last coven?"

"That is the question indeed. You have given us much to think about with your insolence, incubus."

"Happy to help, baby."

"Your seduction doesn't work on me, boy."

"Ah, well, worth a try. You, on the other hand," Harry pointed at another member of the council, "have desire in your heart. I like that. I can work with that if you want to... spend some time with me later tonight."

"Enough. The Incubus is excused. Out. Now."

Harry rose gracefully but paused at the door.

"Goodbye, Theo. Peace be with you, my... friend." And with a final grin, that could not quite hide his disappointment at losing his favourite toy, he was gone.

 

"In light of the incubus' sickeningly saccharine testimony, I feel I have to agree with his prognosis. I could kill your... friends here and now, but that would invite open war and self-destruction with the 'mighty Blood Witch,' and unlike our dearly departed queen, I am no fool. If you wish to start afresh with a coven of your own, I can't stop you. Go with our blessing."

"Thank you, Lady Grovener."

"You can retire to your rooms now. And Blood Witch?... Don't make us regret this display of benevolence."

"We won't, Lady Grovener."

 

The moment they were alone in their chambers, Theo pulled Rodrigo and Sam into a fierce embrace. His ward, finally, finally silent.

"It's... it's... It's over."

"No, my love..." Sam said, brushing a hand across his cheek.

"...it's only begun." Rodrigo finished the sentence, planting a tender kiss on them both.

And, as they stood there in the warm glow of the setting sun, for the first time in his life, Theo was exactly where he belonged.