Record of Reclusion

Wanderhome: The Misty Hallow Of The West

The Month of Frostbite

4th Place: The Misty Hallow Of The West

The Hallow

Long ago, when dragons still roamed, ten sisters and brothers wielded the raw forces of magic, each governing a sacred domain. Witches once thrived under their guidance, shaping reality itself. But as the Dark Ages dawned and belief in magic waned, the sisters and brothers fell into slumber, their power fading into whispers on the wind. Now, only remnants of their influence linger, tended by Weenie, one of the last witches of Haeth. No new witch had emerged to stir their ancient power.

The Shrine

The Flame Goddess was once persecuted for embodying divine feminine power, sexual liberation, and defiance against oppressive social norms and dogmatic religions. The Red Fox, she welcomed everyone and refused no one. In an age marred by unspeakable violence and cruelty, puritanical zealots and religious fundamentalists burned her alive. Yet amid the ashes, her beating heart endured. Secretly, the witches recovered it and enshrined it in a sacred shrine, where they continue to tend it with devoted care.

The Mist

In the northern reaches of the West Forest, during the final week of Frostbite, a dense mist blankets the land. Born from the clash of the damp ocean wind and the biting chill of winter’s end, the mist rolls in thick, swallowing the trees and turning the world into a realm of shadows and whispers. At its heart stands an ancient cairn, veiled in secrecy and legend. It exists only within the mist, vanishing when the frost recedes. No one remembers who built it, nor when it first appeared. Some say it is merely a marker, a forgotten monument swallowed by time. But the old stories speak of something more —a threshold between the living and the dead. It is said that those who find the cairn may glimpse beyond the veil, speaking with the departed if their hearts are steady and their minds clear. Whether it is a blessing or a curse depends on what the mist chooses to reveal.

The Hallow

The cold gnawed at my skin as I trudged through Frostbite’s merciless grip, my breath escaping in visible clouds. My ears ached, my toes had long since gone numb. This cold was insufferable —far worse than Snowblanket. I regretted my stubbornness in leaving Hoppendell.

Ahead lay the Hallow —a dark, gaping entrance to a tomb. Its presence was quiet, yet unmistakably eerie, marking the final resting place of the Ten Primordial Sisters and Brothers.

I reached the well-tended altar, the weight of the silence pressing against me. Only then did I realize —I had no candies left. A hollow pang of regret settled in my chest. I had always given offerings, even the smallest ones. Now, standing before the sleeping gods, I had nothing to give. Nothing except—

My hands trembled as I pulled out my oracle deck, my most precious possession. A guide, a storyteller, a companion. To leave it behind felt like too great a sacrifice, yet something within me whispered that it was right. I placed the deck gently upon the altar.

"This is the most precious thing I have," I murmured, voice trembling against the wind. "A guide, a storyteller, a companion. I offer it to you, Sisters and Brothers —may it walk you through the happiest dreams. In return, grant me guidance and safety."

The frigid wind howled around me, but, something stirred —an ancient presence shifting in the darkness. A tingling sensation crept across my shoulders and waist. Their gazes awoke from slumber, heavy with centuries of waiting, had turned toward me.

Then, a sudden gust snatched the cards from the altar, sending them spiraling toward the tomb’s entrance. The deck vanished into the void. I barely had time to process what had happened when a voice rang out behind me.

“I knew today was not going to be ordinary. You’re late—but not too late.”

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I turned, startled, to see a figure emerge from the shadows —a doe in a shapeless hat that had once been pointy, her waistcoat worn and well-loved. She carried a gnarled blackthorn staff. Weenie, the Witch of the West. Her arrival brought warmth against the biting wind.

She didn’t even need to ask my name. Her eyes drifted to my shoulder, where the faded marks of the Lightning Dancer still lingered, though faint now. "You carry a touch," she said, her voice both knowing and kind. "Only those who truly believe in magic can feel it. You’ve woken the gods. That’s no small thing. Come, we’ll get you somewhere warm."

I followed her, the cold trying to clutch at me, but Weenie raised her staff and murmured to the wind, which softened in response, just enough to make the journey bearable. We walked through the swirling snow to her hut (which she called it a shrine), a humble place nestled among the trees. The warmth that greeted me was a relief, and as I settled by the fire with a cup of tea in my hands, I felt like I could finally breathe again.

Weenie listened as I explained my journey —how I’d come to seek her out, my struggles to understand the magic that had always surrounded me. I told her about my desire to learn witchcraft, to truly understand it and to be a part of something larger than myself.

She studied me for a long moment, then spoke with a quiet certainty. "You’ve got potential, Clover. But what you’ve been doing so far —using a button to get something, calling it magic—" she shook her head slightly, "that’s not it. Witchcraft is about far more than that. It’s about reading the world around you, feeling the energies that move through everything, and learning to manipulate those energies."

Her words filled me with both excitement and apprehension. It was more than I had ever imagined.

"You’ve got a long way to go," she continued, her tone softer now, "but we’ll start with the basics. Meditation. It’s the foundation of everything. Learning to quiet your mind, to listen to the world beyond your thoughts. It’s the hardest part, but once you’ve mastered it, everything else will come."

And just like that, I knew my path forward. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in my life, I felt as though I was exactly where I was meant to be. The journey was only beginning.

The Shrine

I stayed at Weenie's hut behind the shrine dedicated to The Flame Goddess. In that miserable month, no one visited the shrine, yet Weenie and I tended to it every day. Together, we recited sacred words to the Goddess —the Mother of all Scarlet Women— and meditated until Weenie’s enchanted wind chime sang.

I knew meditation was the foundation of witchcraft, yet I had never fully sunk into it. My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. But then, sitting beside Weenie in the fire’s glow, I tried again —step by step.

I drew a slow, deliberate breath. The world blurred at its edges, softening and shifting. Before me appeared a cave, dark but welcoming. I stepped inside; the cool earth grounded me as I descended a winding path to a vast, open chamber. Lanterns flickered steadily in the dimness, their flames patient and waiting. I did not linger; something tugged me upward, beckoning me back to the surface.

Emerging, I found myself on a quiet beach. The sky stretched endlessly, waves murmured an ancient song, and in the distance, a light flickered like a beacon.

She was here.

The Lightning Dancer —just as I remembered her from two years past. We had once danced beneath a storm, and now she stood before me, radiant and familiar. My heart swelled with joy and awe.

She led me to a weathered cabin by the water's edge, its walls worn by salt and time. Inside, she taught me through her presence—her movements fluid, effortless. She guided me in breathing deeply, stilling my thoughts, and letting go of the constant mental clamor. As I followed her, my body relaxed and my mind cleared. Meditation transformed from a struggle into a gentle, expansive journey.

Eventually, she took my hand and led me back to the cave’s entrance.

"We will meet again, right?" I asked, uncertain.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I will always be waiting on this shore."

Her words settled into my bones. I stepped back into the cave, descended once more into the Chamber of Lanterns, and then returned to reality —sitting before the fire with Weenie watching.

"Did you meet her?" Weenie asked.

"I did... I didn't know..." I murmured.

"That she was you?"

I nodded slowly. "She seemed so divine. I thought she was a star."

Weenie hugged me gently. "Honey, every man and every woman is a star. You found your star in the rain."

I asked hesitantly, "Is she just a part of me, or something more?"

Weenie met my gaze. "What makes you think you aren't divine?"

The fire crackled warmly as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Tomorrow, I would return to meditation —not merely as an exercise, but as a way to reach her, to reach myself.

The Mist

The last night of Frostbite carried a strange stillness. The crisp air held a promise -Leap was nearly here, clinging to the edges of the wind like a whispered secret. Bugs stirred beneath the soil, stretching toward the warmth. The world was waking up. And so was I.

For all of Frostbite, I had done nothing but meditate. My body, once restless, had learned to be still. My mind, once loud, had learned to quiet. Weenie said, it was now time for the first and the most important craft, divination —the craft of speaking with spirits to unravel the unknown. But first, I had to prove that I could listen.

We walked deep into the West Forest, the trees thick with shadows, the air growing damp. The warmth of Spring warred with the last bite of Winter. Then, the mist appeared. A vast, dense cloud swallowing the world ahead. It wasn’t just fog; it lived, shifting and whispering, turning the forest into an ocean of white.

“There is something hidden in the heart of the mist,” Weenie said. “Find it, and return.”

I hesitated. “That’s it?”

She only nodded.

I stepped forward, the cold dampness curling around my fur. The mist swallowed me whole.

There was no direction. No path beneath my feet. No sky above, only a warm, strange twilight without a sun. The fog pressed in on all sides, thick as walls, blurring everything into nothingness. I walked forward, unsure of what forward even meant. The world had unraveled into a dreamscape.

Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. I walked and walked. But in the end, I realised —this wasn’t the way. I had no direction, only the illusion of movement.

So I stopped. I breathed. And I sat down. The mist coiled around me, silent and watching.

I closed my eyes. I reached beyond sight, beyond thought, beyond self. I reached for the energy within the mist. If something was hidden here, I had to listen for it.

At first, my mind wandered —flashes of memories, small distractions. I thought of the Mist Possum and wondered if he was lurking nearby. But I caught my thoughts, held them gently, and let them drift away. I grounded myself. I breathed in the mist, let it settle in my bones. I opened my senses to the land, to the air, to the subtle pulse of something more.

And then —I felt it. Something, deep within the mist, hummed with an energy unlike anything else.

I opened my eyes. I stood. I walked.

I didn’t know if I was going the right way. I only followed what I felt, trusting instinct over reason. And soon, I saw it —an ancient cairn, standing silent in the heart of the mist. Stones stacked upon stones, weathered by time, whispering forgotten prayers into the wind.

I had found it. Feeling fulfilled, I turned, ready to leave.

But then —A figure stepped forward. Then another. Two figures, blurred by the mist, standing across the cairn from me. Something deep inside me knew.

My breath caught. My heart pounded. I didn’t recognize their faces, yet I knew them better than anyone. My parents.

I had never met them. They had left me at the monastery as a bunny during the war. They had died soon after, caught by a spy waiting for them to cross the bridge. I had never seen them. Never spoken to them. Yet, here they were, standing before me.

They tried to speak. I tried too. But the mist swallowed our words, keeping the veil between us intact. Sound did not cross between the living and the dead. And so, in the end, we simply smiled. We waved at each other’s shadows, knowing that words were unnecessary.

They gestured for me to go. That they would always watch over me. That they were proud.

I felt lumps in my throat. I kissed my fingers and pressed them toward them in farewell. Then, I turned. And walked away.

I closed my eyes and listened. The mist had no direction. But beyond it, far away, there was something steady. Something eternal. Waves. A distant shore. The sound of the ocean, faint but real.

I straightened my ears as much as I could and let them guide me. One step. Then another. The mist curled around me, reluctant to let me go, but I did not waver.

At last, the fog thinned. A salty breeze kissed my fur. And then, I saw her.

Weenie stood at the shore, waiting with a warm smile. The moment I reached her, the weight of everything crashed down. Without warning, sobs burst from my chest. I wept —not just for my parents, not just for what I had seen, but for everything I had carried for so long.

Weenie, understanding without needing to ask, pulled me into a tight embrace. She held me as I cried, and I knew then that she had seen someone in the mist too.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to. The mist had already said enough.

When my sobs quieted, Weenie pulled back and wiped my tears. “You did well, Clover.”

The mist behind me had already begun to fade. The test was over. The path ahead had opened.

It was time to begin.