The cauldron bubbles over as the pounding on the door continues. Its silver contents slowly puddling on the floor as it emits a toxic gas invisible to the mortal eye.

“Ambrose, open this door right now by order of your King!”

Ambrose stands with his back against the wall breathing heavily, he’s cornered. King’s men on either side of his home, all calling for his arrest.

His crime? Curiosity.

The sound of a chain clinking against the floor echoes throughout the silent room. With a shaky breath Ambrose places together his sweaty palms and begins to pray to the gods for help. Calling out to the universe for anyone, anything to save him from his fate.

The soft touch of a leathery hand presses against his shoulder as he looks up to see the face of an older woman looking at him with deep concern. A face he’d only ever seen wearing wrinkles of anger towards him and his family.

“Come child, we must go” the woman whispers as the sounds of feet storm into the room.

“But…?” Ambrose protests.

“There is no time child, come!” The woman grabs the boy by the wrist and pulls him towards the hearth as the men swarm around them.

The woman raises her hands and summons a devilish green fire to envelop them as they evaporate like the mercury dripping on the wooden floor. Silently filling the lungs of the maddened King’s men.

They emerge in a room filled with people shrouding their faces with cloaks.

“This is enough, for too long we have fought each other for our differences.” The woman speaks loud and true to a room full of nods.

“We are not each other’s enemy, we are all persecuted by the cruel hands of mortals. Us witches and wizards need to band together and rise against this common foe.”

She stands behind Ambrose, both hands gripping his shoulders.

“This young wizardling was saved by the hands of this old witch. Today we stand as one, one magick people with a common goal. To live freely as ourselves.”

The room filled with witches and wizards alike all raise their glasses with a hearty cheer.

Two individuals from either side of the room step forward. One, a woman wearing a large crown composed of twigs and branches.

The other an old man with a long snowy beard gripping a staff in one hand and holding the Queen of the Witches in his other.

Once separated by their views on traditional and modern ways of practising magick together under one voice, the High Priestess and the Arch Wizard bend the knee to the first High Sorceress.