"Dahlia."

The sound of her name, spoken in Agatha's familiar voice, pierced the air, filled with a mixture of confusion, anger, and something softer, something that made Dahlia's heart ache.

"Agatha," Dahlia responded, her voice barely a whisper, as if the weight of the moment threatened to crush her.

But then another voice joined them, smooth, teasing, and dripping with mischief.

"Dahlia."

She turned, her eyes landing on Rio, who looked back at her with that smirk—the smirk that could undo her, that had always undone her.

"Rio."

The three of them stood in a tense, charged circle, their gazes shifting from one to the other, each woman's expression a mix of emotions too complex to name. Agatha's brows furrowed, her eyes darting between Dahlia and Rio, the question evident in her gaze.

"You know... her?" Agatha asked, her voice strained, disbelief coloring her tone as she looked from Dahlia to Rio, as though trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn't realized existed.

Dahlia felt her throat tighten. She glanced at Agatha, then back at Rio, the memories flooding her mind in a torrent she couldn't stop.

"We're... familiar," Dahlia said carefully, the word feeling both inadequate and painfully accurate.

Rio's smirk deepened as she stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with that familiar dark amusement, "Familiar is a bit of an understatement, don't you think, flor?"

She reached out, her fingers gently toying with a strand of Dahlia's blonde hair, letting it slide through her fingers with an intimacy that made Dahlia's heart race.

Agatha's expression hardened, a flicker of jealousy sparking in her gaze as she watched Rio's hand linger in Dahlia's hair.

"I see," She murmured, her voice tight, though there was a vulnerability there, too, something raw and unguarded that Dahlia hadn't seen in years.

Dahlia swallowed, feeling the weight of her connection to each of them, the love, the regret, the longing that spanned centuries. She looked at Agatha, memories flooding her mind—memories of how young and frightened she had been when they had first met, of the way Agatha had seen her, had loved her, had shown her a side of herself she hadn't known existed. She remembered the way Agatha's touch had made her feel safe, even as it had terrified her. And she remembered how she had left, too scared of the intensity between them, too afraid of the pain she was certain would follow if she allowed herself to stay.

Agatha's gaze softened as it met Dahlia's, a flicker of that old love, that old longing, shining through the hurt and betrayal. She remembered, too—Dahlia could see it in her eyes. She remembered the nights they had spent together, the whispered promises, the vulnerability they had shared. She remembered baring her heart to Dahlia, only to watch her leave without a word, leaving Agatha to pick up the pieces alone.

But Rio... Rio was different.

Dahlia looked at Rio, her heart tightening as memories of their tumultuous relationship flooded her mind. They had met seemingly by accident, but nothing with Rio had ever truly been accidental. Their love had been a dance of passion and pain, an on-and-off affair that had spanned decades, filled with stolen moments and bittersweet goodbyes. Rio had always known her too well, had always seen the parts of her that she tried to hide. And Rio had loved her, had accepted her, flaws and all, in a way that made Dahlia's heart ache even now.

"Didn't tell her about us, did you?" Rio murmured, her voice low and teasing, her fingers tracing the curve of Dahlia's cheek, sending a shiver down her spine.

Agatha's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she watched the intimacy between them, her gaze flickering with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy, "You two... how long?"

Rio tilted her head, her gaze shifting to Agatha, her smirk softening into something gentler, something that made Dahlia's heart ache even more.

"Long enough to know that she's just as scared of love now as she was back then," She said softly, her words carrying a weight that settled between them like an unspoken truth.

Dahlia's breath hitched, her heart pounding as she felt both of their gazes on her, each woman's expression filled with love, hurt, and understanding. She could feel the pull between them, the connection that bound her to each of them in ways she could never escape. They were all part of her, and she was part of them—a tangled web of love, loss, and yearning that spanned centuries.

Agatha's gaze softened as she looked at Dahlia, her voice barely more than a whisper, " You always run."

Dahlia's throat tightened, guilt and regret swirling in her chest as she met Agatha's gaze, the memories of her betrayal cutting deep. She wanted to say something, to apologize, to explain, but the words wouldn't come. Because Agatha was right. She had run. She had always run.

Rio's fingers traced down Dahlia's arm, her touch a gentle reminder of the love they had shared, of the connection that had bound them together despite the pain.

"It's what she does, Agatha," Rio said softly, her voice filled with a quiet sadness, "She breaks her own heart before anyone else can."

Dahlia's chest tightened, the weight of their words pressing down on her, suffocating her with the truth she had spent centuries trying to deny. She looked at Rio, then at Agatha, her heart aching with the realization of the love she had lost, the love she had abandoned, the love she still felt for each of them.

As Dahlia stood between Agatha and Rio, the forest around them quiet and full of a heavy, magical anticipation, she felt Rio lean in close, her breath warm against her ear.

Rio whispered something—words soft and intimate, yet unintelligible to anyone else—and Dahlia's heart skipped a beat. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words linger in her mind, the weight of Rio's voice wrapping around her like a spell. Before she could respond, Rio pressed a quick, teasing kiss to Dahlia's cheek, a fleeting touch that left her skin tingling, and then, with a smile, Rio turned and headed back toward the campfire where the other witches were gathered, shadows dancing in the flames.

Dahlia let out a slow, steadying breath, her pulse still quickened from Rio's words. She glanced over at Agatha, who was watching her with an expression that was hard to read, a mixture of curiosity, irritation, and something else, something softer that Dahlia couldn't quite place.

They stood there in silence, the air thick with tension, with words unsaid and emotions long buried.

Finally, Dahlia broke the quiet, her voice steady but edged with the hint of a challenge.

"The road..." She murmured, her gaze shifting to the mysterious path that stretched out before them, its shadowed twists and turns promising secrets and trials unknown.

Agatha scoffed, rolling her eyes with a familiar, exasperated look, "What? Didn't think it was real?"

Dahlia smirked, a playful glint in her eyes as she shrugged, "I had my doubts."

Agatha let out a dry laugh, shaking her head.

"When don't you?" She muttered, though there was a hint of fondness in her voice, the old dynamic between them slipping back into place with an ease that was both comforting and painful.

But before the moment could shift into something more, a soft stirring sound broke the silence. They turned to see a teenage boy who had been lying beside the campfire, his head resting on a makeshift pillow of leaves, beginning to wake. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the dim light, and he looked around with a dazed, slightly disoriented expression.

Dahlia's brows furrowed as she looked at him, recognition tugging at the edges of her mind. This was the boy she'd seen in her vision, the one who had called out to Agatha in fear, referencing the road. There was something so familiar about him, a familiarity that gnawed at her, just out of reach.

The boy's gaze shifted to Dahlia, and he looked at her with an expression of curiosity mixed with expectation.

"Is this... the next trial?" He asked, his voice soft, hesitant, as though he were still piecing together his surroundings.

Dahlia raised a brow, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. She turned to Agatha, a smirk playing on her lips as she masked the twinge of confusion—and something else, something deeper—that the boy's question had sparked in her.

"Your familiar?" She asked, her tone light but edged with curiosity.

Agatha crossed her arms, a smirk mirroring Dahlia's.

"Of sorts," She replied, giving the boy a quick, assessing glance, "This is Teen."

Dahlia's smirk deepened, a teasing glint in her eyes as she raised an eyebrow.

"Teen?" She echoed, her tone laced with amusement, "Is that short for... Teenager?"

Agatha rolled her eyes, giving Dahlia a look of mock annoyance, though there was a flicker of amusement there, too.

"Oh, you're hilarious," She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, her gaze unwavering as she met Dahlia's smirk with one of her own.

For a moment, they held each other's gaze, the banter slipping easily into place, the familiar rhythm of their old relationship weaving its way back into the present. But beneath the surface, there was a tension, a vulnerability that neither of them was willing to acknowledge outright. The heartbreak, the years of unresolved emotion, the love that had never truly faded—all of it simmered just beneath the surface, masked by sarcasm and bravado.

Dahlia tilted her head, her smirk widening as she took a step closer to Agatha, her tone light but her gaze intense, "Come on, Ags. Since when do you have a kid following you around?"

Agatha crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing as she leaned in, matching Dahlia's intensity, "Since when do you care?"

The words were sharp, laced with a mixture of frustration and something else—hurt, perhaps. Dahlia's smirk faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of guilt crossing her face, but she quickly masked it, her confidence slipping back into place like armor.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Dahlia shot back, her voice edged with a mocking lilt, "I'm just curious."

Agatha's eyes flashed, her tone turning icy, "At least I'm not running away from it."

Dahlia's smirk vanished, her jaw tightening as the jab hit its mark.

"I didn't run," She muttered, though the words felt hollow even to her.

Agatha scoffed, her gaze cold as she took a step back, crossing her arms as she regarded Dahlia with a look of disdain, "No? So what would you call it, then?"

Dahlia opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat, the weight of their shared past pressing down on her, choking her with memories of love, betrayal, and regret. She forced a smile, but it was thin, brittle, barely holding back the emotions that threatened to spill over.

"You know, for someone who claims not to care, you sure do like to bring it up," Dahlia retorted, her tone biting, though her gaze softened, just for a moment, as she looked at Agatha.

Agatha's gaze faltered, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across her face before she quickly masked it with a smirk of her own, "Only because it's the one thing you never seem willing to face."

The tension between them thickened, a silent battle waged in their gazes, each woman unwilling to back down, unwilling to let the other see the wounds that still lingered, raw and unhealed.

Teen, watching the exchange with a bemused expression, cleared his throat, breaking the silence, "Uh, should I... come back later?"

Both women turned to him, their faces a mixture of irritation and embarrassment, though neither of them would ever admit it.

"Stay out of it, Teen," Agatha muttered, her tone sharp, though there was a faint hint of amusement in her eyes.

Dahlia let out a frustrated sigh, crossing her arms as she looked at Teen with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity, "Is he always this... nosy?"

Agatha rolled her eyes, "It's just like family."

Dahlia's eyebrows shot up, a smirk of her own forming as she looked at Agatha with feigned shock, "Family? You, Agatha Harkness, actually have—"

Agatha cut her off with a glare, her smirk vanishing as she held up a hand, "Not another word, Dahlia."

Dahlia opened her mouth to respond, but a laugh slipped out, the absurdity of their argument breaking through the tension. She looked at Agatha, her gaze softening, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there was no anger, no sarcasm—just the remnants of a love that had never truly faded, despite everything.

But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and they both fell back into their roles, the walls slipping back into place, the banter a shield against the feelings neither of them could face head-on.

Dahlia approached the campfire, the flickering flames casting an orange glow over the figures gathered around it. She recognized Rio immediately, her presence magnetic, casting long shadows against the dark forest surrounding them. Beside her sat three other women, each one exuding a distinct aura of power and purpose. They looked up as Dahlia drew closer, their eyes sharp and assessing, taking in the unfamiliar face with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

The first woman, dark-skinned with an intense, discerning gaze, regarded Dahlia with an expression that was equal parts skepticism and intrigue. Her posture exuded confidence, and she wore an expression that suggested she wasn't easily impressed. Jennifer Kale, the potion witch.

The next woman, a little older, her presence commanding in a way that spoke of deep wisdom, stared at Dahlia with an unreadable expression. Her silver hair gleamed in the firelight, and she held a strange, knowing smile on her lips. Lilia Calderu, the divination witch. And then there was Alice Wu-Gulliver, her eyes calm and calculating, radiating a quiet strength that spoke of her role as the protection witch.

Dahlia had expected the campfire's warmth to provide some comfort, but under the watchful eyes of these women, it felt more like a spotlight, casting every flaw, every secret into stark relief.

Jennifer's voice dripped with skepticism as she looked Dahlia up and down, "How, exactly, did you get here?"

Dahlia hesitated for a fraction of a second, forcing her usual confidence to the surface, letting it smooth over any sign of hesitation.

"I walked," She replied, a slight smirk on her lips, though she could feel the weight of their stares pressing in on her.

Jennifer's brow arched, her gaze never leaving Dahlia's, " The Witches' Road isn't exactly on any map."

Beside her, Lilia tilted her head, studying Dahlia with a look that was both curious and vaguely amused. There was something whimsical about her, as though she lived half in this world and half in another. She leaned forward, her expression unreadable, and out of nowhere, she shouted, "Both of them!"

Dahlia's brows furrowed, caught off guard. She glanced around, wondering what Lilia might mean, but found no explanation in anyone else's expression.

Sitting a little behind Lilia, the boy, Teen, flashed Dahlia an encouraging look.

"Lilia does that a lot," He said with a shrug, "You'll get used to it."

But the cryptic outburst only made her feel more like an outsider in this strange gathering of witches.

"Well, I suppose she's here now," Alice said, her tone carefully neutral, though there was a slight edge to her gaze as she looked at Dahlia.

Jennifer snorted, crossing her arms as she looked between Alice and Dahlia, "Just because the Road allows her doesn't mean we have to trust her."

Rio, who had been watching the exchange with a faint smirk, finally spoke up, her voice smooth and amused, "Oh, trust me, she's more than capable of handling herself."

Her eyes lingered on Dahlia, her smirk widening as she added, "She wouldn't be here if she didn't have something to prove."

Dahlia felt a flush rise in her cheeks, irritation and something else—something she didn't care to name—flickering in her chest. Rio's words, spoken with that knowing, teasing tone, seemed to draw her insecurities to the surface, making her feel exposed in a way she hated.

The witches seemed to settle then, the initial tension easing just slightly, though Dahlia could still feel Jennifer's gaze lingering on her, watching her every move with a suspicion that felt almost palpable.

"So," Alice said, her tone softer now, though still edged with curiosity, "Are you joining us, then?"

Dahlia hesitated, glancing at the women gathered around the fire, at the path that stretched out into the darkness beyond. She could feel the pull of the Road, the strange, unyielding magic that seemed to pulse beneath her feet, urging her forward. She didn't know what lay at the end of this path, didn't know if it would bring her closer to Agatha or to something else entirely, but the pull was undeniable.

"It seems I am," Dahlia replied, her voice steady, though the weight of her decision settled over her, heavy and final.

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