Graves swallowed. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “And if we refuse?”
The men exchanged glances. One of them, younger, bristled. “Now, see here—” Dominant Witches
Seraphina glided to her throne—a throne carved from the petrified heart of a redwood she herself had raised from a seed a century ago. She sat, crossed one leg over the other, and let the silence expand until it hurt. Graves swallowed
The younger man, mouth still sealed, made a muffled, desperate sound. One of them, younger, bristled
“Here are my terms,” she said, walking toward them. Each step echoed like a gavel. “First: The Eastern Coven assumes governance of all climate policy. No votes. No oversight. Our word is the final weather system. Second: Every nation dismantles its nuclear arsenal within one lunar cycle. Not because we fear them—but because we find them tasteless . Third: A tithe. Not gold. Not oil. The old growth forests you’ve been saving as ‘carbon offsets’? They become ours. To rewild. To rule. To remember.”