Chaya's Journal #12

The Witch, the Wolves, and the Specter of Berez

On the road, date unknown

The battle was chaos. Her house—that thing—groaned and lurched, lashing out with clawed roots and beams of ancient wood. The witch, now unmasked, hurled spells that sapped our strength and stole our breath. She was no hag from a tale meant to frighten children—she was power, raw and ancient and cruel. Lucian and I moved from ally to ally, desperately trying to patch wounds and keep everyone standing. Every prayer felt like a whisper against a storm. Riordan and Gretch—gods, they tried—they actually tried to shove her into the bag of holding. And for a moment, I thought they’d done it. Her form twisted, half-in—then she screamed and pulled herself free, eyes burning like twin coals. Then—without warning—he appeared. A massive white wolf behind me. Silent as snowfall. Its eyes clouded and blind, but it held Stoick’s new spear in its mouth. I froze. My heart stilled. I didn’t understand. Then the wolf lunged forward, grabbed me, and carried me away. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream. I only saw the mahogany-colored wolf following close behind. I thought it was the end. That I had failed.

But then—roots. Vines. Gnarled and wild—rose up and snatched me away from the white wolf’s grasp, pulling me into the witch’s house. Except it wasn’t hers anymore. Somehow, impossibly, Gretch had taken control of the living house. I don’t know how, but it obeyed him. Inside, we recovered the holy symbol Madame Eva foretold in her card reading. It thrummed in my hands—like holding the heartbeat of something good in a land that has long forgotten what that means. But I couldn't rest. The witch escaped. And so did Stoick. I don’t know what the white wolf was. A vision? A spirit? A curse? But it took him. My prayers to Selûne feel small right now. But I keep whispering them anyway. For Stoick.

We couldn’t leave Berez without answers. I needed to know why she wanted us to come here. We found the ruins of a once-proud mansion, and within it—a ghost. A man lost to his guilt. He told us of Marina, a girl who bore Ireena’s face… and Strahd’s obsession. The ghost—once the Burgomaster—killed her to prevent her from being turned. And for this, Strahd cursed him to haunt the place, unable to find peace. I was furious. I am still furious. That girl deserved a life, a future. Not to be robbed of it in fear. The choice was taken from her. Just like Strahd takes everything. And now I see the shape of his cruelty more clearly. Ireena is not his first obsession. She’s just the latest… in a long, horrifying pattern. And I will not let her become another Marina.

We ride now for the Amber Temple, with Kasimir as our guide. Each step takes us farther into darkness, but I have to believe there are answers at the end of this road. And I have to believe that if we face what lies in that place...we might just find the strength to end all of this. For Barovia. For Ireena. I hope Stoick will return to us soon...in whatever form he chooses. I miss him...but I worry about the wolf. I am unsure of their intentions but he can't be bad if anything of Stoick is in control.