“Hello! Welcome to the Crafty Carver! I’m currently on holiday! If ye’d like to leave a message, pour it into vial one! If ye’d like to make a special order, use vial two! And if you’re that power-hungry prince I turned into a bear—vial three!”

The massive bear grunted, irritation rumbling through his chest. With practiced ease, he tilted the third vial into the cauldron with his mouth. The contents sizzled and smoked, and the witch’s face popped up in the steam, chipper as ever.

“Hello, Prince Mor’du!” she chirped. “There were two things I forgot to tell ye!” He growled. Of course.

“To end yer mighty form as a bear, you must willingly give up your rule and mend what you destroyed. Then, you must speak these words… in bear.” She cackled.

She cleared her throat and recited:

“My fate be changed, my right to rule I decline,I’ve mended the bonds to give you what is mine.”

She repeated it again, and then: “As long as it’s done before the next day, ye’ll return to yer form!”

But it was too late.

Two days had already passed. His human thoughts were fading fast. He could barely remember what his brothers looked like, let alone why he’d wanted power in the first place.

Just as he began to despair, the witch’s voice echoed once more.

“But not all is lost!” she said “If ye fail, another chance will come—but not for hundreds of years. A girl born with spiraling fire curls, wild and free. She will be your key. She will set you free.”

“Hundreds of years?!” he roared in bear-tongue.

Centuries later… He’d forgotten what it meant to hope.Memories of crowns, of kingdoms, of brothers long turned to dust—faded. There was no one to speak to. Just trees, wind, and hunger.

Then, a laugh echoed through the woods. Light and alive.A small figure darted through the underbrush. Spirals of wild hair caught the light like flame. He did not move. He only watched.

But before he could follow, she was gone.

Twelve years later… the flame returned on horseback no longer a child. But a Fierce beautiful woman.