The ritual begins. WICKN form their circle and tear the veil between centuries, stepping into the heart of Salem’s winter night.

Circle of Salt

Through crackling flame and whispered prayer, Wickn summons Agnes Sampson, healer, accused, unbroken. Her spirit answers the call, bound not by rope but by rebellion.

The Accused

Wickn sails through mist to find Circe, mistress of transformation. Her song coils around the soul, venom and beauty intertwined. The sea itself bows to her will.

The Serpent of the Shore

Through the mists of Avalon, Wickn calls to Morgan le Fay, healer, heretic, queen. Betrayed by blood yet bound by destiny, she rises once more, her crown forged of sorrow and storm.

Sovereign of the Hollow Crown

Wickn lights the first flame and calls to the veil. Hekate stirs in slumber, her name spoken through centuries of silence. The world trembles as the circle begins to close.

Invocation: The Sleeping Goddess

Wickn’s chant pierces the velvet halls of Versailles, summoning La Voisin, poisoner, priestess, survivor. She brings alchemy born of ash, turning sin into silver.

The Court Alchemist

Beneath the moonlit crossroads, Wickn calls to Marie Laveau. Drumbeats rise from the bayou; spirits dance. Her magic hums in the blood, fierce, proud, and everlasting.

Queen of the Crossroads

At the edge of dream and deceit, Wickn seeks Tituba, the mirror between worlds. Her voice bends truth to reflection, teaching that every shadow hides a deeper fire.

The Mirror

The forest bends beneath her tread. Wickn calls Baba Yaga, and her house walks to war. Iron roots tremble, shadows march, and the old witch laughs beneath the crimson moon.

The Ironwood March

The witches gathered, the spell complete. Wickn stands at the center, the Ninth Voice. Their chant shakes the heavens, a chorus of centuries summoning the goddess home.

The Coven: Return of the Light

WICKN is where ritual meets rhythm, a sonic blend of witchcraft,
electronica, and rock that feels born under a blood moon. Their sound
drips with atmosphere: glowing synths, haunting vocals, and the pulse
of something ancient dressed in neon. Every track feels like a spell
half-sung, half-screamed into the void, a fusion of dark mysticism and
raw, modern energy.
More than a band, WICKN is an experience: the hum before the storm,
the fire in the ritual circle, the sound of magic made electric.