A shattered moon shone upon a shattered castle. The castle had always been a ruin, but now it was reduced to rubble. The rubble used to be surrounded by a deep lake, but now, the lake was gone.
Its bottom had been revealed, in all its mystery and horror…
Indifferent to what lay at the bottom of the lake, Morgan of Valor hunched over an alloy pan and looked into the fire numbly.
There was a gentle gust of wind, and Nightingale landed nearby, greeting her and the other Saints. Then, a stronger gale crashed into the remains of a crumbling wall that protected the fire, and a small pebble fell from it down toward the pan.
Morgan did not move, allowing the pebble to fall into the pan.
A few moments later, she sighed heavily.
'...I'm sick of it.'
How many times had it been, already?
