It was Babylon Year 11.
Men who survived ingesting Eldritch Eye blood had become exceedingly rare—and now, with the recent death of the tribe's sole male witch, terror under the witches' oppressive rule finally erupted into open rebellion.
"Run! Babylon is no longer our home—this place has become hell itself!" shouted a desperate warrior.
"The era of male rule under the hero-king Gilgamesh is over. Now begins the dark age of terrifying witches!" another cried, as groups of frightened men fled into the wild. They would rather risk lonely survival among savage beasts than continue living beneath the witches' suffocating psychic domination.
"Cersei's crimes cannot be tolerated any longer!" Medeia and Cassandra declared, eyes blazing with fury. They swiftly rallied the remaining warriors, then confronted Cersei directly, unleashing their anger in an explosive clash. After years of tolerating Cersei's destructive psychic influence, they had finally been pushed beyond their limits.
But when the fierce battle ended, Medeia and Cassandra recoiled in horror: Cersei's strength had far exceeded their expectations. Only their combined power had allowed them to barely hold her at bay. Unlike the disciplined restraint of her sisters, Cersei's reckless indulgence had magnified her psychic abilities to terrifying new heights.
Five more years passed. By Babylon Year 16, the Three Witches appeared serene as ever, bathing gracefully in the misty, crystalline waters of the Amia Pool. Each woman remained radiantly youthful despite decades wielding immense power. Yet beneath their outward calm lurked bitter rivalry. Cersei's psychic strength had become nearly immeasurable, and Medeia and Cassandra struggled just to resist her influence.
"How about it, sisters? Are you truly not tempted?" Cersei teased softly, trailing pale fingers through the shimmering water. "Why deny yourselves? Indulgence is the true path to growth for a witch."
Medeia rose gracefully from the pool, her expression stern. "No, Cersei. Your path leads only to ruin. If we follow you, what future awaits our tribe?"
Cersei's lips curved into a calculating smile as she painted her vision. "We would reclaim absolute control of Babylon. Women would defend the tribe, while men exist merely as vessels to reproduce—fulfilling their natural role."
"That is tyranny," Medeia countered quietly, her gaze unwavering. "It echoes the same barbarism that doomed ancient Sumer—reckless defiance, not true civilization. Have you forgotten why Gilgamesh recorded history?"
Cersei tilted her head, amused. "And what exactly was history's purpose?"
"To chronicle our ancestors' courage in resisting nature's cruelty," Medeia replied firmly, "and to guide us toward the right path. Your chosen path leads only to extinction—the same fate that swallowed Sumer."
At the mention of the Great Flood, a shadow of fear flickered briefly in Cersei's eyes. Though immensely powerful, she could still sense the lingering threat of divine punishment. Yet she laughed lightly—a hauntingly beautiful sound that echoed gently over the pool.
"Do you truly think the Creator would punish me for wielding darkness? My rule affects only mortals. The gods do not intervene."
Medeia's voice hardened. "Power itself is neither good nor evil. Even divine blood can corrupt; even darkness can protect. Compassion gives power its purpose."
Cersei's expression turned ice-cold. "If words cannot convince you, perhaps action will."
A chilling psychic aura radiated outward from Cersei, sending violent ripples cascading across the pool. Fish floated stunned along the edges of the disturbed waters.
Suddenly, four younger witches emerged silently from the nearby trees—each clad in finely crafted animal-hide robes, holding dark wooden staffs adorned with flowered rings. Medeia and Cassandra had anticipated Cersei's betrayal; together, they stood ready to combine their psychic strength to finally subdue their dangerous sister.
"Attack together!" Medeia commanded sharply.
The four witches unleashed a fierce, combined psychic onslaught against Cersei. Their united power, savage and relentless, was sufficient to obliterate even the mightiest beast. Yet Cersei's malevolent force surged back violently, deflecting their combined strike with shocking ease.
Cersei's eyes glittered with complex emotion as she raised her voice in defiant triumph: "You cannot defeat me! I never sought your deaths—only to share this power with you. You remain my sisters; once you taste the ecstasy of absolute strength, you will understand my purpose!"
The water erupted in concentric rings of psychic shockwaves as Cersei's devastating aura surged outward, churning the pristine pool into chaos.
Then, from the trees above, an unfamiliar presence suddenly appeared—a black-feathered, three-eyed raven perched calmly, its gaze inscrutable and serene.
"Who—?" Medeia and Cassandra gasped in unison, hearts pounding with alarm.
Despite the witches' heightened senses, none had detected the raven's approach. Medeia snarled, "Destroy it first—we'll deal with Cersei afterward!"
All four witches redirected their psychic assault toward the raven, unleashing an overwhelming barrage that should have instantly obliterated any mortal foe. Yet, inexplicably, their combined attack dissipated harmlessly around the silent bird, leaving it completely unscathed and motionless upon the branch.
"How…is this possible?!" Cassandra cried, voice trembling with disbelief.
From the raven's perch emerged a gentle, composed voice:
"This is the power of meditation."