At the witching hour, a griffon descended through the night sky, its vast wings beating against the cold air as it approached the forest below.
The wilderness beneath was none other than the forsaken woodland where Patriarch Rannickvol and his followers had met their end. Yet the landscape no longer resembled the place it once had been. The earth itself had been torn apart by the earthquake Victoria unleashed, leaving behind a scarred expanse of shattered ground, uprooted trees, and jagged fissures that cut across the forest floor.
When the griffon finally touched down, three figures dismounted from its back.
Patriarch Isidro Golshifteh, the Saint of Execution.
And behind him, his newly acquired servants, Dolores Navarro and Pritish Gogh.
Without wasting a moment, through the women's directions, Isidro advanced toward the ruined entrance of the cavern that had once housed the Ritual of Affliction. Yet before his attention settled upon the cave itself, something else drew his eye.
Corpses.
The remains of Agape cultists lay strewn across the ravaged earth, some half-buried beneath loose soil and broken stone. Time and decay had already begun their work upon the dead. Flesh had blackened, limbs lay severed, and the wounds that had claimed their lives remained plainly visible even in death.
Among them were Gizvhell and Lestrude, names unknown to Isidro, yet cultists, nonetheless.
A foul stench rose from the field of corpses.
Dolores and Pritish immediately covered their mouths, but it was futile. Their stomachs lurched, and both doubled over as they vomited.
"Did you witness their deaths?" Isidro asked coldly without turning around.
"Yes, my lord," they answered at once after wiping their mouths.
"Good."
Only then did the Saint turn to face them.
"Describe the one responsible for this slaughter. Leave out no detail."
The two women exchanged glances, each silently urging the other to speak first. After a brief hesitation, Dolores reluctantly stepped forward.
"A woman," he began carefully. "She had short hair, black with silver strands woven through it. Her eyes were dark purple... empty, almost lifeless. A strange marking ran from her left eye down to her cheek. She was tall, perhaps six feet in height, and possessed a well-built frame."
As Dolores spoke, Isidro crouched beside one of the corpses and examined the wounds that marred the body. His fingers traced the edges of a severed limb before his gaze swept across the surrounding dead.
Only then did he rise and return his attention to Dolores.
"Tell me," He said plainly. "How did the battle unfold?"
"I do not know if it could even be called a battle," Dolores said. She rubbed her arms unconsciously, as though an unseen chill had settled into her bones.
"It was an execution. No spell could stop her. She was faster, stronger... they never stood a chance. And her magic..." She swallowed hard. "It was dreadful. Dark beyond reason. Wherever she moved, destruction followed."
"A monster wearing human flesh," Pritish added quietly, unable to keep the tremor from his voice.
The fear lingering within the two women failed to move the Saint. It was not that Isidro lacked emotion. He possessed such sentiments as any man did. He simply reserved them for what he deemed worthy.
Instead, a different thought occupied his mind.
"The quarry we pursue appears to be the sort that slaughters without distinction," he said. "Savage would not be an unfair description."
His gaze drifted toward the scattered corpses before returning to the two survivors.
"And yet there is something that troubles me."
The words alone caused both women to stiffen.
"These dead cultists seemed stronger than either of you. If this woman truly butchered everyone in her path..." His eyes narrowed. "How did the two weakest among them survive?"
The colour drained from their faces.
"No... no, my lord. It is not what you think!" Dolores blurted out.
"For reasons unknown to us, she spared our lives," She hurriedly explained. "We swear it."
"Yes, my lord," Pritish added at once. "She ordered us to leave the forest with the elf and the twins. Then she let us go."
Silence followed.
Isidro studied them for several moments, weighing every word against the evidence before him.
"Do either of you know who she was?" he finally asked.
The two women exchanged a glance.
"No, my lord," they answered in unison.
Though Dolores did not recognize Victoria beneath her altered appearance, a troubling sense of familiarity lingered at the edge of her mind. It was as though she had seen that woman before, yet every attempt to place the memory ended in failure.
For a brief moment, she considered sharing her suspicion with the Saint.
The thought died as quickly as it came.
Instinct warned her against it. Mentioning such uncertainty would only invite further scrutiny, and the last thing she desired was to become the subject of Isidro's attention.
The silence that followed was suddenly broken by a piercing screech.
All three turned at once.
It was Andromed.
The griffon stood some distance away; its keen eyes fixed upon something hidden among the shattered earth. The creature cried out once more, urging its master forward.
Following the beast's call, they crossed the ruined woodland until they reached the remains of Patriarch Rannickvol.
Or rather, what remained of him.
Only his severed head was left behind. The rest of his body had vanished without trace.
Time and scavengers had already begun their work. Crows had pecked out his eyes, while vultures had torn away portions of his flesh. What remained was little more than a grotesque relic half-buried beneath dirt and debris.
Dolores and Pritish recoiled instinctively.
Had they not known the Patriarch beforehand, they would never have guessed his identity.
Isidro, however, required no such certainty.
"Rannickvol..." he thought.
His gaze lingered upon the ruined remains.
"You were the weakest among the Patriarchs, yet your power was far from insignificant. To find you reduced to such a state is a pitiful end indeed."
His expression remained unreadable.
"But before I pass judgment, I shall uncover the truth for myself. Only then will I decide whether you deserve mourning... or condemnation."
"Stand back."
The command was calm, yet absolute.
Dolores and Pritish immediately retreated. Even Andromed withdrew several paces.
Isidro spun his spear once before driving its butt into the earth.
"Eil."
The same spell he had once used to reveal the Agape emblem hidden on Dolores and Pritish's skin answered his call. Yet this time its purpose was altogether different.
A faint radiance spread across the devastated ground.
Though the forest had been ravaged beyond recognition, traces of an ancient magic circle emerged from beneath the fractured earth. Arcane lines briefly revealed themselves before breaking apart into countless motes of fading mana that drifted upon the night wind.
Isidro extended a hand.
One of the shimmering fragments settled into his palm. The moment his fingers closed around it, understanding came. At last, he had obtained the answer he had come to verify.
"Indeed," Isidro said, his voice low and controlled. "Rannickvol was a traitor."
Dolores and Pritish exchanged startled glances.
"A subjugation ritual was performed in this forest," the Saint continued. "And the one bound at its centre was none other than the Goddess of Love herself—the supreme deity to whom every prayer of the Agape Cult is offered."
His jaw tightened.
"All this time, she was imprisoned here without the knowledge of the cult."
The revelation left the two followers speechless.
To them, the scheme had always seemed obvious. The sacrifices, the disappearances, the feeding of non-mages to the goddess—all of it appeared to be part of a design conceived by the very heart of the Agape Cult. After all, who else could have known where Eros had been hidden?
Yet the truth before them painted a different picture.
Only Patriarch Rannickvol and those within his closest circle had known of her imprisonment.
They had concealed the goddess from the cult and exploited her existence for purposes of their own.
It was betrayal in its purest form.
Without warning, a crushing pressure burst from Isidro's presence.
The severed head of Rannickvol shattered where it lay, reduced to fragments that scattered across the ruined earth.
"Accursed wretch," the Saint muttered.
His gaze swept across the devastated forest.
"The goddess is no longer here."
He fell silent, weighing the possibilities.
"Where could she have gone?Was the woman that slaughtered them the goddess herself, returned as an instrument of divine vengeance?"
For a moment, the thought seemed plausible. Then he dismissed it.
"No."
"Had that been the case, these two would not be standing before me now."
His reasoning came to an abrupt halt when his boot struck something half-buried beneath the soil.
A metallic glint caught his eye.
Bending down, he retrieved the object.
A monocle.
Its lens was cracked, but the frame remained unmistakable. The moment he recognized it, his expression darkened.
"The replica of the Eyes of Horus." His fingers tightened around the relic. "So it was you."
The realization settled like poison.
"Rannickvol... you were the one who stole it from the cult's treasury."
For the first time since arriving, genuine disgust crossed his features.
"How despecable."
A distant cry suddenly echoed across the ruined landscape.
Andromed.
The griffon had withdrawn earlier in obedience to its master's command and now stood atop a rocky cliff overlooking the forest below.
Isidro approached his faithful companion.
From that vantage, the devastation stretched endlessly before them—blackened ruin giving way to the distant edge of the forest, where life still clung in scattered patches. Beyond it, a single cluster of lights flickered in the darkness.
A village.
The Saint narrowed his eyes.
"Andromed," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Take on the hunter's form and follow the scent lingering upon these corpses."
At once, the mythical beast obeyed. Its body began to shift and twist.
Feathers receded. Limbs lengthened. Black fur spread across its frame like living shadow. Its jaws widened, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs, while curved claws emerged where talons had once been.
In moments, Andromed no longer resembled a griffon.
It had become something far more suited to the hunt.
***
Corniche Village remained awake beneath the night sky.
Since the arrival of the Comet and Legend Guild, its people had grown accustomed to reversing the rhythm of day and night—sleeping in the late morning and gathering beneath the stars to feast on the fruits of fishing and hunting. Firelight now defined their hours, and laughter often carried further than reason.
At the edge of the village, near the palisade, a guild member and a young villager staggered forward hand in hand. Wine had loosened their steps and dulled their senses; they leaned upon one another more out of necessity than affection, yet their laughter remained warm and careless as they exchanged half-formed words and lingering kisses.
It was their habit to drift from the fires into the darker clearings beyond the settlement, seeking solitude beneath the open sky. In their minds, no harm could reach them there. Her lover was a mage of the Comet Guild, and in an age where such names carried weight, that alone was reassurance enough.
Tonight, however, that illusion of safety ended at the village threshold.
Something stood there.
A massive silhouette blocked the entrance, its presence swallowing what little light the torches cast. Two glowing eyes stared into the night, unmoving, patient.
The woman's breath caught in her throat.
The mage sobered instantly.
What he saw stripped the drunken haze from his mind in an instant—instinct replacing intoxication. Without hesitation, he seized the woman in his arms and retreated toward the village at full speed.
"Attack! We are under attack!" he shouted.
For a brief moment, confusion hung over the settlement.
Then the creature stepped fully into view.
A colossal wolf, its body draped in shadow and muscle, drool hanging from its jaws as a suffocating aura of predatory bloodlust pressed upon the village.
Panic erupted.
Villagers scattered in all directions, abandoning fires and tables alike. Only the guild members remained, quickly drawing their weapons and forming a hesitant line.
"A giant wolf…?" one of them muttered.
"And there are people on it," another added, voice strained.
"Identify yourselves!" a third shouted into the night.
Silence answered them.
Then, atop the beast, a figure straightened.
Isidro stood upon the creature's back, unmoving, gaze lowered with cold precision. The torchlight did not soften his presence—it only made it sharper.
Behind him, Dolores and Pritish remained rigid, visibly unsettled, as though unsure whether to breathe or remain silent. They had been ordered not to interfere.
And so, they did not.
The Saint of Execution regarded the village without haste.
"I am merely searching for a woman," Isidro said calmly. "About six feet tall, black hair streaked with silver, a tattoo upon the left side of her face. I have no desire to reduce this place to ruin. Bring her to me, and I shall depart."
Before the villagers could respond, two figures stepped forward from the crowd.
Gron and Eltrish.
"The description you give does not match anyone in this village," Gron said firmly. "And if the woman you seek is not here, then you have no reason to remain. Leave at once."
A brief silence followed.
"Is that a threat?" the Saint asked, his voice lowering.
"That depends on how you choose to take it," Gron replied without hesitation.
A faint pressure stirred in the air.
Isidro's hand moved slowly across Andromed's fur as though calming a hunting beast.
"My faithful companion has never been mistaken," he said. "If you refuse to comply, I will be forced to speak in a more... intelligible tongue."
"Violence I mean." His gaze sharpened.
The air around him darkened.
At once, the guild members abandoned hesitation. Whatever doubt remained was buried beneath instinct.
"Defend the village at all costs!" Gron roared.
"Give everything you have!" Eltrish added.
Steel and wands were drawn in unison.
Yet Isidro did not react with urgency.
He looked at them as one might look at insects that had forgotten their place. Then, without warning, he cast his spear into the sky.
The weapon rose high into the night, spinning slowly at first—then faster—until it became a streak of darkness against the stars.
The guild members tracked its ascent, confusion replacing defiance.
Then it fell.
At first, it appeared no larger than an ordinary spear. But as it descended, it began to grow. Ten meters… twenty… longer still.
Its shadow expanded like a falling pillar of iron, its mass increasing until it no longer resembled a weapon, but a catastrophe descending from the heavens.
The wind screamed as it approached, its sheer weight distorting the air itself.
Faces that had once held resolve now stiffened into disbelief.
That was not an attack meant for men.
That was something capable of erasing the village itself.
"If she is here," Isidro thought coldly, "she will reveal herself to save them. If not… then they were never useful to begin with."
The guild raised a barrier in desperation.
"Globulus!"
A translucent dome of mana formed around them, trembling under the pressure of its own creation.
The spear struck.
For an instant, there was silence.
Then the barrier shattered like glass.
The impact tore through it without hesitation, the fragments dissolving into light as the descending force continued unimpeded.
Dolores and Pritish instinctively shut their eyes, turning their heads away. They had already witnessed enough bloodshed in the forest. They did not wish to see another.
Just as the spear reached point-blank range, an invisible force suddenly repelled it.
The violent rebound unleashed a surge of cutting winds that tore through the village and the environment. The shockwave grazed Isidro's face, opening a thin wound along his cheek.
The massive iron construct was thrown backward with devastating force, hurled across the sky before crashing deep into the distant forest. The impact was so immense it sent tremors rippling through the earth.
The guild members staggered as the ground beneath them settled, struggling to regain their footing. For a moment, none spoke. Only heavy breaths and stunned silence remained between them.
They had narrowly escaped death.
Across the field, Isidro slowly raised his hand to his cheek. His fingers came away stained.
Blood.
The realization darkened his expression.
For beings such as these… to make him bleed.
A low fury stirred within him. He lifted his head, intent on erasing them from existence. But the moment his eyes rose, that fury halted.
She stood there.
And in that instant, memory returned.
He had seen her only once before, long ago, when he had barely stepped into adulthood. Now she stood before him once more.
The strongest.
The Legendary Witch advanced without haste, wand in hand. At its tip shimmered a cosmic brilliance, and her entire form was wrapped in a thin veil of mana, like drifting vapor caught in an unseen wind.
Hope swept through the village the moment she stepped forward. Panic faded, fearful hearts steadied, and trembling hands found strength once more. The sight of her alone was enough. Where she stood, defeat no longer seemed possible.
"At last, it appears the rumours were true," she said lightly. "The Agape Cult truly harbours an angel of death." Her gaze sharpened, playful yet dangerous.
"I never expected it to be you… Golshifteh brat."
Isidro's expression twisted with restrained excitement.
"Titigweti Aristovelli!"
Mana surged violently around him as he spoke her name.