"Are you serious? Look at her—frail, sickly. She looks as though she's on the verge of death," the second woman muttered as they finally reached Victoria.
The last of the trio—the man—remained silent and observant, his face concealed beneath the shadow cast by his hood.
The first woman dismounted, revealing composed yet concerned features. She approached the princess with deliberate gentleness.
"Hey… my name is Dolores. These are Pritish and the Lord Patriarch Damian. What are you doing here all by yourself?"
Victoria gave no response. She stared into nothingness, as though unaware of their presence.
Dolores glanced back at her companions in confusion—until a faint sound, nearly swallowed by the rain, reached her ears. It came from the princess' trembling lips.
Victoria was murmuring. Her expression was twisted with rage, yet her eyes seemed distant—detached from reality, as though her mind had severed itself from the world around her.
Unable to discern the words, Dolores leaned closer, bringing her ear near Victoria's mouth. Then she heard it—
"I will kill him… I must kill him… He must not be allowed to exist. He's very detestable. A grotesque man indeed. How dare he insult my love and kill Father… How dare he kill the Lord Hand… that bastard… I will kill this vermin… definitely… definitely… definitely…"
Her voice trembled between breath and fury before rising into a violent scream:
"I will definitely kill you, Helios!"
The forest, the wind, and the rain-soaked night seemed to seal the fallen princess' grim vow. Her bloodlust, once faint and hidden from all but the keenest instincts, now blazed visibly, casting a chill into the air that even the tiniest creature could feel.
"This child!" Dolores thought, feeling the weight of Victoria's determination pressing almost tangibly against her skin. Pritish, beside her, watched with astonishment, her own skin prickling with goosebumps.
It was a declaration that startled them all. As the rain eased and moonlight filtered through the clouds, illuminating the forest floor, Victoria's face was fully revealed to them—a vivid portrait of pure wrath and unyielding thirst for vengeance. She had bitten her lips until they bled, the crimson a testament to the frustration that rendered her singular goal—the murder of Helios—impossible at that moment.
Damian, who had remained silent the entire time, finally spoke, his calm voice cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air.
"Τι θα γινόταν αν έλεγα ότι έχω ό,τι χρειάζεται για να ικανοποιήσω τη μανία σου;" he asked, in a language foreign to Pritish and Dolores. The two women exchanged confused glances, each silently questioning what madness had seized their Lord.
However, Victoria seemed unbothered, as if she understood every word he spoke.
"Θα σε ακολουθούσα χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη." She responded, her voice carrying the weight of certainty, her gaze a flood of determination.
"Take her with us," the Patriarch ordered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"She has remarkable potential."
***
Goss town, at night.
In a small town, as the townsfolk went about their evening, the horsemen's steeds stood stabled near a modest inn. The trio had taken lodging there for the night, their presence tied to a task they were to accomplish in the area. Dressed as ordinary travellers, their cloaks concealed the elegance—or danger—that lay beneath.
While Pritish and Damian shared a quiet meal among the other patrons, Dolores descended the stairs, guiding a freshly bathed and clean Victoria. She wore new, well-fitted clothes, yet the reality of her weight loss remained evident. From the Magenta Woods to Goss Town, she had barely spoken a word. Dolores led her to join Damian and Pritish at the table.
"I don't understand why you're so intent on her. What do you even see in her?" Pritish asked, a note of scepticism in her voice.
"There's a reason I was chosen as Patriarch and not someone like you," Damian replied evenly, sipping his green tea. "The selection demands instincts, perception, and patience—qualities you lack due to your impulsiveness. Do not treat our mission as a chore; it's of divine calling."
Pritish let out a frustrated chuckle, but Dolores focused instead on Victoria, gently caressing her hair and offering warmth—a quiet gesture of comfort.
"Tell me, young woman, what is your name, and where do you come from?" Damian asked after finishing his cup.
Victoria's skin and hair bore the freshness of a bath, but some marks could not be erased: the dark circles under her eyes, her cracked, dry lips, and her gaunt frame spoke of restless nights and smouldering hunger. Yet she refused to indulge her body's cravings, convinced that a greater force—the searing hatred within her, her sole and principal hunger—the only one she truly deemed worthy of being satiated—demanded her full attention.
"My name and place of origin?" the fallen princess said, her voice flat. "It's not important. I am nothing, and it's useless to know anything about nothing. There's nothing to know, to begin with."
"Fair enough. I won't pry into your past. But why won't you eat or drink? It doesn't make sense… are you suicidal?" Damian asked.
"Why must it make sense?" Victoria replied sharply. "After all, the events that brought me here made no sense. I must kill a certain man, regardless of the cost. Until that day comes, I will eat nothing. Only his head shall restore my appetite." Her gaze was cold and unwavering.
Dolores and Pritish exchanged glances, weighing Victoria's words, but Damian's attention never wavered. He studied her eyes, searching for the depths of her soul. Were we to heed only life's chronicles, then eyes never lie.
"This young woman must have endured trauma that shattered her and fuelled the fires of anger and hatred in her heart. Her body may be frail, but her spirit is honed beyond measure. Her soul… we shall see. For now, she is perfect," Damian thought with quiet precision.
The conversation between Damian and Victoria continued, while Dolores and Pritish's heads nodded and shook, reacting to the exchange like a playful ping-pong of gestures.
"Can you help me kill my foe?" Victoria asked, her voice devoid of warmth.
"Are you even a mage?" Damian questioned in return.
"No. Why?" Victoria answered.
"With a body as frail as yours, only magic can make a difference," Damian said, emphasizing the word.
"How?" Victoria pressed.
"You wish to become a mage?" Damian asked.
"What else could I wish for in this moment?" Victoria shot back.
"She's… a hard one," Damian mused to himself with a sigh before addressing her.
"We are of the Agape Cult—a group of mage-disciples devoted to the goddess of love, who spreads her compassion across our lands. She was sealed by a cabal of evildoers, who now rule over these lands we occupy. If you help us free her, you will be granted magical powers beyond your comprehension… the kind that can serve your goal."
"Firstly, I no longer believe in love. Secondly, how can I help a goddess in my current state? And thirdly… what could be the price if I could aid her?" Victoria asked.
"You need not believe in love, nor must your body be strong. As for the price—be honest and sincere in your heart when aiding her, and she, in turn, will act with equal sincerity toward you. It's all a matter of reciprocity," Damian explained.
Victoria's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Love… humph. I no longer care. I am willing to even sell my soul if it means eradicating him. Helios… just wait for me." She thought, the fire of vengeance burning brighter than ever.
The trio had finished their supper and drinks. While Dolores paid the barman, Damian and Pritish packed the small luggage they had, preparing to set off.
"Where are you heading?" the fallen princess asked, her voice still calm but tinged with curiosity.
"We only stopped here to rest and allow you to regain some strength—though clearly, your stubborn refusal to eat made that pointless," Damian said, his tone measured. "Our goddess can only be freed on a full moon, and tonight is one of them. The others await us. Let's not waste any more time. He stepped out of the inn, signalling it was time to continue their journey.
***
The Agape disciples and the princess left Goss town, their healthy horses carrying them swiftly across villages and forests until they reached the edge of a withered, lifeless forest. As they moved through the desolate woods, Dolores tried to reassure Victoria, singing softly while embracing her from behind. But the fallen princess was far from receptive.
"Since the moment we met, you've treated me like a child. Do you pity me?" Victoria asked, her voice sharp.
"Don't take it that way. I meant no offense. Besides, you are a child—it's not that I'm trying to treat you like one. You are, indeed, one," Dolores replied with a gentle smile.
That smile was immediately shattered by Victoria's cold words.
"I am not a child. Let me be."
"As long as your parents exist, you'll always be a child, their child!" Dolores countered, trying to reason.
"Then that logic doesn't apply to me," Victoria said calmly, her eyes glinting with serene coldness. "My parents and blood relatives are all dead—except one, whom I intend to cut down myself."
Though Dolores had yet to fully grasp the potential Damian had seen in Victoria, in that moment, she caught a glimpse of it—a spark of understanding that sent a chill down her spine.
"Leave her alone, Dolores, and focus on our mission. We are to stay up all night, so don't waste your energy on trivial matters," Damian ordered.
Dolores, usually eager in all things, withdrew from interacting with Victoria. Pritish observed her retreat with quiet amusement. As for Victoria, she remained indifferent. All her life, she had been the centre of praise and affection, but now, with her rage burning fiercely in her heart, she had abandoned such emotions, judging them irrelevant to the being she aimed to become.
After crossing dark woods, murky lakes, and infertile soils, they finally arrived at a cave, its entrance sealed by a stone plate etched with mysterious runes. In front of it, a group of Agape disciples mingled with non-mages, all gathered to acquire the gift of mana—just as Victoria sought.
As they dismounted their horses, Gizvhell, another disciple of the Agape cult, approached. His greeting was unusual: he bowed deeply to Damian, delicately took his hands, kissed each finger, and licked his palm. The reaction from the witnesses was immediate—Pritish recoiled in disgust, Dolores was visibly unsettled, and Victoria remained utterly indifferent.
"My greetings, Lord Patriarch. I trust your journey was most pleasant," Gizvhell said, a polite smile on his lips, his presence radiating steadfast loyalty.
"Gizvhell, you are excessive as always," Damian remarked, moving forward without further acknowledgment.
"I consider it a compliment, Lord Patriarch," Gizvhell replied, lowering his head with a faint blush. "Welcome, my sisters—"
Before he could continue, Pritish, Dolores, and Victoria passed him, ignoring his presence entirely. The gesture seemed to frustrate him deeply.
"They ignored me — me, their superior?! Let them not think that standing beside the Lord Patriarch makes them figures of equal stature!" he thought to himself.
Damian drew Victoria to his side and engaged her in conversation, a scene that Gizvhell observed from afar—distant enough to make hearing or understanding impossible. Even so, the exchange gave the impression that Damian and Victoria had known each other for years. Such a misconception was natural in that moment: Victoria's eagerness to comprehend the ceremony in pursuit of her goal, and Damian's patient willingness to explain, created an illusion of familiarity. But Gizvhell understood none of that depth.
"Why does the Lord Patriarch seem so close to this… unsightly thing? What could he possibly see in her?" he thought, his mind twisting with jealousy and bitterness.
Once their conversation concluded, Victoria joined the group of non-mages as Damian turned his attention to them. The weight of his authority fell over the crowd and the night alike, silencing all.
"Tonight is a full moon. A rare opportunity in which you can restore and save our world from the Triad of Chaos through your humble service of freeing our dear goddess of love, Eros. Your presence here is an act of both bravery and deep compassion for a deity who has always kept watch over you. Indeed, such benevolence shall not go unnoticed. Magic is the core of our world; you were born ungifted. This night marks the end of your crippled existence. For you shall receive the gift of mana—if you excel, of course!"
As Damian spoke, the sealed stone shuddered, grinding against its ancient frame, and rolled aside with a rumble that echoed like a distant heartbeat.
"The stone gate moved on its own! Wow, that's incredible! I wish I could do that!" exclaimed the voices of some non-mages, awed.
"This is nothing compared to the powers you shall wield if you please our goddess. Now go, and restore love and harmony to our world!" Damian commanded, his voice ringing like a bell across the cavernous opening, as the non-mages marched toward gaping maw of the cave, their hearts alight with determination and hope.
Victoria followed in silence, her expression unreadable, her hollow gaze seeming to absorb the faint light around her. She sought no spectacle, no praise, no dazzling display of power. Her purpose was singular, relentless, and merciless: to eliminate the man who had tainted her life, the one she held responsible for every loss, every sorrow, every fragment of her shattered existence.