Two weeks had passed since the meeting.
And in those two weeks, the Witching Hour did not stay still.
It had moved great tremors like when the third calamity, Aurora, was rampaging.
Quietly in some places.
Violently in others.
And for those who understood what had begun, It was already too late to stop it.
In the Lunarium, Aurora stood in the fields of endless flowers, presenting the spells she had created and polished by the Heretical Witch.
The assignment had been given by Charlotte—no, by Aster, as he dispelled the Alter Ego whenever no visitors were present.
Two weeks.
That was all it took. Two weeks to go from a girl who followed instructions, to someone who began creating her own.
And now—
She had passed.
Currently, she was now presenting the spells she had created, now approved and refined under Aster's guidance.
With how she had been integrating into the modern world, her naming sense and creativity had begun to change as well.
Just like Theodore, she had grown fond of shows. Especially romance.
She didn't understand why. But she liked it. Movies, too—particularly those where Barebloods tried to depict witches and supernaturals.
Some were inaccurate. Some were exaggerated. Some were outright insulting.
And yet—
There was something about them.
Something that felt… unrestrained. They weren't bound by rules. They imagined and created whatever that came in their mind.
Aurora understood what Aster meant about the Barebloods.
In her assignment, she was to create Three offensive. Two defensive. One auxiliary. That was the requirement. And she completed all of it.
For the offensive spells, Aurora had taken her family's sealing magic—something meant to restrain—and forced it into something far more aggressive.
She broke it apart. Reshaped it. Made it hers. First was the Frigid Mass. A building-sized mass of Absolute Ice, formed high above a target before crashing down. Due to the nature of Absolute Ice, destroying it to counter it was nearly impossible.Unless, you were the Heretical Witch. Second, Frozen Tundra. The ground within a wide radius transformed into a field of ice under her control. From it, spikes could emerge at will, striking without additional mana cost once established. A territory. A domain. Her domain. Last for the offensive was the Icicle Spears. A refined evolution of her family's Ice Spike. Thin, precise, and deadly. Each spear carried a simple directive: [Follow the marked target and strike.]
For defense, Aurora didn't find it hard to create one. She had Charlotte show her ideas. Though, that was just one. She argued on Aster that her Frozen Tundra counts as an offensive and a defensive spell. Aster disagreed. In the end however, she won. She turned Frozen Tundra into both offense and defense, arguing that enemies would lose footing unless they could fly.
Aster had nearly rejected it. Then accepted it. Because she wasn't wrong.
Her second defensive spell, the one she copied and made her own from Charlotte, Frigid Umbrella. A formation of spinning ice spikes hovering above and around her, intercepting incoming attacks. Its command was simple: [Spin. Intercept. Deflect.]
It worked. But not perfectly. It lacked speed. Aster had to test it.
He spawned bolts of pure mana towards Aurora.
Aurora could only stare at the incoming mana bolts heading towards her.
Against Aster's barrage, it only blocked part of the attacks.
Still, it was enough. For now.
And more importantly, It was hers. That left the final requirement. Auxiliary.
Aurora was stuck. She searched. Read. Even used the internet. The word she kept seeing—
'Support.'
But she already had defense. So what else was there? What else could she add? Without overlapping?
She sat. Thinking. Replaying every fight she had with Aster. Every moment she hesitated. Every moment she missed.
Then—
It clicked.
Not offense. Not defense. But control.
Before this, her spells didn't have any intent to follow marked targets. That was before she had discovered her Cryo Sense.
Cryo Sense. The spell itself was simple. Cold air spread outward from her body, thin and nearly invisible.
But, she could feel it.
Every movement. Every shift. Every presence within its reach. It wasn't sight. It wasn't sound. It was awareness.
With it, she no longer needed to manually mark targets. She simply knew where they were.
And once she knew, her spells followed.
Seamlessly.
Naturally.
Silence followed her demonstration. The flowers swayed gently. The cold air lingered.
Then—
Aster clapped once.
"Bravo! You're now a full-fledged heretic. Yay!"
Aurora blinked. "…That's it?"
Aster laughed.
"Don't worry, we'll celebrate. I'll make Elowen cook up something,"
"…Thanks."
He walked toward her, reaching into his sleeve before pulling out a single sheet of paper.
Aurora stared at it.
"…What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Tear it."
"…What?"
"It's your reward. It's something new I made."
She hesitated.
Then—
She tore it in half.
Mana exploded.
Aurora froze as it surged around her, wrapping her body, pressing into her skin, then sinking in.
Not entering. Embedding.
Knowledge flooded her.
Structure. Flow. Construction.
Her breathing broke. Her vision blurred. Her mind trembled on the edge of collapse.
This— This was worse than anything she had experienced before. She couldn't process it. Because it wasn't being learned. It was being forced into her.
Then— It stopped. Her breath returned in a sharp gasp.
"…Call Frost Dragon: Iskaryon."
The words left her instinctively.
Beside her, the persona schema of Iskaryon, the sphere of mana exuding ice mist, trembled.
Then—
Shifted. Formed.
Iskaryon roared.
"FINALLY!!"
Aurora stared.
She hadn't constructed it. She hadn't practiced it.
And yet— It was there.
Perfect. Complete.
She turned toward Aster. "How?!"
Aster grinned. "
Bingo. It actually worked."
Spell inheritance. No study. No repetition. No memorization.
Aurora clenched her fist.
Back then— In that prison— She had spent countless hours trying to memorize even the simplest spells passed down to her.
Repeating them. Failing them. Forcing them into herself.
And now—
This exists?
"…You used me as a test."
"Of course."
She smacked him. He smacked her back. Lightly.
"Don't hit your coven mother," Aster said.
"Don't experiment on me!" she shot back.
The two bickered playfully as Elowen call them up for a celebration.
Elsewhere—
The D'Arcel estate had fallen into disorder.
What was once controlled had become unstable.
Word had spread.
Persephone Raven.
The Heretical Witch.
Both sponsoring candidates. That alone was enough.
The other wives moved immediately.
Connections reopened. Alliances reactivated. Debts collected. Promises made.
Some sought teachers. Others sought power. Some even tried reaching out to minor families, offering ridiculous terms just for a chance to gain backing.
All of them—
Desperate.
To keep up. To compete. To survive.
Lucien watched in silence. From his office, the estate no longer felt like something he ruled. It felt like something— Moving on its own.
Servants rushed more often. Voices carried further. Even the atmosphere had changed. To say he was surprised was an understatement.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly.
"…This is going to be troublesome."
And yet—
A faint smile formed.
He was looking forward to the upcoming succession ceremony on how much of a chaos it would be.
Meanwhile—
At the heart of the Witching Hour— The underground city of Nocturne. Far beneath the modern world, hidden beneath layers of illusion and distortion, Nocturne stood untouched.
A city where mana flowed and made everything. Where structures were built not just with material, but with will. It was not merely hidden. It was separated. From time. From progress. From everything the surface world had become.
And at its highest chamber—
The Hall of Witches is erected.
Persephone stood at its center.
Silent. Still. Unmoving.
Before her—
Pressure.
Edith's mana flooded the chamber, crushing everything beneath it.
"You've lost your mind," she spat. "To side with that… thing."
"That heretic." Edith shouted.
"Your Crystallization has eroded you," she continued. "Have you gone senile now, old friend?!"
Persephone didn't react.
Didn't move. Didn't blink.
But her silence was no longer obedience. It was defiance.
"…Have you seen us?" Persephone said calmly. "We are stagnating."
"Even the Barebloods are progressing faster than us." Persephone extends her hands, trying her best to make the crowd join side with her. "And the supernaturals are beginning to adapt faster than we are." She followed up.
The desk shattered beneath Edith's hand. The crack echoed through the chamber.
"That damn witch…" she thought.
"You expect me to just destroy our tradition?!" Edith snapped.
"No," Persephone replied.
"…But you call her a heretic."
"Look at yourselves. Your family created Martial Magic." She bluntly says. "Fighting like the Barebloods of old. Like a barbarian," She followed.
That—
Hit.
Before the tension could break—
Another presence entered.
Not overwhelming. Not oppressive. But firm.
Mistress Mildred Rossi stepped forward. Her heels echoed softly. No aura. No pressure. No display of lineage.
And yet—
The room quieted.
Not from fear. But recognition.
The Senate. Unlike the great families, it stood apart. If they were private institutions, The Senate was public. They taught. They regulated. They maintained balance.
Mildred stopped. Then spoke.
"Why not listen to Madame Raven?"
Silence.
"I'm not asking you to agree," she continued. "Only to understand what she has seen."
Persephone spoke.
"As much as I wished for her to help the Witching Hour's stagnated times, I still do not want her ideas to spread. I need the senate to regulate it so that only those who are deserving can learn it," She added.
Mildred smiled.
"And there it is."
The room shifted.
Hesitation. Thought. Consideration.
Then—
Persephone mentioned the duel.
Edith smiled.
Slowly. Dangerously.
"…Then I'll take part."
However, it wasn't just a duel between them; Edith wanted to have the third calamity to showcase herself as well. With her favored coven daughter, she'll be facing her first before The Heretical Witch and The Great Martial Witch, Edith Panthera.
At the edge of the chamber—
Another presence stirred.
The Welsch. Aurora's grandmother.
"…I want to see her," she murmured.
As much as she had hated her for learning the Heretical Witch's circulation, Aurora is still the only witch in their main family branch present.
Those that came were boys. That made her desperate for Aurora.
And just like that—
The decision was made.
The duel would happen.
Persephone reached out. Charlotte answered. A time was set.
And all Edith could do—
Was wait.
As excitement began to burn inside her.
Not anger. Not anymore.
Something else.
Anticipation.