A day passed.
A full day of indulgence, of doing nothing but eating and sleeping as if the chaos she had stirred meant nothing.
Charlotte stretched as she stepped out of a violet gate, reappearing within Nocturne once more. This time, there was no spectacle. No floating Lunarium casting its shadow across the city. No dramatic entrance that bent attention toward her existence.
Just a single figure. In her usual casual and unbothered way.
Aurora and Theodore remained behind in the Lunarium with Elowen. The former was still recovering, though she would never admit it out loud. The latter had already resumed training, driven by something new—something sharper than before.
Charlotte yawned.
"…Alright," she muttered. "Let's wrap this up."
The Hall of Witches was already filled before she arrived. Not a single seat was empty. The Senate stood at the forefront. The Great Families gathered behind them. Observers from both witches and supernaturals filled the remaining space, their gazes unified toward a single expectation.
They were waiting.
Charlotte entered without ceremony, hands tucked into her pockets, her footsteps echoing lightly against the polished floor. The same place where tradition had stood unchallenged for generations.
Now—
It felt different.
Persephone stood at the center, composed as ever. Mildred beside her, already prepared. Edith leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, a grin already forming as she watched
Charlotte approach.
"…You're late," Edith remarked.
"I was sleeping," Charlotte replied with a chuckle without hesitation.
A few witches frowned. Others remained silent.
Before anything else could begin— Charlotte raised her hand. "Ah! Before we start." The room stilled. "I don't really like private meetings."
Mildred's gaze sharpened slightly.
"…And why is that?"
Charlotte smiled.
"Too many people left out."
Then—
She snapped her fingers.
Across throughout Nocturne—
The air flickered. Light bent unnaturally.
And then—
It appeared.
Massive projections suspended in the air.
Screens.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of them. Floating above streets, between structures, over gathering crowds. Each one reflecting a single image— The Hall of Witches.
Live. Clear. Unavoidable.
Charlotte grinned.
"I call the spell Display. Simple spell. Acts like TVs of the Barebloods."
Outside the Hall, Nocturne didn't just react—
it erupted into motion.
Streets that had once been calm turned restless as people gathered beneath the floating projections, drawn in like moths to light.
Some witches stood frozen, staring upward with disbelief, their minds struggling to process what they were seeing. Others whispered urgently, already forming opinions, already taking sides. Supernaturals leaned against walls and railings, arms crossed, watching with narrowed eyes—not dismissive, but cautious, as if trying to measure the weight of what was unfolding.
For the younger ones, the reaction was different.
Excitement. Unfiltered, unrestrained excitement.
They had never seen anything like this before. Not the magic, not the openness, not the audacity of it. To them, this wasn't heresy. It was possibility. And that alone made the older witches uneasy.
Silence echoed Inside the Hall.
And then—
"What did you just do—"
"It's already live," Charlotte added casually, glancing around.
"So, don't say anything weird."
Witches held their mouths from spouting anything that could destroy their reputation. Outside, murmurs tend to form.
"She broadcasted the Hall…?"
"Is that even allowed—?"
"That's the Heretic…?"
Various murmuring echoed the streets of Nocturne below the projected screens.
Persephone observed quietly. Her crystallized gaze reflected the screens suspended beyond the walls.
"…It does resemble the Barebloods' television," she murmured softly.
There was no resistance in her voice.
Only observation. Interest.
Mildred exhaled slowly.
"…You made this public."
"Yep."
"…Without consent."
"Yep."
A pause as she rubs her temples.
Then—
"…Proceed."
The discussion began. At least, at first. Suggestions were raised one after another.
"Submit formal research proposals."
"Limit exposure."
"Assign Senate-approved instructors."
"Establish layered teaching protocols."
"Prevent uncontrolled spread of unstable techniques."
Each voice carried weight. Each word rooted in tradition. Charlotte listened.
Quietly. For a time.
Then—
"…Or," she cut in.
Silence fell immediately.
"Why not just open it?" The words hung in the air.
Simple. Yet heavy enough to crush everything that came before it.
"…Open it?" one of the witches repeated.
"My coven," Charlotte said. "Make it accessible."
"…To who?"
Charlotte didn't hesitate.
"Everyone."
The reaction was instant. Inside the Hall, voices rose. Outside, Nocturne stirred like a living thing.
"She's serious—"
"Witches and supernaturals both…?"
"That's impossible—"
"That's heresy—"
Excitement clashed with fear. Opportunity collided with doubt.
Charlotte continued like none of it mattered.
"You can review everything of course," she added, waving her hand lazily. "My curriculum, structure, whatever. I don't really mind."
That—
That shifted the conversation.
Not acceptance. But consideration.
Mildred's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…You are allowing the Senate to oversight."
"Mm."
A controlled system. That alone kept the discussion alive. Then Charlotte turned.
Not to the witches—
But to the world watching.
She waved lightly at the projection.
"Since you're all watching anyway…" The image sharpened. The murmurs quieted. People leaned in.
"My coven's basically a school," she said. "You pay tuition. You learn."
Straightforward. Understandable. Dangerous.
"I'll divide it into categories," she continued.
"Basic magic. Advanced stuff. Specialized paths depending on what you want." She raised a finger.
"Supernaturals get different lessons. Your birthrights work differently, so your magic should too."
"I'll separate spells into proper schools too. I hate how you separate spells into weird schools. I'll simplify it," Charlotte continued, as if she were explaining something trivial.
"There'll also be a test to assess your knowledge. Once you pass, you'll be placed in Beginner, Intermediate, or Advanced. You don't move up because of age or lineage—you move up because you actually understand what you're doing."
That statement alone caused a ripple.
No lineage?
No privilege?
For centuries, progression had been dictated by blood, by inheritance, by the weight of one's family name.
And now—
She was discarding all of it.
"You fail, you repeat. You get it, you move forward," she added with a small shrug. "Simple."
Simple. The word felt almost insulting. Because it exposed just how unnecessarily complicated their current system had become.
"And teachers?" someone asked from within the Hall.
Charlotte tapped her cheek lightly.
"I'm not training anyone," Charlotte shrugged. "I'll just make teachers myself. Living constructs."
She glanced at Mildred.
"No bias. No mistakes. They'll teach exactly what I want taught."
It was a compromise. A dangerous one. But a functional one. And that made it harder to reject.
That—
That was new. Entirely new. No system had ever treated both sides equally.
Outside—
The reaction cracked.
Some—
"I want in…"
"If the Senate approves, I'll go—"
Others—
"…It's the Heretic…"
"…What if we're cursed…?"
Fear lingered. But so did interest.
Edith laughed loud.
"…You really don't care," she said. "What if the Great Families send their own?"
Charlotte shrugged.
"Then they learn."
No pride. No hesitation. No restriction.
Edith paused—
Then laughed harder.
"…You're insane."
"Thanks."
All eyes turned to Mildred. The decision rested on her. The weight of the Witching Hour settled into a single moment. She closed her eyes briefly. Then opened them.
"…Under Senate supervision," she began, "with full regulation and review…" A pause.
"…Your proposal is accepted and to be enacted immediately."
The acceptance didn't settle the room.
If anything—
It made everything worse.
Because now it was real. There was no longer any room to dismiss Charlotte as a passing anomaly, no longer any space to pretend that her ideas would fade with time. The Senate had acknowledged her. That alone gave her legitimacy.
Across the projections, reactions intensified. Some celebrated quietly, already thinking of what they could gain. Others turned away entirely, unwilling to even witness what they believed to be the beginning of decline.
Division had already begun.
Not through force. But through choice. Nocturne exploded.
Not in unity—
But in reaction.
Shock. Excitement. Fear. Possibility.
Inside—
Charlotte smiled.
"Nice."
Construction began immediately. Earth mages were deployed in waves. Stone rose. Structure formed. But what stood in the end, It wasn't grand. Wasn't imposing.
It was… simple.
Almost disappointingly so.
Stone layered with faint streaks of purple amethyst. Subtle golden accents lining its edges. Nothing about it screamed importance.
Nothing about it reflected the scale of change it represented.
"…This is it?" one witch muttered.
Persephone stepped forward.
"…No," she said softly. "It isn't."
Inside—
An empty front desk. Two doors. And nothing beyond them. Empty space.
"…You're placing it here," Persephone said.
"Yeah." Charlotte raised her hand. Space folded.
The doors opened and beyond them, the Lunarium.
Gasps echoed.
Not just in the Hall—
But across every projection in Nocturne that are still being broadcasted.
An endless field. A sky detached from reality. A domain untouched by the world.
"Dimension Bubble," Charlotte said casually. "My space."
No one stepped forward at first. Not immediately. Because what stood before them wasn't just a space—it was a violation of everything they understood.
A separate world.
The concept alone sent a quiet chill through the older witches. Space Magic had always been rare, difficult, and dangerous.
But this—
This wasn't manipulation. This was creation.
"…If she can make something like this…" someone muttered under their breath.
"…You created a world," someone whispered.
"And turned it into a school…" Murmurs rose again.
"…Should her title change…?"
"…Witch of the Cosmos…?"
Charlotte immediately waved it off.
"Nope." She smiled. "I like the Heretic Witch more."
Because she refused to be defined. Refused to be limited. Refused to belong to a single idea.
Back outside—
Agreement settled. Not comfortably. But firmly. Mildred stepped forward.
"…Submit your full system."
Charlotte reached into her pocket. Pulled out a small card. Handed it over.
"Use mana."
Mildred did.
And then—
Her perception shifted. An interface appeared. Not in front of her. But within her mind.
Documents. Structures. Systems. Endless. Detailed. Complete.
"…What is this…?" she whispered.
"Rift," Charlotte replied. "A Storage spell."
Mildred's fingers tightened slightly around the card. Inside her mind, the structure unfolded layer after layer—documents organized within systems, systems within frameworks, each one more refined than the last.
Her gaze slowly lifted back toward Charlotte.
"…You planned all of this," she said.
Not a question. A realization.
Charlotte just smiled and pulled her tongue out.
Around them, the other witches began to understand as well. This wasn't just about teaching magic differently. This was about changing how they lived with it.
They looked at one another. And for the first time—
The thought wasn't rejection, as they saw it as an opportunity.
Around them—
Understanding spread. Not just magic. Not just teaching. But utility. Daily life. Commerce. Possibility. Everything could change.
One by one—
They left. Returning to their families. Their domains. Their thoughts.
Mildred remained. Reading. Analyzing. Understanding.
Charlotte stretched.
"…Done."
A gate opened. She stepped through.
Gone. She returned to her Lunarium, hungry and exhausted.
Above Nocturne—
The projections faded. But the noise remained. Louder than before. Because something irreversible had begun. Not quietly. Not gradually. But all at once.
And as Mildred Rossi continued reading the documents within her mind, The Witching Hour shifted. Not toward order. Not toward chaos. But toward something entirely unknown.
The Age of Heresy had begun.