The flames of war and the distant roar of cannons seemed to fade before a terrifying silence: Lyss’s chest no longer moved.

  Velka felt it first. Lyss’s body lost all rigidity in her arms, as if the heat of her fury had been snuffed out in an instant. Her breathing stopped. Her heart… ceased. Velka’s face went pale; tears sprang forth before she could stop them. She fell to her knees in the snow, clutching Lyss with desperation.

  —No… you can’t leave like this! —she whispered, her voice breaking, holding her tight as if sheer will could tear her back from the void.

  Caelia dropped beside them, fists clenched and her face hardened by an emotion she almost never allowed herself to show. —No, Lyss…! —she murmured, her voice trembling, before she snapped back into focus and barked—. We’re not letting her die here! Velka, start now!

  Neyra, still bleeding, let out a cry as she saw life slipping away from Lyss. —No… it can’t be! No! —her hands trembled as she covered her mouth.

  An explosion shook the ground, a hollow echo rippling through the forest. From the distance came the relentless rattle of automatic rifles, mingled with shouted orders and the rumble of armored vehicles. The air filled with smoke and snow whipped by vibrations, but for Velka, Caelia, and Neyra there was only one enemy: the silence in Lyss’s chest.

  Velka began chest compressions with trembling hands, ignoring another blast that painted the sky red. —Come on, Lyss, fight with me! Don’t you dare leave me!

  Caelia held her head, teeth clenched as the snow around them stained red. —Come back! Listen to me, Lyss, you have to return!

  Another burst of gunfire cracked in the distance, followed by a colossal roar that froze the blood in their veins. The army of Eiswacht was fighting something they couldn’t control, but that battle was beyond their reach. The real struggle was Lyss’s fight against nothingness.

  Neyra, panting, raised her hands wreathed in sparks of electricity. Tears mingled with the cold sweat on her face. —Lyss, come back! Please! —she pleaded, her voice breaking.

  For an instant she faltered, her sparks flickering out, her body shaking from exhaustion. Her sobs cut the air like knives.

  Then she screamed.

  A raw, guttural cry tore out of Neyra, born of anguish, terror, and love. It shook her shoulders, cracked her voice, and filled the silence that surrounded them. —LYSS! DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE US!

  The scream merged with a distant explosion, the sound of artillery crashing into the earth as if the world itself echoed her desperation. At that same moment, Neyra slammed her hands down on Lyss’s chest and released everything—every spark, every shred of magic, every ounce of her breaking soul.

  For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Silence.

  And then—faint, fragile, but real—a pulse.

  Velka’s eyes widened, disbelieving, as her trembling fingers found it. —Her heart… it’s beating!

  Lyss’s heart beat once more, but her body remained inert, fragile as newly mended glass. Velka held her with desperate care, cradling her against her chest while Caelia forced herself to stand, swallowing her emotions.

  —We have to get her out of here —Caelia said, her voice tight but clear—. Now.

  Neyra, still staggering from the discharge, leaned against the charred remains of a split tree. Her lips trembled, but her eyes carried a spark of resolve. —I… I can walk —she murmured, though the blood pouring from her wound told a different story.

  —Not on your own —Velka snapped. She looked at Caelia, and they nodded silently. Between the two of them, they slung Neyra’s arm over their shoulders, supporting her as best they could.

  The forest stretched out before them, scarred by war. Distant explosions lit the snow that fell slow and constant, each flash painting distorted silhouettes in the gloom. The roar of cannons mixed with shouted military orders and the rumble of unseen creatures, as if the world itself were splitting apart.

  Velka, clutching Lyss tightly against her chest, pressed forward step by step, ignoring the fire in her muscles and the weight of despair. Lyss’s breathing was a faint thread, but it was enough to keep her moving.

  —Hold on, darling… —she whispered, her lips brushing against Lyss’s cold forehead—. Please, hold on.

  Caelia scanned ahead, her eyes searching through the wreckage for any place to hide. Smoke and snow blended in the frozen air, and every shadow looked like an enemy ready to spring.

  Finally, she spotted what was left of a supply shack, half-collapsed from artillery fire. —There —she ordered, pointing with her chin.

  Neyra whimpered as they picked up their pace, but she didn’t protest. She knew there was no other choice. They stumbled into the shack, its floor littered with splinters of wood and shattered glass, the smell of gunpowder mixing with frost. Inside, though fragile, at least there was a roof to separate them from the sky at war.

  Velka laid Lyss down on a damp, tattered blanket, improvising a bed. She knelt at her side, clasping her hand with both of hers, as if just holding her could keep her tethered to this world.

  The silence of the shack contrasted with the chaos outside. Inside, only Neyra’s ragged breathing, Lyss’s faint pulse, and Caelia’s firm murmur remained —even now, she couldn’t stop thinking of the mission.

  —We’re alive —she said through clenched teeth—. But if we want any of this to mean something, we have to hold out until the opportunity comes.

  Velka lowered her gaze to Lyss, her voice breaking just a little. —We’ll hold out… but only if she does too.

  Not far from there...

  The snow was no longer white. It was scarred with black trenches, artillery craters, and stains of blood. Each explosion illuminated for an instant the aberrant silhouette of the witch—like a living altar refusing to fall.

  Credentia loomed amid the smoke: fragments of broken holy symbols and shattered columns sprouting and dissolving from her body. Every step shed white light that burned like liquid fire, and every flash tore screams from soldiers who collapsed with wide eyes, trapped in memories that were not their own.

  —“Hold the line!”—Klara commanded, her voice as sharp as ice in her veins. Her gravitational scythe swept in a brutal arc, bending the very ground, forcing the creature half a step back.

  Ilse rushed from the flank, her short swords gleaming with energy. With a magical snap, the blades duplicated in her hands: four flashing arcs, swift and precise. She spun like a whirlwind, cutting through the floating symbols surrounding Credentia. Each slash unraveled the illusions for a second—until they reformed, multiplied, whispering familiar voices that tried to crack her focus.

  —“I’m not your daughter!”—Ilse spat, driving her blade through one of those phantom figures, just before she recognized her mother’s face among them.

  Mareike charged head-on, her rupture gauntlets blazing with bluish light. Every punch against the air roared like a cannon blast; every strike against the Dominus’s body tore chunks of her symbolic flesh, which reknit like molten wax. With a roar, Mareike drove both fists into the creature’s torso, the magical explosion kicking up a wave of snow and tossing soldiers across the ground.

  —“You’ll fall here, monster!”—she bellowed, though blood streaked down her temple from the recoil.

  But Credentia answered. A fractured choir poured from her throat, a hundred voices layered over one another:

  —“Believe… believe… believe…”

  The echo lashed like an invisible whip. The nearest tanks warped as if forgotten, their turrets melting without flame. Several soldiers turned their weapons on their own comrades, convinced they were traitors. Others fell to their knees, praying incoherent prayers.

  Ilse stumbled, her blades clashing with a spark, nearly losing her grip. For a heartbeat, she swore she saw Klara herself raising the scythe against her.

  —“Ilse!”—Mareike roared, smashing the illusion with a punch that split the ground in two.

  Then Klara intervened. Her scythe slammed into the earth with a crash that bent gravity itself, dragging the creature downward. The crushing weight spread across the field—soldiers, ruins, even Credentia’s deformed columns were pressed into the frozen ground.

  For a moment, it seemed they might succeed. That the combined strength of Schattenspeer and the army could contain her.

  But Credentia screamed. It wasn’t human, or beast, or even divine—it was a broken prayer. And with that roar, the witch tore free, her body ripping through the pressure in an explosion of white light that blinded them all.

  Ilse was hurled several meters, her duplicated blades scattering and dissolving as they hit the ground. Mareike shielded herself with her arms, her gauntlets enduring the blast, but her body slammed into a tank, denting the steel with her back. Klara barely held her ground, driving the scythe into the earth as an anchor, her face hardened—though surprise flickered in her eyes.

  The symbols across the Dominus’s skin burned brighter, and the choir expanded again in every direction:

  —“Believe… believe… believe…”

  The echo filled their bones.

  The night had turned into a graveyard of echoes. Every time the witch cried “believe”, the entire world seemed to shatter. Soldiers were no longer soldiers: some fired upon their own comrades, others wept like children, and others simply knelt with hollow eyes, muttering senseless prayers.

  Ilse could barely stay on her feet. Her duplicated blades shattered one after another like mirages, unable to hold their form against the creature’s power. Her lungs burned, and every time she blinked she saw another beloved face before her. Her mother. Her sister. Mareike mortally wounded. All lies, yet so real that tears streamed down her cheeks.

  —No… I can’t… —she whimpered, raising her swords only to watch them burst into light before they could touch the Dominus.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Mareike was on her knees, her gauntlets cracked and her hands bleeding. Every strike against Credentia was like smashing into a living mountain. Her arms trembled with pain, but still she clenched her teeth and forced herself upright.

  —Damn it! —she roared, landing a punch that barely grazed the witch’s side before being hurled back by a shockwave that flung her into the snow—. There’s nothing I can break her with!

  Klara endured, but even she, with all her pride, bore the marks. The scythe vibrated in her hands as if about to split, and her gravitational aura fractured with every impact. Her lips bled where she had bitten them raw, and her icy blue eyes locked on the creature with restrained fury. But even she knew: with each passing second it grew harder to remain standing.

  —Hold the line! —she commanded harshly, though her breathing was ragged—. We will not fall here!

  Credentia stepped forward, the ground itself cracking under her feet. From her wounds poured white light that healed instantly, as if the universe itself held her together. The chorus of voices struck again, blending false memories with true ones.

  Ilse screamed, covering her ears, but still she heard them. She heard her mother’s voice saying she had disappointed her. She heard Mareike’s voice begging her not to let her die. She heard Klara’s voice accusing her of betrayal.

  —Stop! —she screamed, stabbing into the air. But the witch did not even flinch.

  Mareike tried to charge again, but with the smallest gesture she was hurled back, her body slamming against a wall of symbols that sent her sprawling, coughing blood.

  Fear seeped into the remaining soldiers. Some dropped their weapons, others fled into the forest, only to find illusions that dragged them back into the line of fire.

  And Klara… for the first time, Klara felt doubt brush her bones.

  —This… is not ordinary magic, —she murmured, barely audible. Her eyes widened a fraction, a flicker of incredulity breaking through—. This is something that should not exist.

  The Dominus spread her arms, and the religious symbols etched into her skin glowed like fractured suns. Every voice in the chorus became a scream, an absolute command that filled every corner of the night.

  —Believe… believe… believe!

  An entire battalion collapsed at once, as if erased from existence.

  Despair was complete. And for the first time, the three—Klara, Ilse, and Mareike—felt they might not leave this night alive.

  The snow burned under the white light emanating from the witch’s body. Every symbol on her skin glowed with divine fury, and her voice—or rather, the voices—filled the field with a single command:

  —Believe!

  Ilse dropped to her knees, her swords shattering into fragments of light. Mareike coughed blood, her gauntlets cracked and sparking with blue energy. Klara remained standing, though her hands trembled around the haft of her scythe, as if the weapon itself was about to break.

  —We can’t keep this up… —Ilse gasped, tears streaking her cheeks—. She’s going to erase us…

  Klara clenched her teeth. In her icy gaze burned more than pride: a rabid determination.

  —Then we’ll drag her down with us —she whispered, raising the scythe.

  Mareike slammed her fists against the ground, forcing herself upright. Her legs shook, but her eyes blazed. —If we’re going to fall… it’ll be while breaking her.

  Ilse swallowed hard, and though her false blades shattered again and again, she understood what she had to do. She stepped in front of the creature, drawing its attention, her duplications bursting like mirrors at the touch of its illusions. Every second bought was a blade at the throat.

  —Now! —she screamed, her voice breaking.

  Mareike roared and poured all her magic into the gauntlets. The runes flared crimson, the metal vibrating on the edge of rupture. She charged straight at the Dominus’s chest and struck with every ounce of strength she had left.

  The impact didn’t fell the witch, but it staggered her. A crack of light raced across her glowing symbols as if stained glass had begun to splinter.

  Klara didn’t hesitate. She gathered all the gravity she had left and crushed it down on a single point: Credentia’s head. The witch swayed, her scream fracturing into multiple voices, out of sync, breaking apart.

  —Ilse, close the seal! —Klara commanded.

  The girl could barely move, but she lifted her fractal blades and crossed them before her. A crude symbol, weak, imperfect… but enough. Mareike held her shoulders so she wouldn’t collapse.

  Klara swung the scythe, its blade vibrating with a dark glow. With a feral cry, she drove it into the witch’s chest. It didn’t cut flesh—it anchored the weight of gravity itself into the improvised seal.

  The world exploded in a burst of white and red light.

  Credentia’s voices splintered into incoherent screams, broken memories, prayers without faith. Her body erupted into beams of radiance that extinguished one by one, until only a ragged echo remained, dissolving into the storm.

  When it was over, Klara fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Mareike lay collapsed beside her, her hands bloodied and her gauntlets reduced to shards. Ilse barely stood, her body trembling with exhaustion, tears brimming in her eyes.

  The snow was carpeted with smoke and silence. Eiswacht’s army lay in ruins around them, the survivors too dazed to shout victory.

  Klara raised her head, her face hard, smeared with blood and ash.

  —Don’t forget… —she murmured, her voice broken yet firm—. We killed it. No one else.

  The wind carried her words away, but in the three of them burned the same emptiness: they knew this battle hadn’t made them invincible. It had only left them with deeper scars.

  The echo of battle still rumbled in the distance

  explosions shaking the earth like a war drum, the metallic shriek of tanks maneuvering through the snow, bursts of gunfire ripping the night apart. Signs that Klara and her squad were still fighting the aberration born from the ruins.

  Several kilometers away, hidden in a derelict maintenance shack by the abandoned tram lines, Velka, Caelia, and Neyra fought a different enemy: the silence in Lyss’s chest.

  They had laid her on a ruined mattress, covering her with jackets and blankets that smelled of dust and mold. Her breathing was erratic; at times, only a whisper that faded into nothing. Every pause made Velka lean over her urgently, fingers pressed to her friend’s neck, her eyes red from weeping.

  —No… don’t do this to me again —she murmured, her voice breaking.

  Neyra, despite the wound that still made her limp, knelt beside Lyss, sending out small pulses of electricity into her chest each time the rhythm faltered. Every spark made Lyss’s body jolt, sometimes bringing a brief gasp, a twitch that seemed like life… only to vanish again.

  —Her heart won’t hold… —Neyra stammered, tears dripping onto her lips—. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her stable.

  —Do whatever it takes —Caelia ordered, her voice sharp as a whip, though the tension on her face betrayed her. She stood guard at the door, peering through a crack at the frozen woods outside. The distant glow of flares lit the snow like a battlefield sky.

  Then a sound froze them. Engines. Metallic voices amplified through radios. The ground trembled under the rhythmic march of heavy boots.

  Velka lifted her head, trembling as floodlights cut through the darkness. A beam of light swept across the cracks of the shack, searching the interior.

  No one breathed.

  Lyss’s chest sank into a cruel silence. Velka bit her lip hard to keep from screaming. Neyra sent another desperate spark, too strong, arching Lyss’s body with a faint groan.

  The patrol stopped outside. Boots crunched in the snow. An officer barked short orders, and for an instant it seemed they would check the shack. Caelia raised her hand, demanding absolute silence, sweat beading cold on her brow.

  The floodlight shifted, sliding across the wall like a guillotine of light. One second more and it would have revealed everything.

  Then, the engines roared again. Voices drifted away. Silence returned, heavy as a slab of stone.

  Velka let out a sob, resting her forehead on Lyss’s shoulder. Neyra collapsed back, drained, her hands still crackling faintly. Caelia kept her gaze on the crack until she was certain no one remained nearby.

  —We’re out of time —she rasped, more to herself than the others—. Next time, we won’t be so lucky.

  Velka forced herself upright, moving to Neyra, who clutched her blood-soaked leg.

  —Let me see —she said softly, though her voice still shook.

  Neyra hesitated, then pulled her hand away. The wound still bled heavily beneath the torn fabric. Velka placed her palms over the injury and closed her eyes. A warm amber glow flared from her hands, pulsing gently as it wrapped the torn flesh. Neyra clenched her teeth but did not pull back.

  The smell of iron mixed with an almost comforting heat. Slowly, the bleeding stopped, the torn edges knitting together under an invisible will. The pain didn’t vanish, but the life was no longer leaking out drop by drop.

  —Hold on, little one —Velka whispered, her tone tender in a way she rarely allowed—. I won’t let you fall too.

  When she finished, she briefly clasped Neyra’s hand.

  —There. You won’t bleed out now.

  Neyra nodded, tears still streaming —this time more of relief than pain.

  Meanwhile, Lyss tossed in feverish sleep. Now and then she stirred, her lips forming words none of them could catch. Words that sounded older than she was.

  Velka stroked her cheek, torn between fury and fear.

  —Stay with us, Lyss… please, stay with us.

  The distant roar of war answered, a cruel reminder that the world outside still burned.

  The silence that followed the patrol’s passing was unbearable. Velka still had her forehead resting against Lyss’s shoulder, listening to every pause, every irregular heartbeat, as if sheer willpower could keep her tied to life. But even she knew: staying in that shack was far too dangerous.

  —We can’t stay here —Caelia said in a low but firm voice, pulling away from the crack in the door—. If they sweep the area again, we won’t get another chance.

  Velka pressed her lips together as if she wanted to argue, but one look at Lyss told her Caelia was right.

  —Fine… —she murmured, wiping the tears still wet on her face—. But we have to move her carefully.

  —I’ll carry her —she added without waiting for approval. With effort, she leaned down and lifted Lyss into her arms, holding her against her chest as if she were the most fragile and precious thing in the world. The sword was gone, but the weight of her unconscious body was enough to drag Velka into a silent terror.

  Neyra tried to stand and almost collapsed, the pain of her freshly healed leg still sharp. Caelia caught her by the arm with a brusque but steady grip.

  —I’ll support you. You won’t slow us down.

  Neyra nodded, though her lips trembled.

  They stepped out into the forest. The snow crunched beneath their boots, every sound amplified by the silence that lingered after the distant war. Explosions and gunfire echoed faintly, reminders that the battle still raged elsewhere. Here, however, the threat was more intimate: every snapping branch, every shadow stirred by the wind, could give them away.

  They moved in single file, Velka in the lead carrying Lyss, Caelia holding Neyra behind. The cold bit into their lungs, and the darkness closed in around them like a heavy shroud.

  After nearly an hour of walking, when their legs were beginning to falter, Caelia raised her hand and pointed to something among the trees: an old wooden structure, little more than the skeleton of what once might have been a barn. The walls leaned, the windows were covered in ice, but the roof was still intact.

  —There —Caelia said, her voice tinged with relief.

  They approached cautiously, checking every angle before stepping inside. The interior was thick with dust and cobwebs, the air heavy with old dampness, but there was enough space to lie down and shield themselves from the cold.

  Velka laid Lyss down on a makeshift blanket of their jackets, knelt beside her, and brushed the hair from her forehead.

  —Rest, little one… we’re safer now —she whispered, though she knew safety was only relative.

  Caelia settled down near the door, knife in hand, her eyes fixed on the darkness outside. Neyra, exhausted, slumped into a corner, her breathing ragged but relieved.

  The wind howled through the cracks in the wood, and the forest seemed to watch them in expectant silence. It was a precarious refuge, but that night… it was all they had.

  Sometime earlier...

  The ruins still smoldered. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and ash. Klara stood tall, her scythe resting against the ground as if the weapon itself were the only thing keeping her upright. Every breath was a cut in her chest, every movement a reminder of the price she had paid against the creature. Yet her eyes, cold and unyielding, betrayed no weakness.

  At her side, Ilse wiped the blood running down her temple. Mareike breathed heavily, her knuckles raw and bruised from the brutal strikes she had delivered against the monstrosity they had just brought down. Both were exhausted, but alive.

  That was when Klara felt it. An echo. A vibration. A pulse of magic in the distance, faint but undeniable. It wasn’t the creature. This was something else. Something that should not exist here.

  Her pupils narrowed.

  —Magic… —she murmured, almost to herself.

  Ilse glanced at her in disbelief.

  —And what if you’re just confusing it with the residual magic of that thing? —she said, her voice tinged with doubt.

  Klara turned toward her, her gaze sharp as blades.

  —No, —she replied firmly, her scythe glinting faintly with silver light in the dimness—. This is different. Clean. Alive.

  Mareike frowned.

  —We’re at our limit. We won’t survive another fight.

  Klara lifted her head, as if her pride alone held her above her wounds.

  —Then it won’t be another fight. It will be a purge.

  The silence between the three of them was heavy, thick with the tension of sisters-in-arms who knew exactly what that meant. Ilse lowered her eyes for just a moment, then gave a bitter nod. Mareike exhaled sharply, slamming her fist against the ground.

  —Fine. But if we go, we go together.

  Klara nodded. A flash of pride hardened her features.

  —They are not of Eiswacht. They are intruders. And today… the mask game ends.

  With slow but determined steps, the leader of Schattenspeer moved across the battlefield’s remains. Ilse and Mareike followed her, wounded but resolute, knowing Klara’s pride would never accept rest while there was something to hunt.

  In the darkness of Eiswacht, three shadows disappeared into the forest, following the invisible trail of magic. A trail that, though they didn’t know it yet, would lead them straight to Lyss, Velka, Caelia, and Neyra.

  The hunt had just begun.