Cold air swept across Remy, enclosing him as the carriage moved hastily across the land.
His eyes darted around as he watched the scenery unfold. At first, all he could see were trees, grass, and farmland.
But the farther they travelled, the scenery transformed. Trees faded into street lamps, grass hardened into pavement.
Gradually, other carriages came into view. Most were grand, beautiful artefacts plated in gold and silver, proudly displaying their prestige.
They glided smoothly along their own lanes. The rest were less ornate, yet still impressive to Remy, who had only ridden in a carriage for the first time upon arriving in this city.
Then the streets opened wider, and Remy saw a river of people. They looked like common folk; he even recognised the baker who had given them food earlier.
They moved in perfect unison, one synchronised step at a time.
Blue-glowing candles illuminated their hands. White paint covered half their faces, their robes split in black and white to match.
As they marched, their footsteps struck the ground like synchronised drums, a rhythm that echoed through the city.
The deeper into the city they went, the more banners he saw—each depicting a veiled lady seated cross-legged upon a throne, a halo crown shining above her head.
A few moments later, the carriages slowed to a halt. Remy watched as the crowd continued marching past him.
"Hey… hey!" he shouted, banging against the metal bars that trapped him. A woman in a white dress with dark gloves glanced toward him.
Her skin was pale, her eyes a cold blue. Their gazes met for only a moment—then she turned away, silently continuing forward.
No matter how loudly he called, no one listened.
Soon, the butler approached. Without saying a word, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pouch, then took a pinch of black dust and blew it toward Remy. The dust floated glimmering against the crimson sky.
Remy tried to cover his mouth, but it was too late — the dust hit him, draining his strength. His body collapsed to the floor, and he couldn't get up.
The cage door opened. Two men stepped inside, clasping cold iron cuffs around his wrists and dragging him out in chains.
Memories flashed through his mind—the last time a Saint had laid hands on him.
Outside, more people surrounded him, all of them bound and struggling. A little girl, barely nine years old, stumbled forward, tears streaking her orange hair and green eyes.
"Mommy… Mommy…" she cried, her voice cracking with terror. But no one replied. Even her mother didn't answer.
"Where is your mother?" Remy whispered as he knelt beside her. The girl sobbed but managed to raise her trembling hand, pointing ahead. "There…"
Her mother was only two people behind—eyes wide with fear, crawling on her knees. Her feet were gone, butchered to stubs. She looked less like a human being and more like livestock, as her long orange hair pulled against the ground.
They finally reached it, the grand platform where the gathering was being held. It resembled a colossal arena, tiered with ascending levels of seating.
The Saints' direct servants occupied the highest floor, the nobles beneath them, and ordinary people filled the lower rings like a living sea.
At the very centre stood a tree.
A massive, ancient thing—its trunk so wide that even ten people linking hands could not encircle it. Its leaves burned in hues of orange and deep red, and tiny white flowers glimmered among the branches like stars.
Moths fluttered around them, drawn to their soft glow. And at the base of the tree stood a figure.
A lady cloaked in a shimmering white-and-silver dress, her hand gently tracing along the grooves of the bark.
Her face, hidden beneath a thin veil, made her seem almost ethereal. She moved with such grace that it was as though she were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
"Is that her? I hope this year they make me a noble. Look at how many I caught… surely—" someone nearby whispered.
Remy fell to his knees.
Is… is that even human? It had only been recently that he opened his mystic eye, but the aura radiating from her struck him like a storm of a thousand piercing needles. His lungs tightened.
Cold flooded his veins, dragging him downward, like he was sinking into a dark, bottomless ocean.
"I can't win against that", he mumbled to himself as shaking, cold sweat ran across his back.
"Steady yourself… How can you have such a weak will if you intend to save your mother?"The familiar voice echoed in his mind, snapping him back from the brink.
"Yeah… I can't let it end here. I'm not that helpless boy anymore…"He forced himself upright, though his legs trembled beneath him.
Even with his resolve returning, one truth remained: This woman was dangerous — far beyond anything he could face.
If only I could reawaken Charles… he thought, as the chains dragged him forward.
"Halt!"The command thundered across the platform, and the chain-bound march of prisoners came to an abrupt stop.
A Saint Knight clad in full plate armour trimmed with blue stepped forward toward the veiled figure by the great tree.
When he reached her, he bowed to one knee. His lips moved… but no sound followed. Remy strained his mystic senses, forcing his hearing to sharpen, yet still, nothing.
It was like they weren't speaking at all.
The veiled figure raised her left hand… and pointed.
Remy's heartbeat spiked, thundering in his ears.
The knight turned, marching straight toward Remy.
"What should I do… what should I do…" Remy's mind spun out of control, panic squeezing his throat.
But then, at the last second, the knight passed him.
Instead, he reached for the small orange-haired girl.
"No! Nooo! Leave me alone!" she screamed, her voice cracking."Mommy! Mommy!"
The girl looked around desperately, but the crowd stared away, pretending not to see. Her mother, chained behind them, shook in silent terror, too broken to stand. She could do nothing but bow her head and cry without sound.
The girl sobbed harder, clawing at the ground as the knight seized her hair and dragged her toward the tree. The pain in Remy's chest twisted into something sharp and unbearable.
He couldn't stand it anymore.
He reached inward, calling for the shadows, ready to act, ready to do anything—
But something grabbed him. Held him.Pulled him back. His limbs locked in place no matter how desperately he tried to move.
All he could do was watch.
The girl reached the veiled woman. The woman lifted the child into her arms, holding her with chilling gentleness…
…and the screaming stopped, no more thrashing and no more tears.
Just… silence.
"What…" Remy whispered, breath trembling.
Then the terror truly began.
The figure beneath the colossal tree raised the girl higher—and without warning, her hand plunged straight into the child's chest.
A wet, sickening sound tore through the air.
She pulled back slowly, crimson dripping down her arm, the girl's heart clenched in her fist. The crowd did not gasp. No one screamed. Only Remy did, silently, trembling as his stomach twisted.
The tree reacted.
Its trunk split open like a living mouth, the branches writhing as it devoured the bloody heart. A violent shudder ran up its bark.
The white flowers along its branches pulsed with light— one shifting from white to a deep, pulsing red.
Before Remy's eyes, that flower bloomed into an apple.
An apple with the little girl's face moulded into its skin.
"Oh… Lord…" Remy whispered, voice shaking.
The figure, graceful, serene, gestured with her hand. Another knight approached. He was massive, towering like a giant among men, his right arm missing from the shoulder.
She offered him the apple.
He devoured it in one bite.
A guttural roar ripped from the knight's throat as bone, muscle, and flesh began to twist out of his stump, reforming, rebuilding, reshaping until a fully restored arm flexed in the air, strong and whole.
He immediately fell to his knees.
"This… is the miracle of the Saintes's!" a voice bellowed through the arena.
And the crowd erupted.
"Glory be to August! Glory to the Saintes!"Over and over, a frenzied chant, feverish like worship, blind like madness.
Remy stared, frozen in terror.