I sat quietly in the aftermath of the ceremony, rubbing between my eyes.

  The nobles whispered, the Regent smiled, Arthur basked in glory… but all I could think about was where the servant girl was - a sense of urgency growing inside my chest.

  I stood, careful not to draw attention. Arthur was still monologuing about duty and legacy, his voice rising with the Regent’s approval.

  But my feet carried me away from the table. Into the hallway on my right, praying I chose the right one.

  Opening the door, I realised immediately I had picked correctly.

  The lanterns, the polished floor, the way the shadows stretched across the carpet - it was the same. The same hall I had seen in that vision. The one lined with bodies. The one where Arthur lay dead.

  My jaw clenched, breath tight in my chest.

  So it wasn’t just a dream.

  The hallway was pristine. Servants bustled past me, none daring to meet my eye. My attire marked me as important, and the ceremony had cemented it.

  Good. Stay out of my way please.

  I needed to find that waitress. The one I asked for drinks. The one who never came back.

  I wandered for a while, growing increasingly frustrated. The mansion was the size of a university campus, and likely had more than one kitchen.

  Paranoia whispered in my ear. My heart started beating faster the closer I got to what felt like the right area. The feeling wasn’t logical, yet I couldn’t fight it. Almost like an intuition for danger.

  Is this one of the passive abilities of Charlotte's Eyes? Some kind of danger indicator?

  I grabbed the first servant who didn’t look overwhelmed, trying hard to not go crazy and keep my composure.

  “Have you seen a woman around my height? Auburn hair, tan skin. She was serving drinks earlier. I'd like to reward her for her excellent service.”

  Her eyes widened, nervous at first. I noticed her right hand was twitching, probably from anxiousness. She softened slightly at the mention of a reward, staring into my eyes as if she had noticed something.

  “Yes, your lordship. Her name’s Bridget. I think she’s in the washroom, doing dishes. Down the hallway, third door to your left.”

  “Thank you. I’ll find it myself.”

  She bowed and vanished quickly.

  I walked quickly, then faster, and faster. The corridor grew quieter with every step. Busyness faded. Carpet muffled my footsteps.

  My heart thundered in my chest, stress causing a sense of hyper-fixation.

  I reached the door.

  No noise behind it, save for the faint sound of running water.

  No movement.

  No voices.

  Why water? Why would it still be running?

  I opened the door, the wood creaking as I peeked into the well lit room.

  And froze.

  The sink along the far wall was still on - overflowing. The puddle at my feet was dark, thick.

  Red.

  Not just water.

  Blood.

  I pushed the door open fully.

  Auburn hair cascaded with the water, whole clumps scattered across the room.

  The blood wasn’t just in the water. It marked the walls and air, thick with the reek of iron and bile.

  But that's not what caught my attention. As I stared at the source of the flowing scarlet water with wide eyes.

  Bridget’s head floated in the basin.

  What was left of her auburn hair was tied to the faucet - a sick mockery of a bow. Her eyes were wide open, staring into the ceiling. Detached from everything.

  I exhaled slowly, my heart finally calming down.

  It’s good the servant girl didn’t come with me.

  Her body was in the corner. Headless. Mutilated. Split down the middle like a butchered animal. Not a single limb had been removed - but her insides were gone. Sloppily, cruelly extracted.

  She had been crucified on the wall behind her, her flayed hands nailed in place with pitch-black spikes that radiated a sickly aura. My stomach twisted just looking at them.

  Above her body, written in blood, was a crude symbol - a malformed magic circle, dripping with something deeper than sacrilege.

  Beside it, painted in thick crimson letters-

  “DEATH TO THE EMPIRE.

  DEATH TO ALL WHO FOLLOW IT.”

  My hand clenched into a fist, and my eyes gained a new light.

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  Seems my hunch was right.

  They were back.

  Arthur hadn’t finished the job four years ago.

  The Heretics had returned.

  And now...

  They wanted everyone to know it.

  I stood in a daze, trying to stay sharp, but a million thoughts were tearing through my head like broken glass stabbing at my brain.

  Even if they weren't wiped out in the Northern Forest... they shouldn't have recovered this fast. Did they have help?

  I almost laughed at the thought.

  Heretics helping other heretics? I'd heavily doubt it. So who or what...

  I paced slowly, one hand rubbing my chin, trying to think through the chaos. The contrast between my calm and the room’s carnage didn’t escape me, but I didn't have time to think about it. Especially with such a blatant act.

  They wanted someone to find this. But why? Is it an isolated incident? Was this servant somehow important?

  The Nameless Ones, the cult that had occupied the northern forest, had all its sect leaders purged - systematically tracked down and burned. Only the scattered remnants survived. And even they were hunted by the Inquisition like dogs in the street.

  I stopped when I caught my reflection in the blood-speckled mirror above the sink.

  Dark brown - almost black - eyes. Still the same.

  Relief, despite the paranoia and bloody mess around me.

  Then a thought hit me.

  What if…

  I focused, channeling divine energy into my eyes. I closed my eyes, and slowly, my irises shifted, threads of light spiraling into a spiderweb pattern. The colors bled red. Magic circles began to form - delicate, incomplete versions of Charlotte's beautiful monstrosities.

  Where hers had layers, glyphs, and orbiting seals, mine were like the outline of a blueprint. But they were still there. Still alive.

  Even unfinished, they were... beautiful. A quiet, terrible beauty. But a sight to behold nonetheless.

  Then everything around me changed.

  The room bled red and pink, bathed in soft, pulsing hues. My perception sharpened. Details stood out. I could see the Divine energy in the air - faint motes of power, flickering like fireflies. I reached out, but it sifted through my fingers like smoke, drifting - all of it - toward the wall.

  Toward the bloodied sigil.

  The circle warped.

  Twisted.

  The blood began to bubble. The drawn lines melted into a grotesque black cauldron, sloshing with viscous liquid. From its edges, deformed hands reached out - bone, sinew, shadow. One was fleshless, another skeletal. One was blackened, oozing that same miasma I saw on the crucifixion nails. The clawed hand scraped the wall, fingers twitching.

  Okay… how the hell do I get rid of that?

  Whoever did this wasn't just a grunt. And that was a serious problem. That alone ruled out this being a one-off.

  I need to find someone. Now.

  Just as I turned to the door, it swung open.

  Fast.

  Too fast.

  My eyes still bled red, and the world was still dyed in its color.

  I had no time.

  To top it off, the person at the door was at the bottom of the list of people I wanted at that door.

  Oh, for f-

  There she was.

  Mary Magdalene.

  She stood there in white, glowing softly in the darkness. Her golden eyes locked onto mine - and then... ignited.

  A magic circle bloomed inside her irises, forming a radiant, golden pattern. My own eyes, still red, reflected back at me in hers. The scarlet and gold divine energy intertwined in the air, almost as if they were dancing.

  Just as her eyes fully formed -

  The world collapsed.

  I wasn’t in that bloodied washroom anymore.

  I stood ankle-deep in corpses, a battlefield stretching as far as sight. A mountain of broken bodies in Imperial uniforms lay beneath a sky dyed crimson. And in the center of it all… her.

  Mary.

  But not Mary.

  She stood in pearl-white armor soaked through with blood, her hair matted against her pale face, her golden eyes blazing with a life not her own. Possessed. Empty. Her gaze locked onto mine, vacant, hollow - like she wasn’t even there.

  All around her stood the survivors. Not Imperial soldiers - they were all dead. Only black-cloaked men remained, the victors of the battle. They knelt, foreheads pressed into gore-slick soil, their voices rising in prayer as if she were some god descending among them.

  They repeated the same sentence, over and over again in an almost fanatical chant.

  A namesake.

  Praise be to the Apostle of Truth.

  And then-

  Pain. My skull split like glass, and the vision was gone.

  I gasped, clutching my head, swearing under my breath. “Fucking perfect. Just what I needed.”

  Usually I’d be able to maintain my composure, but I felt as though I was justified to let a little steam out.

  I was now more than ever a true believer in Murphy's famous law.

  You have got to be fucking with me. First that bullshit ceremony, than the blood on the wall, now a Imperial Princess and future saintess with fucking Divine Eyes?

  Not to mention she now knows I have Divine Eyes as well.

  This has got to be some divine level bullshit.

  When my sight steadied, Mary still stood there, frozen. Her glow flickered, her lips trembling. She wasn’t looking at me - she was looking at the slaughter she’d just seen through me.

  “Wasn’t me,” I sighed, waving her toward the scene. “Check for yourself if you need to. Also apologies for swearing, it was unbecoming of me.”

  Her voice was shaky, cracking. “Y-you’re like me?”

  “Yes,” I hissed through my teeth, still rubbing my temples. “Now hurry up and close the damn door before someone else walks in.”

  She shut it quietly, still in shock, still staring at me like she didn’t know whether to run or collapse. I sighed and snapped my fingers. The sharp sound jolted her, and she blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream.

  “Did you see anything,” I muttered, “after you saw my eyes?”

  She shook her head quickly. “N-no.”

  Thank god.

  “Good.”

  The silence stretched - until the floorboards creaked.

  Then it hit me.

  A wave of dread crashed into me - like my heart was being squeezed by cold hands. My spine locked up. Breath caught.

  Mary's eyes went wide.

  Wide with terror.

  Behind me… something moved.

  I turned, as slowly as my body allowed me.

  The door was open - just a sliver.

  A pale hand gripped the edge of the frame, its fingers sharp and colorless. Beyond the crack, a man stood motionless.

  He stared straight at me.

  His eyes were wrong. Grey, clouded over yet deeply green. Addict eyes, yet strangely focused. Purple hues clung to the edges like infection. A half-broken mask covered the left side of his face, the exposed side pulled into a smile too wide for any human to wear.

  His skin cracked. His eye bulged. His grin stretched into madness.

  My eyes went wide.

  He leaned forward, breath shallow.

  "Hello, my little Angels."