? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  Night in the convent was as heavy as a stone upon the chest. The air was thick, smelling of incense and apples rotting in the garden. Shadows swayed in the pale moonlight, whispering of the coming storm. Violetta stood behind the apple trees, her mantle merging with the dark. There, by the old well, she saw her again—the nun with black tresses straying from beneath a silver-embroidered shawl. Her eyes, red from weeping, trembled as if they beheld death itself.

  "You aren't the first..." the nun whispered. "I thought it would be different with you... but they take everyone, sooner or later. Take your sister... and run. Before it's too late."

  The words struck like an icy gale. Something in her tone—a guilt seeping like blood from a wound—made Violetta clench her fist. The nun looked away, her fingers fraying the edge of her shawl as she clung to the last thread of her faith. Violetta didn't answer. She turned and sprinted toward the temple, her footsteps echoing in the hollow night. She knew she had to hurry.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  The Temple slumbered under the grey moon, its spires reaching for the sky like the bones of a forgotten god. When Violetta pushed the doors open, they groaned, piercing the silence. Dimly guttering candles cast warped shadows—souls fleeing from the light. Behind the altar lay a passage leading down. As she drew closer, a stench enveloped her: incense, sweat, blood, and something viler.

  The door to the dungeon stood open, an invitation to hell. Violetta stepped inside, and there—the world shattered.

  "No..."

  Maryna’s body was cold. Her face was bruised, marked by the frantic signs of a struggle. And protruding from her chest was a knife—one Violetta recognized instantly. She remembered its glint on the belt of the priest, the very man who had shoved her into the mud. The "servant of God" stood nearby, his eyes wide with the shock of one interrupted in the midst of an atrocity.

  Silence lasted a heartbeat. Then, everything erupted.

  Violetta lunged, her mana igniting like wildfire in her veins. A kick—and the priest's knee snapped like a dry twig. A second strike, and the other leg gave way; he collapsed, wheezing. Her fist met his jaw, shattering it like a clay pot. He couldn't scream. Blood sprayed the walls, but Violetta didn't stop. She struck him again and again. She could have killed him. She wanted to.

  But suddenly, she froze. Her gaze fell on the bloodied knife. On her sister. And suddenly, the world held only two colors: violet and red.

  She remembered a spell her teacher had shown her. She looked into the terrified eyes of the wretch and decided that death was too light a mercy.

  "Don't worry," she whispered, her voice a chill from the void. "I won't kill you."

  Her mana flared brilliantly as she whispered incantations that felt ancient and foreign to her tongue. The priest’s bones twisted, his muscles flowed, and his face lengthened. In moments, a woman stood before her—with long hair and eyes that screamed with a primal horror.

  Violetta seized the "woman" by a lock of hair and dragged her. Like a sack of grain, over the stairs, across the cobblestones, into the night. Her mana flared again, weaving a shroud of shadows that distorted their outlines and swallowed all sound—a technique from the Guild.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  She knew where she was going: to the goblin den outside the city, the one the drunkards whispered about. She reached the cave mouth, where the same foul stench of rot and sweat drifted out. She stopped. Her mana flared one last time, mending the wretch’s jaw.

  "I’m innocent! You... you have no right! I am a servant of the Emperor!"

  "I told you I wouldn't kill you," Violetta said, her voice devoid of emotion. "I’m just going to make you feel everything those you tormented felt."

  She hurled the creature into the cave entrance. The word "Monster" shrieked after her, cutting deeper than any blade, but Violetta did not look back. She had one final task: to bury her sister.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  She returned to the city to find it engulfed in a nightmare. The horizon glowed; the city was burning.

  A shadow circled above—a massive wyvern. Its scales shimmered like molten metal, and its breath reeked of sulfur and death. Fire belched from its maw, melting roof tiles and cracking the pavement.

  On the square, seven adventurers stood as a shield of flesh. A girl with a crossbow hit the beast in the neck—a bolt laced with lightning. The monster roared and lashed out with its tail, sending the girl flying like a ragdoll. Another's spine was crushed against a pillar. A third had a leg torn away, his blood slicking the stones.

  And then, there was Violetta. She stood amidst the flames, her mantle singed, feeling nothing but the void.

  The wyvern landed between her and the church. Its eyes were embers of madness, and from beneath its scales, crystals protruded—deformed, pulsing parasites.

  "Hey, lizard," her voice sounded like a winter wind. "You're in my way."

  The beast snarled, its breath scorching the air, but Violetta simply looked into its eyes. In her gaze was an abyss—not fear, not rage, but a vacuum that swallowed everything. The beast froze, sensing death.

  The earth shuddered. From beneath the cobblestones, needles erupted—bright as silver, sharp as her pain. They impaled the wyvern, hoisting it above the square like a macabre trophy.

  "Be silent," Violetta said, and a final needle pierced the skull, pinning the beast in an eternal, agonizing cruciform atop the city square.

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  Silence reigned in the temple. People parted before her. Children hid, women clutched amulets, and men stood with trembling fists.

  An old deacon fell to his knees, sobbing. "Forgive us... God, forgive us! We didn't know..."

  There was no gratitude. Only a silence in which death had retreated, leaving a vacuum in its wake. At the exit, a woman holding a charred child whispered, "Why didn't you come sooner?"

  Violetta looked at her and thought: The city is saved, but it is dead inside—just like me.

  She didn't stop. She took Maryna’s body, wrapped in a faded shroud, and pressed it to her chest. Step by step, she walked away. Behind her, a whisper followed:

  "She saved us..." "...but who will save us from her?"

  ? ─── ?? ? ?? ─── ?

  On the hill, beneath the spreading branches of the oak, lay a fresh scar in the earth. Violetta dug in silence. Her movements were mechanical, tearing at the soil as if trying to reach the part of herself she could still save.

  A memory flickered: Maryna, young and tired, with a basket in her hands. "Don't pull so hard, you'll snap it!" Violetta laid her sister in the pit. Her fingers brushed cold skin. Beside the grave, she saw the ring—Karbun’s gift. She squeezed it in her palm, then laid it on the fresh earth, abandoning her dreams and hopes along with it.

  The wind died down. The light of dawn tore through the darkness, touching her shoulders with gold.

  "Mary..." she whispered, barely audible. No one answered.

  How do you bury a heart? she wondered. What do you fill the hole in yourself with—dirt, pain, memories?

  She clenched her fist. She felt the weight of the dagger at her belt. She raised her hand, and above it, a needle formed—thin and shimmering like a silver tear. She aimed it at her chest. At the place where a soul used to be.

  One simple movement—and the pain will end...