The sun began to set on the eastern horizon of the Picti Isles as a cold breeze swept through the air, signaling the townsfolk of Oxmooth to close their shops and retreat into their homes.

  All except for one young man in the town's church, who was engaged in a heated conversation with its priest.

  The man wore a long-sleeved dark green linen shirt beneath a bright green gambeson, which was loosely tied at the waist by a leather belt. The gambeson extended to cover his thighs, with a waterskin secured to the left side of the belt and a dirk in a scabbard on the right.

  His pants, a light shade of brown, were held up by a cincture, while his slightly worn leather boots were clearly of good quality.

  In his early twenties, his short blonde hair appeared darker under the torchlight. Beneath a slightly upturned nose was a bright smile, and his brown eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  “Archibald, I’ve already told you that your equipment isn’t in any condition for fighting, and it’s clear you haven’t trained enough. Please, let’s just hire a mercenary,” the old, bald priest pleaded, rummaging through the backpack of supplies he had given to the man.

  The priest wore a well-kept black cassock over a white alb and a short, dark blue chasuble. His blue eyes appeared darker with worry, and his slightly hooked nose cast a small shadow over his disappointed frown.

  Beside him lay a kettle helmet, to which a mail coif was attached, with a gambeson mask stitched to the leather-lined underside and chin strap of the helmet. He quickly tied it to the right strap of the supply backpack.

  “I already told you, I’m fine. It’s just a draoi—it’s basically a big bug. I’ll put it down and come back soon. Besides, a holy sister is supposed to come with me, and we just need to follow the river. Honestly, the most difficult part will be the walking,” Archibald replied nonchalantly, leaning against the backrest of the chair he sat on while casually examining the short spear in his hands.

  The priest sighed and said, “You should have been a deacon. There are so many things I could have taught you, much more peaceful things…”

  Standing up, Archibald looked at the priest, his heart filled with warmth and slight worry as he said, “If you really want peace, then that thing needs to die. It might come here and kill someone.” He then sat back on the wooden chair and added, “My equipment is fine as it is. Ceit even lined my gambeson with leather.”

  “And it might not come here! It could just stay in the forest. You have no idea what that thing even looks like,” the priest retorted with a shaking tone, his anxiety clear to the man.

  Archibald turned his face away, not wanting to look at the priest, who added, “You can barely even call what you have armor. A spear and a few knives aren't enough—you should have a sword and real armor.”

  As Archibald and the priest continued to argue, the church's door was opened by a young nun, who appeared to be the same age as the young man and slightly shorter than him.

  She wore a greyish-white veil over her hair and a fresh robe that covered her body from her neck to her ankles, tied around her waist with a cincture. Around her neck hung an iron pendant shaped like a wheel. At her side lay a cloth bag, and in her hand, she held a wooden staff connected to a small lamp with a quad of blessed fireflies inside.

  Her pale skin appeared even paler under the torchlight, and her bright blue eyes seemed darker, while the freckles around her straight nose shifted slightly with every breath she took.

  “Excuse me, are you Archibald?” the young nun asked as she closed the door behind her, her accent reminiscent of the dialect spoken in the southern Picti Isles.

  “Yes. And who are you?” the young man answered as he turned to face her.

  “My name is Colette. I'm from the Monastery of Saint Margaret,” the young nun replied formally. As her eyes met Archibald's, she added, “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Same here,” Archibald replied, getting up from his chair. He walked toward Colette and stopped in front of her. With a tinge of excitement in his voice, he asked, “Do you have any experience with Fuath?”

  “Not yet, but I studied miracles at the School of the Rose, and I'm proud to say that I'm an official holy sister of the church,” Colette declared confidently, arching her back. She took a step closer to Archibald, pointed her staff at him, and asked, “Are you ready for your first crusade?”

  “Absolutely!” he answered excitedly, a large smile spreading across his face.

  After being prayed for a safe journey by the priest, Archibald and Colette set out on their way.

  Walking through the stone-paved streets of the large town, Archibald waved to some of the townsfolk, who, in turn, wished him a safe journey, making him smile.

  As the sky gained a crimson hue, the pair started walking by the river that provided water to Oxmooth and left the town's gates behind. As they entered the forest, its myriad of pine, oak, and birch trees blocked out nearly all sunlight, leaving the blessed fireflies in Colette's lamp as the only light to guide them.

  The silence between the pair was broken when the young nun asked, “So, what was it about you being a priest? I'm not trying to be nosy or anything. I just heard you talking about it before I entered, and I got interested,” while tilting her head curiously.

  “It's fine, really,” Archibald replied. “Well, I moved to Oxmooth a few years ago, and my dad recruited me as a guard for the church and a page brother. After a year, he told me I was divinely guided and promoted me to a holy squire—probably like you.”

  “Dad?” Colette asked, her tone curious yet suspicious.

  Archibald's heart skipped a beat as he realized the implication. He quickly attempted to clear it up by saying, “Father Benneit’s not my birth father; he just treats me that way, so I got used to calling him dad.”

  “I see,” Colette responded, her tone slightly cold, which confused Archibald. She then slightly turned her face toward the young man and, with a bright smile and cheery tone, said, “It sounds so sweet, like a nice play,” making Archibald laugh nervously.

  Colette then took a step closer to Archibald and asked, “So why didn't you become a priest? It would be really nice. Plus, if you're really divinely guided, you could perform miracles.”

  Archibald thought for a moment and replied, “I know, but I always wanted to be a paladin. I remember hearing so many stories about them when I was younger, and I just knew that's what I wanted to be.” He then added in a witty tone, “Besides, paladins should know how to use miracles, so it's not really special to you or the priests.”

  A mischievous grin lit up the young nun's face as she said, “I know, I know. But let's be honest here, there are so few of us who are divinely guided and perform miracles that it's a miracle in itself that your dad noticed you were,” making Archibald blush in embarrassment.

  She then proudly declared, with her chest puffed out, “And between you and me, the only one here who can actually do any miracles is me, so I guess that does make me at least a bit special.”

  Both Archibald and Colette looked at each other for a brief moment and burst out laughing, as they understood they had become friends in that instant.

  As the evening came to a close, the sun had completely set in the west, giving rise to the moon and stars that illuminated all those beneath them. The moonlight signaled to many creatures that the time to hunt and feed was upon them.

  As the pair followed the river, they eventually reached a small clearing adorned by the ruins of a trio of old huts. Their stone-tile roofs had collapsed long ago, and their wooden foundations were falling apart yet seemingly not rotting.

  Encircling the perimeter of the clearing was a henge of large white stones. Though varying in size, each stood at roughly half of Archibald's height and was engraved with strange, intricate markings. The air around them carried an unsettling presence, giving the pair a faint yet unshakable sense of unease.

  “Something's wrong,” stated Archibald as he entered the clearing.

  After staring for a few seconds at the markings on the stones alongside Archibald, Colette turned to him and, with a hollow look in her eyes, said, “There's something here.”

  A faint noise came from the ruins, making Archibald's heartbeat soar.

  Quickly, Colette rushed behind him and said, “Drop your bag,” before sticking her staff into the ground.

  Archibald immediately dropped his bag on the ground, untied the augmented helmet from the backpack's strap, and placed it on his head. He then quickly assumed a boar's tusk stance as he looked toward the ruins.

  Slowly, the source of the faint noise revealed itself: a figure, childlike in size, yet radiating an aura of danger.

  Draped in a dark cloak that covered nearly its entire body, the figure’s only visible parts were its head and a single beast-skin-covered skeletal right hand clutching a broken halberd.

  Its head was skull-like, wrapped in blood-red cloth. Lacking both a nose and lips, the only distinguishable features were its hollow eyes.

  Not a single breath entered its body as its blank eyes stared at the pair of travelers before it.

  The creature clumsily lunged toward them, wildly swinging its halberd.

  Yet before it could reach them, Archibald stepped forward and plunged his spear directly into its chest.

  The creature fixed its hollow gaze on Archibald and, within a second, swung its broken halberd at his left side. The blade tore through his leather-lined gambeson, cutting into his upper arm and causing him to scream in pain as he stumbled back.

  For a second, Archibald's life flashed before his eyes. As he let go of his spear, Colette rushed from behind him and kicked the creature's head, pushing it back.

  Grabbing the end of Archibald's spear, she pushed forward, making the creature stumble back and swing its halberd at her.

  Just as it did, Archibald lunged at the creature, knocking it and his spear to the ground.

  Wrestling with the creature on the ground, Colette rushed to Archibald and stepped on the creature's hand before grabbing and throwing away its halberd.

  Just as she did, the creature, still wrestling with Archibald, threw him to the side before starting to strangle him with its hand.

  Feeling the air in his lungs start to vanish, Archibald reached for his belt and, feeling his dirk in the scabbard, grabbed its handle and swiftly pulled it out. He then stabbed the creature's head repeatedly until its movements ceased.

  Pushing the creature's body to the side, Archibald collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, and asked the nun, “How are you still standing?”

  Turning his head toward Colette, he saw her lying on the ground beside him as she muttered, “I’m not.”

  The pair gasped for air, then burst into laughter as they stared at the shining stars in the night sky.

  Colette shifted closer to Archibald and, after sitting beside him, asked, “Can you take off your armor? I think I can take care of you now.”

  “Of course, thank you,” he replied before taking off his gambeson and helmet, leaving his lean yet muscular body covered by a plain dark green shirt and brown pants.

  His chest rose slightly as he leaned back on his right arm and lifted his left toward Colette.

  Colette took his left hand and placed it on her right knee before slowly rolling his sleeve up to his shoulder.

  As she carefully inspected the wound, she covered her mouth and mumbled to herself, prompting Archibald to ask, “Is it that bad?”

  The nun replied, “No… your armor definitely protected you, but it's going to hurt.” She then opened her bag and pulled out a waterskin and a clean linen towel.

  Pouring water onto the towel, she squeezed it, leaving it moist.

  She carefully cleaned Archibald's wound, causing him to groan in pain, which made Colette glare at him and say, “I’m trying to concentrate.”

  Looking away in embarrassment, Archibald apologized, trying to avoid the nun's gaze.

  After putting the waterskin back in her bag, she pulled out a small green-hued glass flask filled with a clear liquid, causing Archibald to tilt his head toward it and ask, “What is that?”

  Colette answered, “Wódka. Now take a small sip, it'll help you.”

  Archibald took a deep breath and sipped from the flask before Colette quickly took it back. He coughed, feeling the liquid’s slight burn on his tongue.

  Putting a finger to her lips, the nun signaled to the young man to be quiet as she poured a bit of the liquid onto the other side of the towel before gently rubbing it over his wound.

  The burning sensation made him breathe heavily and groan, attempting to suppress the pain of the treatment.

  Closing the flask, she put it and the towel back in her bag before pulling out a roll of linen bandages. Carefully, she wrapped them around the wound, tying them snugly. Archibald turned his head to the side, trying to hide his pained expression from her.

  Colette gently laid her palm over the bandaged wound. After quietly reciting barely audible sentences to herself—gaining Archibald's attention and curiosity—she uttered a prayer, “Mère divine, que tes soins aimants guérissent tes enfants blessés.”

  The edges of Archibald's wound began to twitch before pulling inward, as if woven by unseen strings.

  A strange sensation spread through him, as though foreign blood coursed through his arm's veins, causing him to collapse onto his side in pain.

  He breathed heavily, his mind filling with fleeting thoughts that arose just as quickly as they disappeared—attempting to distract himself from the pain.

  Slightly shaking, Colette leaned forward, keeping her palm pressed against the bandaged wound, watching intently until it finally closed, leaving behind a faint scar.

  Colette suddenly started gasping for air as she collapsed to the ground, desperately trying to draw even the slightest breath into her lungs.

  Archibald immediately turned to face her, his heart pounding with worry. “What did you do?! Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I'm fine,” Colette replied, trying to force a reassuring smile onto her face. “I'm fine.”

  “What did you do?” Archibald asked, his voice filled with confusion and worry.

  “A miracle,” she answered proudly, still trying to catch her breath.

  “That was a miracle?” Archibald asked curiously while helping Colette to her feet.

  As Colette regained her breath, she stood up and replied, “Yes, amazing, right?”

  Archibald nodded as he tried to process the miracle that had unfolded before his eyes, his excitement mingling with wariness and confusion.

  “Go set up camp. I'll take care of something,” she said before retrieving her staff.

  “Of course,” Archibald replied, thoughts still running through his head. Entering one of the ruined huts, he looked around and noticed it was seemingly devoid of any sign of life.

  His hands trembled slightly as he took out a small iron pot, a stand, and a strike-a-light. After setting them on the ground, he walked toward the river with the iron pot in his hands, his heart skipping a beat as he passed the creature's body, still lying at the clearing’s edge.

  Filling the iron pot with river water, Archibald watched as Colette opened her bag once again and pulled out a glass flask filled with silver-hued water.

  Marching along the stones, she slowly poured the strange liquid onto the ground, creating a circle. As she completed it, the circle glowed with an eerie silver hue for a mere second before vanishing.

  Walking toward her, Archibald asked, “What is that?”

  “Holy water. It should ward off any Fuath or animals,” Colette replied before adding, “Start boiling the water, then come back. I need your help with something.”

  “Are you… fine?” Archibald asked, his tone slightly hesitant.

  Staring at him for a few seconds, Colette took a deep breath and replied in a slightly dejected tone, “Yes. I just thought things would be different.”

  “Different how?” he asked, confusion clear in his tone.

  “Just…” she murmured, seemingly unsure of her words.

  “You thought it’d be more like the stories?” Archibald asked gently, taking a step closer to her.

  A quick smirk appeared on her lips and disappeared just as quickly. “Kind of. I… I thought it’d be more… epic.”

  Archibald giggled, prompting the confused nun to ask, “Is there something I’m not getting?”

  “No, it’s just pretty much what I thought.” He met her gaze and added, “It’s nice to have someone who understands.”

  Colette then sharply remarked, “It might’ve been a bit more epic if you actually knew how to fight.”

  Taking another step forward, Archibald tilted his head downward, meeting Colette’s gaze. He retorted with a smile, “It might’ve been more epic if you actually knew how to perform a miracle.”

  The two locked eyes for a brief moment before bursting into laughter—a small comfort in the discovery of a true companion.

  Archibald quickly walked back to the ruined hut, gathering his weapons, gambeson, helmet, and a few twigs and dry leaves.

  After setting his gambeson, helmet and weapons on the northern side of the hut, he placed the iron pot on the stand, arranged the twigs beneath it, and lit them with the strike-a-light. Leaving the water to boil, he ran back to Colette.

  Standing beside Colette, Archibald saw the creature's body. Its cloak had fallen open, revealing a near-anorexic form, seemingly devoid of internal organs-built purely of muscle and bone, with beast skin stretched tightly over it. Though preserved, the body was utterly desecrated.

  Lifting the blood-red cloth from its head, the pair uncovered a thin, skin-covered skull, devoid of a mouth and nose, with a pair of eyes staring blankly into nothingness.

  With shaking hands, Colette covered her mouth, staring at the creature as time seemed to stop. Its mere presence made Archibald’s heart beat faster than ever before, the only sound he could hear being Colette whispering to herself, “Abomination impie.”

  Silently, he walked toward one of the ruined huts before pulling up a broken wooden plank and digging a shallow grave.

  Without a word, Colette slowly pushed the body into the grave, uttering a prayer as Archibald covered the inhuman atrocity with dirt.

  She traced a small circle over her face with her hand—a gesture practiced by Matronites in moments of prayer and distress—before thoroughly washing her and Archibald’s hands with water from her waterskin.

  The pair walked to the ruined hut, neither speaking as they filled their watersacks from the pot, leaving enough water for each to wash themselves with a towel the following day.

  After covering the pot with cloth, Colette removed her veil, revealing short, rust-colored hair. She then sat down, leaned against one of the hut's walls, and tapped the ground near her.

  Silently, Archibald sat beside her. Leaning against each other, they felt the other's warmth.

  “Why are we following the river?” she asked, her tone slightly nervous.

  “Some hunters said they saw a draoi when they passed by it, and it ran toward its source. So we'll go there and just kill it,” he said, his tone full of determination yet tinged with fear.

  “I see,” Colette replied with a slightly harsh tone, ending the conversation.

  Wishing each other good night, the pair fell asleep beneath the starlit sky.

  As the night passed, the sun rose and bathed the forest in light, awakening all its residents. The nearby river, teeming with fish, shimmered with a myriad of bright glimmers scattered across its surface.

  The sunlight woke Archibald from his deep sleep. After a glance at the still-sleeping Colette, he exited the hut with the supply bag and water-filled pot and made his way to another hut.

  Upon reaching it, he took off his shirt and pants, leaving his body exposed except for his undergarments and chest bandages. Unwrapping the bandages, he revealed his breasts to the open air. Archibald let out a sigh, disappointment filling his mind as he quickly averted his gaze and asked himself, Why are they still there?

  After washing himself, he went over to his bag and took out a small linen sheet to dry off. Once dry, he dug a small hole in the hut's corner to relieve himself. After finishing his business, he poured water from the pot over his hands, washing them and rubbing them on the linen sheet to dry.

  After putting on his pants, he grabbed his bandages and shirt and sat on a wooden chair. He began reapplying the bandages across his chest, trying to keep his breasts flat and unnoticeable.

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  Hearing Colette mumble from afar, he yelled out to her, “Good morning!” before finishing applying his bandages.

  As he did, he heard the nun calling out to him. He leaned back in the chair and looked up at the blue sky as he yelled back, “I'm over here!”

  Colette stretched her sore body as she entered the hut and opened her tired eyes. She immediately noticed Archibald waving at her and the bandages wrapped around his chest.

  She rushed over to him and started examining the bandages, mumbling to herself before Archibald cut her off, saying, “I'm not injured!” while lowering his head in shame.

  She'll understand. She has to, Archibald thought as a familiar dread washed over him. He slightly raised his head before declaring once more, his tone shaken, “I'm not injured.”

  The shock on Colette's face was evident as she pointed at Archibald's chest and yelled, “Are you mental?! You just bandaged yourself!”

  A sense of despair washed over Archibald. He put his head in his hands, covering his eyes before replying, “I'm not injured. It's for my breasts…”

  Colette stopped in her tracks, staying silent until the shock of his statement wore off. Then, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “I have a woman's body,” Archibald replied, his heart feeling heavier with each passing second.

  “So, you're a cross-dresser?” Colette asked, her tone curious yet unsure of itself.

  “What? No.” Archibald replied. Standing up, he faced Colette and, with a firm tone, said, “I'm not a cross-dresser, a hermaphrodite, or anything else. I am a man.”

  “But you have a woman's body,” she said, slight confusion in her tone as she took a step back.

  He sighed, memories of his birth family and friends flashing through his mind—his mother's furious expression burned into his memory as he recalled the day he told her he was a man.

  “I have a woman's body, I know that, but my soul is that of a man. Do you think you can understand?”

  “I see,” she responded. Taking a step closer, she asked in a curious tone, “Does your family know about it?”

  “I mean, Father Benneit does,” Archibald answered, his tone slightly cheerful.

  “Right, but don’t you have anyone else?” the nun asked as she sat on a wooden table beside him.

  Painful memories of arguments with his family—rejecting his very identity—burned in his mind as he answered, “No, there's no one else.” His tone was somber as he lowered his head, trying to avoid the nun's gaze.

  A moment of silence resonated between the pair. The man, unsure if there was anything more to say, contemplated his words. Just as he was about to open his mouth, he heard Colette ask, “Do you miss them?”

  “What do you mean?” Archibald replied, slightly raising his head.

  “Your family. Father Benneit is nice, but you probably have real parents.”

  Clearly offended by her comment, the man, who stood up and answered with clear anger in his voice, “He is my real father. The ones who wanted to be my parents don’t want to talk to me anymore, so I don’t want to talk to them either.”

  A memory resurfaced in his mind—his birth parents evicting him from their home. His heart pounded faster but then slowed as he looked at Colette’s worried face. Quickly, he said in a remorseful tone, “Sorry. It’s not your fault or anything, I promise.”

  He sat back in the chair, his hands covering his face in shame.

  “No, no, it’s fine! I think I get it. I mean, not exactly how you feel, but the general idea, I guess? I don’t really know what I’m saying…” she replied nervously before taking a deep breath.

  She moved slightly closer to the man, and as she placed her hand on his shoulder, she added in a nervous yet compassionate tone, “Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I’m here for you if you need me.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” Archibald said, his tone gentle, before adding, “Do you mind fixing my armor? I have no idea what to do, and after yesterday, I think I’ll probably need it… Please.”

  Colette picked up Archibald’s shirt from the ground and threw it at his face, saying in a cheeky tone, “Fine, but while I’m doing it, at least put your shirt on and organize your bag. I want to leave soon so we won’t have to fight it at night.”

  “Right,” he replied while putting his shirt on and walking back to the hut.

  After Colette finished stitching the tear in Archibald’s gambeson, she approached him and laid it down next to him just as he finished packing up his supply bag.

  After putting on his repaired gambeson, Archibald pulled out two pieces of cured meat from his bag and handed one over to Colette, who ate it with delight before being given a few juniper berries. She placed a few in her lamp, feeding the blessed fireflies, and then ate the rest herself.

  Once the pair finished their breakfast, they whispered a near-silent prayer, thanking the All-Mother for her love and protection, and then set off on their journey once more.

  Colette walked with her staff in hand and a cloth bag at her side, while Archibald held his spear and carried the supply bag on his back with a dirk at his side.

  A single thought echoed in the man's mind, This is nice.

  As the pair continued marching along the river's bank on a withered stone path—built in an age now long forgotten—the path’s memory was retained only by those whose names had also faded into obscurity.

  The trees surrounding them were tall and sturdy, their leaves dense, allowing barely any light to touch the ground beneath them. The nun's lamp still guided them forward.

  A light breeze approached the pair from behind, as if pushing them onward in their crusade. It blew past them, through the forest and leaves, making them rustle and breaking the silence that had dominated the air.

  “I wanted to ask you before, but I forgot,” Archibald said in a slightly embarrassed tone as he continued walking.

  “What is it?” Colette replied, tilting her head toward Archibald, waiting for his inquiry.

  “Is Colette your real name? I thought that name was from the Holy Land,” Archibald asked curiously before adding, “I mean no offense, but you don't sound like you're from there.”

  The nun let out a deep sigh and turned toward the man, who curiously stared at her, waiting for her answer. As she put on a fake smile, her tone matching it, she retorted, “It's about as real as Archibald is your real name.”

  “It is my real name,” Archibald said, looking away in embarrassment.

  “What a coincidence,” Colette said, taking a step closer to him as they continued walking. She then added, “Colette is my real name as well.”

  The harsh silence between them was suddenly broken when the young nun abruptly said, “I’m not from the Holy Land, so you're at least right about that,” a smirk spreading across her lips.

  A small smile tugged at Archibald’s lips, his heart feeling a bit lighter at the nun's comment. “So where are you from, then?”

  “Here, just like you,” Colette replied with a bright smile.

  “Wait, really? I’m from the north—actually close to Igon,” he said, his eyes widening in excitement as a smile just as bright as Colette's spread across his face.

  “South, it's an island called Cladach Bà. We had a lot of cows too—they're really fluffy. I think you'd like them.”

  “It sounds nice,” he replied before asking, “Also, why did you become a nun? I mean, it sounds nice where you were.”

  The nun stayed silent for a moment before quietly replying, “I thought making miracles would get people to write stories about me…”

  “Really?” His astonishment and slight confusion were clear in his voice before he added curiously, “Was it hard?”

  The nun giggled lightly before replying, “Yes. I had to tell my family goodbye and study in that monastery for six years… but it was worth it. I can help people now.” Her bright smile shifted into a fainter one as she spoke.

  “Maybe we can visit your family when we're done here,” Archibald uttered, seemingly unsure of what else to say.

  “That'd be nice,” Colette replied, a faint nostalgia in her tone.

  As the pair was about to continue their conversation, a faint crying sound came from ahead. Colette raised her hand to her mouth, signaling Archibald to stop talking before removing the lamp from the end of her staff and tying it to her cincture.

  As they continued walking silently, the sound of crying grew stronger. Eventually, they reached a wall of twisted pines through which a dim light peeked.

  The wall stretched from the river to a small outcrop, with only a narrow opening piercing through the barrier of trees.

  The pair crouched and silently walked toward the opening. Archibald instinctively clenched his spear, preparing himself for what might be ahead, while Colette gripped her pendant and prayed silently for both their safety. They reached the opening, each approaching from a different side, uncertain of what lay beyond.

  Through the opening stood a large gate made of three massive gray stones—the largest resting atop two vertical ones—creating a gap nearly twice Archibald’s height.

  Beyond it, the early noon sun shone upon a decrepit stone staircase leading to a seemingly small, ruined temple, its roof and second story long gone. Inside, four withered trees stood, each bearing a screaming face carved into its bark.

  At the temple’s center loomed a large stone statue of a fit woman clad in a tunic that reached below her knees. A hood concealed her hair yet left her face exposed, with a wooden branch protruding from each eye, resembling horns.

  Her expression remained calm and reassuring, as if offering silent compassion to those who stood before her.

  Her arms, despite being sculpted from stone, appeared wooden, with fingers resembling twigs. Her right hand held a staff, while her left rested on her chest, creating the impression of a still-beating heart.

  In the middle of the temple, kneeling in front of the statue, was a young girl in her early teens, crying softly. She wore a long white gown that reached her ankles and a light green hooded shawl draped over her shoulders and head.

  Colette and Archibald slowly walked toward her, their fear and confusion growing with every step.

  The girl turned to face them, revealing her desecrated, trembling body.

  A twisted branch, covered in blood, protruded from her left eye. Her right eye was a deep blue, with tears streaming down her face.

  Her right arm and legs were grayish-brown, covered in cracks resembling the bark of a pine tree. Each of her fingers was long and slender, making them look like twigs.

  With trembling hands, Colette covered her mouth, staring at the girl as time seemed to stand still. Her mere appearance made Archibald freeze in place, his heartbeat quickening with each passing second. The only sound that broke the silence was Colette whispering to herself in a shaking tone, “It’s inside her,” making the man's eyes widen in horror as he continued to stare at the girl.

  Staring at the spear in Archibald's hand, the girl lowered her head, hugging herself before screaming, “Ah wis juist tryin tae help!”

  The girl raised her head slowly, tears still running down her face, each second making the pair more wary of her.

  She quietly said, “Please… gie it a daein in…” before grabbing the tip of Archibald's spear and plunging it into her chest.

  Archibald and Colette screamed in fear and confusion before bolting toward the entrance of the temple, their hearts pounding.

  Once they reached the wall, Colette, still trying to catch her breath, asked, “Are you hurt?”

  Still dazed and shaken, Archibald answered, “I… no… what was that?”

  The pair turned toward the girl, shaken by her apparent suicide.

  Yet, her body remained kneeling. Now facing away from the statue, her arms were spread wide, her face tilted toward the sky. She let out an agonized, inhuman scream that echoed to the edge of the forest.

  In a fearful yet cold tone, Colette whispered, “Sidhe Draoi.”

  The girl was no longer there. In her place stood something that wore her body as its own—something beyond human, something neither Archibald nor Colette could fully comprehend—a Sidhe Draoi.

  The Draoi stared at the pair before falling to the ground and swiftly crawling toward them.

  Without thinking, Archibald rushed forward and plunged his spear into its back, causing it to scream in pain. Before he could react, the creature twisted its body, knocking Archibald to the ground before launching itself at Colette, who struggled to push it away. It struck her with its defiled arms, screaming as it attacked.

  Without thinking, Archibald tightened his grip on his spear and rushed forward, piercing the Draoi's waist and driving it down.

  The creature kicked and screamed. As it thrashed, it tore its hooded shawl, revealing a grayish-brown shell around its nape. It continued to struggle until it knocked Archibald’s spear aside, then attempted to crawl toward him.

  Yet before it could reach him, Colette rushed forward and bashed the back of its head with her staff, knocking it to the ground.

  Archibald stood atop the Draoi, paralyzed by confusion and fear. He stared at the girl's defiled body before Colette suddenly pushed him aside. A sharp pain shot through his waist as he saw the Draoi thrust its desecrated hand forward, piercing his leather-lined gambeson and cutting into his side.

  For a single second, his life flashed before his eyes—every moment unfolding before him, ending with a single memory: being embraced by Father Benneit before receiving his dirk.

  With swift determination, he drew his dirk from its scabbard and fell to his knees, throwing his weight over the Draoi. He drove the blade into its neck, shattering the shell at its nape, killing it instantly.

  Falling to the ground, he took off his augmented helmet and gasped for air, barely managing to draw even a single breath into his lungs as Colette rushed to his side.

  With trembling hands, she examined the hole in his gambeson.

  She quickly opened her bag and pulled out a waterskin and a clean linen towel.

  Tears streamed down her face as she poured water onto the towel before squeezing it, leaving it moist.

  After inspecting the wound, the nun incoherently mumbled to herself as Archibald attempted to ignore the pain caused by her careful cleaning of his injury.

  Her breaths grew heavier as she pulled out her flask of wódka. She poured a bit of the liquid onto the other side of the towel before gently rubbing it over his wound.

  The burning sensation made him breathe heavily and groan, struggling to suppress the pain of the treatment. He immediately fell silent as his crying companion suddenly screamed, “Shut up! Everything is fine!”

  Closing the flask, she put it, along with the towel and waterskin, back into her bag before pulling out a roll of linen bandages. With trembling hands, she tightly wrapped them around the cleaned wound, tying them harshly. The man held his breath for a brief moment, trying to hide his pain from Colette.

  Seeing his companion’s somber expression, he gently laid a hand on her shoulder and, with a broken smile, said, “Everything is going to be fine.” In return, she gave him a quick nod and a fragile smile.

  Finally, wiping the tears from her face, she gently pressed her palm over the bandaged wound, mumbled a few words and quietly uttered a prayer; “Mère divine, laissez votre amour guérir les blessures de vos enfants.” As both she and Archibald tried to hold their smiles.

  The edges of his wound twitched before slowly pulling inward, as if woven together by unseen strings.

  A strange yet slightly familiar sensation spread through his waist, as though foreign blood had entered his body, mixing with his own and growing inside him. He breathed heavily, his mind filling with fleeting memories that surfaced just as quickly as they vanished—his consciousness teetering on the edge.

  Barely breathing, Colette leaned forward, keeping her palm pressed against the bandaged wound. She watched closely as it closed, leaving behind a faint yet clear scar.

  The nun collapsed to the ground beside Archibald, vomiting before hastily drinking all the water from her waterskin and desperately trying to draw even a bit of air into her lungs.

  His companion stared at the now-healed holy squire and smiled, his heart feeling slightly lighter as he gazed back at her.

  The pair then turned to each other and embraced, crying from relief and the slowly fading pain.

  After taking a single breath of rest, Archibald silently walked toward the statue and dug a shallow grave.

  Without a word, Colette dragged the body into the grave, uttering a prayer as Archibald covered the defiled girl with dirt.

  After thoroughly washing her and Archibald’s hands with water from his waterskin, she traced a small circle over her face with her hand before silently heading toward Oxmooth.

  After their wordless journey, the pair reached the forest's edge from which they had entered and saw that the sun had set on the eastern horizon, raising the curtain of night across the sky.

  As the moon began to rise, the stars started to dance across the sky, illuminating everything under their gaze.

  The silence that dominated the air was broken as Colette turned her head toward Archibald and asked in a gentle tone, “Does it still hurt?”

  Archibald took a deep, tired breath before answering, “A bit. I'll be fine. I just need to lie down for a bit.”

  The nun lowered her head and, after a brief moment of silence, said, “She was already dead. There was nothing we could do, right?”

  After gathering his thoughts for a moment, he replied in the same gentle tone the nun had used, “Right. We did everything we could. She's with the All-Mother now.”

  “I know,” Colette said before taking a deep breath and adding in a slightly hopeful tone, “I'll report everything to the Mother Superior… and, obviously, this area is in such a state that it needs a holy sister 's constant presence… and I'll gladly take on that burden.”

  Turning to the nun, the holy squire noticed her slight smile and, with a bright grin, said, “Obviously, you'll have to—just as I'll have to get a brigandine and gloves for our next crusade.” Then, embracing her in a hug, he quietly added, “Thank you.”

  Colette hugged him in kind and replied, “Of course. We're in this together.”

  The pair remained in their embrace for a moment before continuing on their path.

  After the pair passed through the town's gate, they walked toward the church. As Archibald opened its doors, he saw Father Benneit kneeling in prayer before a large wooden wheel situated atop a grand coffin at the altar.

  “I'm back,” Archibald said aloud, drawing the priest’s attention. Father Benneit turned around and ran toward him before embracing him in a warm hug.

  Colette giggled, glancing at the slightly embarrassed Archibald before turning to the priest and formally saying, “Father Benneit, I’ll notify the Mother Superior of our success.”

  The priest looked at Colette and, with a relieved smile, replied, “Of course. Thank you.” She bowed slightly toward him.

  He then turned back to Archibald and hesitantly asked, “Are you hurt? How are you feeling?”

  Archibald looked at Colette, the restlessness in his heart slightly lifting, taking on a calmer, more cheerful shape.

  He turned back to the priest and, with a bright smile and eyes full of anticipation for the future ahead, said, “I feel great!”