A few hours earlier, in the quiet of the night, the masked figure crossed the threshold of Harwood Forest. Wrapped in a cloak of mist that made it difficult to see the paths, the forest lay still. The wind whispered through the branches of its trees, its lament sinister and menacing.

As the masked figure ventured through the paths marked in the barren ground, external noises gradually decreased until they disappeared completely. The shadows of the branches, projected by the high moon in the sky, created curious light effects, giving the impression that something or someone was following those same steps. Then, suddenly, a low and dark cry was heard from within the forest. It was a howl that made the figure that wandered alone through the forest shudder for the first time. The presence of something evil hidden among the trees could be perceived.

After walking for a while, the masked figure stopped in front of an entrance in the rock that had just materialised before their vigilant eyes. The figure hesitated for a moment before continuing. Crossing the threshold, they were immediately struck by a sensation of cold and humidity. The ground was soft, composed mostly of a layer of moss. Its walls were covered with small pointed stalagmites that hung menacingly from above. The masked figure lit a small torch while the echo of their steps echoed throughout the cave. They ventured into the depths of that isolated place forgotten by the world. The air was pungent, a nauseating smell mixed with that of damp earth enveloped them.

At the end of that intricate labyrinth of stone, a dark figure sat on a carved wooden throne.

Clad in tattered rags, smeared with blood and mud, that sinister being was motionless as if waiting. The masked figure took another step towards them and noticed their features in the flickering light of the fire. The face of the being was partially disfigured and covered with a tangle of white hair, their facial features contorted, and their eyes devoid of pupils as if they had lost their sight since time immemorial. Their thin skin was a gray-green color, as if consumed by weather and magic obscure. Their long and skeletal hands seemed ready to grab and tear the flesh from the bones.

She was the lady of that place. The minstrels called her the Virgin of the Rocks as a sign of respect and fear, but the masked figure knew her true name: Lilethara.

The Virgin's Hall was covered with some tools and furnishings made of rough wood and iron. There was a rectangular stone altar and some cauldrons nearby, clear evidence of occult rituals and sacrifices mixed with runes and cabalistic symbols that decorated the walls. The masked figure also seemed to notice human bones, bear fangs, and snake skins scattered on the ground.

Lilethara rose from her wooden throne and, with uncertain movements, approached her visitor. Her long hands rested on the skeleton mask.

"Dia dhuit Archdeacon Grimstone," she said with a deep voice, almost hypnotic. There was no trace of emotion in her tone, no nuance of joy, sadness, or fear.

"I have with me what you have requested for the ritual," Grimstone said, taking a small object that could fit in one hand from a small wooden box inside his robe. Lilethara delicately touched that object that was pulsating between the bishop's hands and smelled it.

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"Did you tear this heart out from a member of the Eagle's house as I instructed?"

Grimstone nodded. "The victim frequented the abbey, and his family is still looking for him. There is no trace of the boy. His body lies buried in the cemetery of Yorster."

Lilethara curled the upper part of her lips into a sinister smile.

"Is your new God not able to provide you with what you seek?"

The bishop stiffened as caught off guard and, with a resolute tone, replied, "External faith follows beliefs different from the internal one. Sometimes the coexistence of beliefs is the only way to follow a nobler purpose."

"What nonsense," Lilethara spat at the bishop's feet, adding a hoarse laugh that echoed within the walls of the Hall.

"The time at our disposal is about to elapse. Follow me."

Lilethara approached the altar and, with the help of some charcoal fragments, drew an intricate number of runic signs, leaving a small hole in the center of that inscription. Almost methodically, she then lit some candles and burned some bark coated with amber. She reached out her hand to the cardinal, who understood the object of her request.

Lilethara placed the still blood-stained black heart at the center of the altar and began a lament with her guttural tone of voice. She seemed to be invoking some entities. Grimstone managed to catch the name of some of them - Cailleach, Dagda, Manannan, Nuada.

Then the virgin stiffened, motionless in front of the altar. Her gaze turned upward. Her throat visibly swollen and pulsing. A demonic voice finally spoke the following words:

"Bidh an ròs air a stampadh leis an iolaire dhubh ag èirigh a-rithist aon latha fada nas moiteil. Ma tha glòir agus ceannsachadh ann an cridheachan fadal, bidh goireasan an taobh a-staigh cuingealaichte. Iarr an fheadhainn a shàsaich na dragain agus aonaich do ròs leis an teine luachmhor aca."

After uttering the last word of that litany, Lilethara fell to the ground, unconscious and helpless. The cardinal hurriedly extracted a piece of parchment from inside his vest, then approached the altar and with the same charcoal, wrote the following words: "The rose that the black eagle trod will rise again, more proud than God. If glory and conquest you do crave, your inner resources soon will fade. Seek those who've tamed dragons of old and bind the rose with their fire bold. For only together can we stand against the darkness until the end"

Then, with one last look towards the woman still lying on the ground, he pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders and left that place of mystery and esoterism.