Looking through the lattice windows of the cottage, one could spot any number of old-fashioned furniture and decor. Trinkets, souvenirs, collectibles, trophies and keepsakes, all sitting on fancy shelves from past treasure hunts and fanciful outings. Witcheries of a hermetic life filled the majority of her dwelling. A large layer of straw made up the roof of the cozy building—A rather "retro flair," as she once put it. A large heart carved into the front door encapsulated the saccharine home of the sugary witch.
Wasn't she trying to get people to be scared of her? Alma mused. She may as well have had the entire walls made up of gingerbread at that point.
She knocked on the fancy, arrow-shaped knocker in the center of the heart.
"Hellooooo? Is the witch of the house in?"
After a few moments, a listless, fair-haired young boy in his early teens answered the door.
“That you, Alma?” he asked cautiously, scratching his belly. “What are you doing here? Heloise doesn't want to see you."
"Hi Bertrand. I know it’s been a while but please, listen. I really need to talk to Heloise. I came here to apologize and… I need her help."
“It’s Bert.” Bert looked her over suspiciously. Then over to Hwalín and Qu'l-Nia.
"Who are they?" he motioned.
"I'm helping them with something important and we all need some magicky help from your sister now. Just trust me, it's important."
He looked over at Hwalín who winked at him.
The boy scratched the back of his head, brows furrowed. It was clear he still didn't fully believe Alma. But he also knew how badly his sister had needed her friend back.
"She's not here. She's out. Hunting down some monster."
"She's hunting…? Since when does she hunt? She's never wanted to go hunting with me unless treasure was involved," said Alma, sounding a bit irked.
Bert shrugged. "She's changed quite a bit since you've been gone. She's been acting pretty reckless, I’d say. Especially as of late."
He glanced over at the other two before motioning Alma to lean in closer.
"Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'll hear her across the house, talking to herself and chanting in some weird magic vernacular that doesn't sound anything like her usual magic. It sounded a lot creepier… a lot darker. I asked her about it one morning but she just brushed me off. As if I’m not allowed to worry about her. And she always wakes up looking really drained. I don't know as much about this hocus pocus stuff of hers because she refuses to tell me about any of it, but lately it’s all just felt really ominous. I don’t know what’s been happening to her, maybe losing you from her life caused one of her already loose screws to fall fully out. The sooner you're back in her life, the better."
The young sniper sighed worriedly.
"Well do you know where she went?" asked Alma. "It'll help if I find her first. I doubt she’s that experienced in hunting solo. Much less when it comes to monsters. Heli always bites off more than she can chew."
The boy pointed East, towards a dark area in the trees.
"Pretty sure she followed the Malsumis river downward towards the older part of the forest,” said the boy. “It’s been long enough that I actually am starting to get worried. She's been gone a long time already. Another day and I might've called you up for help anyway…"
"Don't worry, Bert," reassured Alma. "We'll go rescue your sister."
"Your sister seems quite the handful," added Hwalín. "But put your fears to rest, lad. From what Alma's told me, that witch can certainly handle herself a wee bit longer."
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The rickety carriage guided by the slow, hulking animal swayed uncomfortably as it rode up the icy mountain trail. The precious cargo being carried up through the mists of Mount Akhlut was none other than Zulema, accompanied by her two fellow sisters in madness, Marie and Lucia. They had been traveling for a couple of days now, through harsh, glacial terrain and were finally nearing the outpost where a small contingency of Malachian crusaders were in a stalemate battle with Kuranesian soldiers. Soldiers famous for employing hypnagogic traps that ensnared their enemies into a deep, comatose-like state. A technique that rapidly dwindled down the allied forces. It was the hope of the military that calling in one of the church’s secret weapons, their own Sisters of Scarlet Clemency, better known as the Scarlet Sisters, would turn the tide and help secure a much-needed victory. The Church, however, does not simply hand a loaded gun to a witless child—without good reason.
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Now, riding high along the frozen cliffs, Zulema was steeling herself for a battle she was hoping she would never have to fight. When she wasn’t conversing with her fellow priestesses about their daily lives or the mission to come, she would catch herself gazing unenthusiastically out the window—the rising elevation having caused her ears to pop. Staring at the miles of writhing trees twisting down below, she felt a slight reassurance that Alma was now prohibited from partaking in dangerous things like these, where only pain and suffering could flourish so succinctly.
“Oh, I’ve never liked this mountain pass. I’ve heard nothing but terrifying accounts of the fauna here,” complained Sister Lucia. The obvious worrywart of the three, she was only a year younger than Zula. Slight pockmarks ran down the side of her cheek. She was quite proud, however, of her long, brown hair which could only be described as “silky,” and was the pride of the flock, second only to Zulema.
“I’m not worried,” boasted the smiling Sister Marie. “Zulie here is going to protect us if we manage to run into any trouble. More than I can say about the men, I’m afraid. She is the best of us, after all.”
Ever the motherly one and a few years older than the rest, Sister Marie was always quick to throw compliments to her fellow sisters-in-arms. With coral-pink lips and a fiery bob, she was the beauty of the convent that everyone aspired to. She would always build up Zulema—whose humble manner she always found grievance with—because she always felt her altruistic disposition was hiding a selfless inner strength. And if you can’t define your own self-worth, then who will? That was how Sister Marie was always raised to think.
“Oh, stop it,” laughed Zulema. “I’m no better than either of you. I’m just a coward that knows how to hide better than most.”
“Really? Because in typical altruistic fashion, I heard you picked up your eighth stray this year. I don’t know how you can live with those filthy things. They smell so awful.” Lucia gave Zulema a quick sniff.
“Lucia, don’t be rude. Taking care of an animal requires great willpower and Zulie has that in spades. You should try it yourself, it would be a wonderful way to ingratiate yourself toward Lady Macha.”
“No thank you! The last time I got close to someone’s pet, it bit me and I was bedridden for days. I’m sure Macha would understand if I’m a little adverse to that idea.”
The two other priestesses laughed.
“Speaking of strays, word reached me of your newest tryst, Marie. Tell us, was he everything you’d hoped he’d be?”
“Zulie, please.” Sister Marie blushed. “How did you even find out about that? You young ones do nothing but long and gossip about love instead of trying to find your own… Well, you know me. I confess, I’m the old-fashioned type. And he… he was a dull-witted fellow who liked to pinch his wallet a bit too tightly. There’s a deposit of my time I shan’t be getting back.”
Lucia groaned while Zulema whistled.
“I told you!” one whispered to the other.
“An-y-way. Let’s go over what’s important, shall we? Lucia, do you remember your objective for when we arrive?”
“Why, triage, of course. Our poor soldiers always seem to need a healing hand.” She faked a pitiful frown.
“And your thaumaturgical instruction—should you find yourself engaged with the enemy?”
Lucia then flashed a wicked smile. “Ego elimination. Ain’t no room for confrontational thoughts within a crumbling mind.”
Sister Marie gave her a satisfied nod.
“Zulie? Your objective?” she asked.
“I’ll be compiling a detailed report from the station leader. Hopefully he can bring us up to speed on the strange things they’ve been sighting around the area.”
“Strange things?” asked Lucia. “Is the enemy already deploying some kind of new tech?”
“Actually, I overheard the prioress speaking about it earlier. That some of the laity had found a couple of enemy corpses. Mutilated beyond recognition. Most would assume animal attack but she seems to think otherwise.”
“Enough,” declared Marie. “There’s no use ruminating pointlessly of something that wasn’t discussed with us. I’m sure if it were something pertinent, they would have instructed us about it. Now, Zulie, if you will. Thaumaturgical instruction?”
“Taxisthesia.” Zulema now had a serious but vacant look on her face. “If I chance upon the enemy, I will not hesitate to beguile their senses. They will not perceive us. Not unless I so choose.”
“Excellent! I don’t know what I’d do without you, Zulie.”
“Hey!” cried Lucia.
“As for me,” stated Sister Marie. “I will be—"
The carriage had come to a stop, signifying to the three priestesses that they had arrived at their destination.
“We’re here,” noted Lucia.
"Come,” Marie said, beckoning them over. “Let us get started."
The three stepped out of the vehicle and waved the driver off as he continued on towards the base. Marie led the other two sisters in another direction, along an ancient trail lined with ruined pillars and long-dead lanterns. Far ahead of them stood a small chapel perched at the top of the highest hill, surrounded by the encroaching husks of dead trees and their twisting roots—its spectral spire rising amid misty clouds in the decaying light of day. A ravenous swarm of monstrous and rotten-winged yinptero glided from their frozen roost above the steeple to hunt the coming night—a sonorous cacophony of shrieks thundering overhead.
As the hallowed trio edged closer, details of the cathedral’s ancient stonework became frighteningly clearer. Sundering cracks scarring the building gave off a precarious impression. Sister Marie began unlocking the antique padlock securing the black doors of the church, while Zulema examined an aging plaque adorned to the wall. The worn letters were still clear enough to read without issue, "THE CHURCH OF THE ONE WHO SEES ALL."
"Glory be," declared Marie as they stepped deep into the consecrated darkness.