The chapel loomed like a great, lifeless beast on the edge of the castle grounds, its jagged stones blackened by time and neglect. Inside, the torches sputtered weakly against the cold, their flickering light barely illuminating the circle etched into the floor with fresh blood. The air was heavy, oppressive, tinged with the coppery scent of sacrifice.

Nauthizia stood in the doorway, her breath clouding before her in the icy air. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to retreat into the comforting dark of her chambers, but the whispers of her son’s name pushed her forward. She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the cracked stones.

Agrippina, Sorinah, and Daciana stood at the points of the circle, their expressions hidden beneath their heavy cloaks. In the dim light, they resembled spectral figures—harbingers of something ancient and cruel.

“You’re late,” Sorinah said, her tone as sharp as the icy wind that followed Nauthizia into the chapel. “Do you waver, Queen?”

Nauthizia’s jaw tightened. “I am here,” she said simply, though her voice faltered.

“Then kneel,” Daciana ordered, her lips curling into a smile that was more predatory than welcoming. “No power worth having will bow to one who stands above it.”

The command grated against Nauthizia’s pride, but she obeyed, lowering herself to her knees at the center of the circle. The cold stone bit into her skin even through her dress. She glanced down at the runes etched beneath her, their lines intricate and jagged, pulsing faintly with an inner light.

“Tonight,” Agrippina began, her voice low and steady, “we call upon the divinities who see the plight of our homeland. Tonight, we summon their wrath and their salvation.”

Sorinah stepped forward, a bowl of dark liquid in her hands. She poured its contents over the runes, and the blood hissed as it touched the stone, the symbols flaring brightly. “Tonight, Wallachia will have its savior,” she said, her words laced with a dark promise.

Daciana laughed softly, a sound that sent a chill down Nauthizia’s spine. “Yes, our savior. A man to wield this kingdom’s fury. A king to cleanse it of weakness.”

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Nauthizia’s head snapped up, her breath catching. “A man?” she whispered.

Agrippina’s gaze met hers, calm and unwavering. “The divinities do not answer the cries of the weak. They demand strength. They demand a vessel worthy of their power.”

Her mind raced as the truth began to sink in. This ritual was not meant to empower her. It was meant to erase her, to replace her with the form she had worn as a mask: Nauthiz.

“No,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It is already decided,” Sorinah said coldly. “You gave yourself to this, Nauthizia. You will thank us when the pain is done.”

The torches dimmed as the chanting began, a cacophony of voices weaving through the air. Agrippina’s words were sharp and deliberate, carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. Sorinah’s were guttural, biting into the silence with raw power. Daciana’s voice was a low, seductive hiss, her words like venom slipping into a wound.

The first bat was brought forth, its wings trembling weakly. Agrippina held it carefully, her eyes distant as she murmured a prayer to Ralntahvix and Udokoht. Then, without hesitation, she sank her teeth into its neck. Blood dripped onto the runes, igniting them in crimson fire.

One by one, the women followed suit. Sorinah invoked Padishah Ahraesh, her hands steady as she tore into the fragile body of another bat. Daciana’s laughter rang out as she prayed to Abbadex, her teeth bared as she savaged her offering.

Nauthizia stared in horror as the blood soaked into the runes, the light spreading like veins through the floor. The air grew heavy, pressing down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

“Now,” Agrippina said, turning to her. “The last one is yours.”

Sorinah held out the final bat, its small body trembling in her hands. “Take it,” she commanded.

Nauthizia hesitated, revulsion twisting her stomach. The creature’s tiny heartbeat fluttered against her palm as she reached for it.

“Do not falter,” Daciana said sharply. “Do you wish to see your son again? Do you wish to protect him?”

The mention of Vlad struck like a blow, shattering her resistance. With trembling hands, she raised the bat to her lips and bit down. Warm, bitter blood filled her mouth, and the world exploded into fire and shadow.

Pain lanced through her, sharp and unrelenting. Her body convulsed, her limbs twisting as though pulled by invisible strings. She fell to the ground, her screams swallowed by the growing hum that filled the air.

“Let it consume you,” Sorinah’s voice echoed distantly. “Let it take you.”

Her bones cracked, her muscles tore and reknit themselves. Her mind fragmented, caught between rage, grief, and something primal. She felt herself being pulled apart, her identity unraveling, and her very being rewritten. Her skin burned as though fire coursed beneath it, her senses sharpening to a painful degree. The taste of blood lingered on her tongue, hot and metallic, and she could hear her heart pounding like a war drum.

The runes on the floor flared brighter, their light searing her vision even through closed eyes. She felt herself being dragged deeper into the void, her mind splintering into fragments. She was Nauthizia, she was Nauthiz, she was something else entirely. Her memories became muddled, her thoughts consumed by a voice that whispered of power, of vengeance, of eternity.