The rain fell steadily. The bodies of the slain Sisters of the Twin Moon lay strewn across the village, the heaviest concentration around the village center. Savina Frost stared, transfixed, her gaze following the path of the witches' blood as it merged with the rain. This macabre union birthed fleeting rivers that pooled into a growing lake in the heart of the old village. It was beautiful, she thought, lost in her wonderful dream.

“Ow!” she screeched, startled out of her trance. She glared at the soldier tending to her wound, a young woman whose name she didn’t know. Or cared to know. Which was why she didn’t know. Because she didn’t care about any one of them. They were nothing but tools to her, literally and figuratively.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the woman muttered, pulling her hands away from Savina’s face.

She had no healers with her regiment; Savina always refused to bring them along. There was no practical reason for this, just Savina doing Savina things. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the only one hurt in the attack on the witch village had been her.

And it did hurt. Damn little witch bitch. Her scar had been an easy enough target, but the witch had attacked it with perfect precision. Then again, Savina was probably giving the girl too much credit. She had some kind of magic within her, obviously, but Savina had been inside the girl’s mind, and had seen no sign of any magical ability, nor any knowledge of such things.

Could the girl have been hiding it? Savina had her doubts. Whatever power she might contain, she was small, meek, and weak. What she had done had been an accident. Or a stroke of luck.

Savina returned her focus to the Tool in front of her. Without a healer—and no way was she going to trust the Tool on her own—she would have to stitch the scar back up herself. To do that she would need full control over the Tool’s body so she could look through her eyes and manipulate her hands. It was a little jarring to psychically “look” at her own face while simultaneously seeing the world with her own eyes. But Savina was a Master. Not just of pain, but of the manipulation of minds.

She’d asked the soldier for permission to take over her mind first, but not out of any sort of consideration. Malphor would think that was a step too far. It was strange to her, how much he seemed to genuinely care for his minions. They were gnats compared to him and should have been inconsequential. Like they were to her. But that wasn’t the case, and she had to respect that. Because Malphor was one of the few people in the entire world she had ever respected.

And feared.

The Tool had been smart enough not to object, though Savina could sense her trepidation even without reading her mind. She’d found there were two kinds of Tools under her command: those who let her in freely, and those that resisted. The ones who let her in freely were wiser and understood how boring Savina would find the lack of challenge. Those that resisted, though, were endlessly fun to play with.

A sudden boom! crackled from the sky. All eyes turned upwards and spotted the source. Savina smiled. “Finally,” she said. “The almighty Godknight. Form up, you fools!”

There were forty soldiers under her command. They had trained for this moment, Enek’Chok having been unerringly confident that things would play out this way—that the Godknight would come to save the witches, the first of his people to be attacked. Savina hated that the Warmaster had been so spot on, but put it aside. There was more important things to do right now.

The Godknight came roaring down from the sky and landed on his feet in the center of the village, just inches away from Savina’s Blood Lake. She felt the ground shake beneath her feet at the impact of his landing. The soldiers moved quickly, surrounding the Godknight and taking fighting stances. They kept their distance, though, for now. Waiting for Savina’s command.

Savina had a good idea that it was a command she wouldn’t have to give. Like Enek’Chok, she had a clear sense of how this whole thing was going to go. Their role wasn’t to defeat the Godknight; rather, just to keep him busy long enough for the attack on Safehaven to begin.

Despite herself, Savina was impressed with what she saw. Tall and thick, a long red and white cape flowing from his perfect silver armor. Perfect black hair, and eyes as blue as the sea.

The Godknight turned in a slow circle, slowly absorbing the carnage around him. His eyes darted from one dead witch to another, as if he was compelled to bear witness to each one. His failure demanded it.

Savina remained sitting where she had been while repairing her wound, on top of a long wooden table just a few feet away from where the Godknight now stood. She crossed her right leg over her left and put both hands on her knee, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. And smiling, of course. Looking to the world—and, most importantly, the Godknight—like today was a perfectly normal, perfectly fine day.

The Godknight completed his circle and came to a stop. He stood motionless. Savina saw his shocked expression and found it absolutely delightful. His eyes were wide and his jaw hung limply open. His top lip had begun to quiver and tears clouded his great big baby blues. Savina wondered if he’d ever been so shaken and vulnerable as he was right now. If he’d ever shown such raw emotions before.

With a quizzical tilt of his head, he locked eyes with her. Savina felt a sudden flash of fear and, for a moment, thought she might lose her composure. There were a lot of things that were not right about her; even she recognized that. But she was no fool. The Godknight’s power was terrifying. He could destroy her with nothing more than a stray thought, even with his strength in decline. That didn’t mean she didn’t still itch to engage him; to find out if she could be the one to finally take him down. And who knew if his mind was as powerful as his body. She’d love to get inside there and dig around, see what she might be able to undo.

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But, again, that wasn’t why she was here.

Instead, she simply smiled at him. Warmly, even batting her eyes a little. Anyone else in the world would have been heartbroken by the pained look in the Godknight’s eyes. He looked like a father who had just lost a child. Or an entire village of his children.

“Why?” he asked her, his hands outstretched, palms up. There was a quaver in his voice, in the word “why” that Savina thought was quite lovely. She smirked and shrugged, her unspoken message clear: Who knows, and who cares? What’s the big deal?

“Why don’t you guys move in now,” Savina said nonchalantly to her Tools. “Go ahead. Like, attack him and stuff.”

A few of the Tools glanced over at her nervously. It was hard to say who they were more afraid of in that moment: Savina Frost or the Godknight. But they were committed to their “holy order” and all that, and to their mission. And so they obliged, stepping forward, each activating their bracers. They held their metal fists—some spiked, some not—in front of them, ready for battle.

The Godknight closed his eyes and raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing hard. The way he was acting made Savina wonder if he was about to break out into uncontrolled sobs of despair. If that were to happen, she might just have to call off her Tools long enough for her to savor his sad tears of anguish. The Godknight having a breakdown? That would probably be the greatest moment of her life.

Then he suddenly looked up at the sky and screamed. It was a sound unlike anything she had ever heard before, so loud and piercing she had to cover her ears. It didn’t help much, and as the scream continued, she began to worry he might actually deafen her for good if he didn’t stop.

He did stop, though. His shoulders drooped. His head bowed. All life seemed to drain from his mighty body.

Savina gestured at her Tools. “Move in.”

They’d barely taken a step forward before the Godknight lifted his head, his will returned in an instant, his despair replaced by rage. He flung his arms out to the sides, and every one of the Tools reacted as if struck directly. The unseen impact hit them so hard that each one of them was catapulted backwards every which way across the village. Some crashed into tree trunks, others crashed through walls and right into the Sisters’ kitchens. Savina chuckled at one Tool in particular, who had tucked their body into a ball and went on doing backward somersaults for just about forever.

She felt the blast herself, striking her like a strong gust of wind. She put her hand down behind her on the table to maintain her balance, but otherwise she had remained unmoved. He had “spared” her.

He began walking towards her, and Savina again felt a momentary flash of fear. But she conquered it the way she conquered most of her problems, by instead focusing on the lingering pain etched all over his face.

He stopped in front of her, looking down. “Why?” he repeated. “What is this?”

“Don’t you know?” she asked sweetly. “I thought you knew everything?” The comment seemed to sting him a bit; she’d hit a nerve.

He shook his head and mumbled under his breath. “Why didn’t I see this?”

“Because you’re old,” she said with glee. “And your time is done.”

He put his head in his hands, returning to despair. Savina couldn’t help herself. She had to know what he was thinking. Had to feel what he was feeling.

The Godknight snapped out of his trance, his eyes burning wildly with fury. He lunged so fast that Savina couldn’t even register his movements, just felt his hand squeezing her throat as he lifted her from the table. She gasped for air, her hands grabbing onto his, her feet kicking and thrashing in the air uselessly.

He pulled her towards him until they were eye to eye. “Stay out of my mind, witch.”

“Witch?” she somehow managed to eke out between labored breaths. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. Oh, that’s right. They’re all dead.”

His grip tightened, so tight breathing became impossible. Savina felt like her head was about to pop off her neck, something the Godknight could do as easily as a child could flick the top of a flower off with their finger. His rage was hot now. Literally hot. She could feel the heat coming off his body, could hear the gnashing of his teeth together.

Was he going to kill her? She supposed there would be some honor in that. Being the first person the Godknight ever killed. Being the one person in history able to drive him to the place where he would abandon everything he believed in. She’d hate to go now, though, with so much more to do, and for a moment considered whether accepting some sigils and beginning her Ascension might not be such a bad idea after all.

He dropped her and she fell to the ground, panting and gasping. She held her throat, taking long, deep breaths. “What is… with… you big burly men… and grabbing pretty and petite ladies… by the throat?”

He sneered at her. “I don’t know what you are, but you are in no way a lady.”

Savina put her hand to her heart, offended. “Why, I never.”

He ignored her and became suddenly silent. Then a look of horrified realization crossed his face.

“Oh, sweet Goddess!” he said, a panicked look in his eyes. “You… all of this… it’s just a distraction!”

And just like that, without another word, he was gone, rocketing through the air back in the direction he’d come. Back towards Safehaven.

Savina stood up. Her dress was muddy and one of the oversized bows had been broken, dangling loosely at her waist. She frowned. “Now, this won’t do. Tool!” she shouted to no one in particular. “Get over here! Fix this bow!”

She looked around at her team, most of who were just now getting back to their feet. She couldn’t help but smile. This had been a good day. A fun day. One of the best she’d had in a very long time.

And it wasn’t even lunch time yet.