From deep within the woods, over a dozen sheep faces of varying degrees of deformity emerged. The stargazers stepped out of their hiding bushes and gathered around Capillata.

Leading them was Quine, dressed in a green vest. He slung his longbow, his face devoid of any smile. However, from that unreadable gaze, no distinct hostility could be perceived, as if the source of animosity had already dried up.

"A few nights ago, we saw a flash in the night sky and followed its guidance."

"I know," Capillata said lightly, then walked past him, searching for a familiar figure among the crowd. "Did you find Vit’via?"

The villagers remained silent, avoiding Capillata's gaze, except for Quine, who turned towards the frozen-blooded youth.

"She's still holding on, but it may not be for long," he said, his words still resolute but unable to hide the fatigue within. "She wants to see you."

The young man agreed and joined the Stargazers' group, heading towards the forest. His identity was no longer that of a fugitive fleeing with the divine fire, so he wasn't closely guarded. Moreover, whether it was Capillata, Quine, or the other Stargazers, they all had the same concern. Their concerns anchored their feet firmly on the carpet-like moss as they moved forward like flowing water.

As the sun hastened its descent, they arrived at a makeshift campsite beside a stream. The lingering glow of the setting sun dyed the canvas red. Quine led Capillata to the witch's carriage. He hesitated to speak but remained outside, pacing back and forth before finally lowering his hat and walking away.

Before this, Capillata had only entered Vi's carriage once, and that time it was dimly lit, with him being drugged and unable to observe the interior carefully. Therefore, the accumulated volumes of books in front of him still amazed him. Underneath the pile of books, the ailing Vit’via looked like a child. Her thin cheeks were gaunt, her pale skin resembling a layer of asbestos, and her flaxen hair damp with sweat. Her eyes were tightly closed in pain.

Inside the enclosed carriage, there was no scent of black currants and silver thread flowers, as if only her ghost lingered there.

Capillata wrung out a handkerchief from the tin plate and wiped away Vi's sweat, prompting a faint, shallow smile from her. She opened her eyes, that pair of beautiful orbs still so clear, but unable to focus on Capillata's face. She slowly raised her right hand and touched his well-defined cheek. In response, the young man leaned his face against her cold and smooth fingers, like white porcelain.

"I've heard people whispering: a torch as bright as a lighthouse, illuminating the woods as if it were daytime," she blinked excitedly, even though she couldn't see. "You truly are incredible, Capillata."

Capillata suppressed the waves of emotions, trying to contain them within his face and not let his voice betray him. "Come, let's leave this place," he whispered softly in Vi's ear. "To a place even the goddess of fate cannot find."

Vit’via shook her head.

"The arrow of fate made me stop," she slowly withdrew her right hand, "and once I stopped, I realized how exhausting it had been to keep running. I don't want to run anymore."

Capillata nonchalantly dug out the flame gem from his chest, as if ignoring everything around him. The fiery essence of Flamma Varmah housed within it, feeling the erratic heartbeat through his sweaty palm, unstably concealed itself and flickered within the transparent crystal.

"What do you want to do?" Vit’via's tone couldn't hide her concern as she sensed the changes in light and temperature through her blinded eyes.

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"Do what I must," replied the determined young man.

From the firmness in the young man's voice, Vit’via detected thoughts of sacrifice. However, confined by her current physical condition, she couldn't rise to stop him and could only sorrowfully avert her gaze.

"Once, I thought the same," the words of confession bitterly flowed from her lips like purple petals, "'Let the ignorant you bear the burning sins for me. Even if we can't lift the curse from our bodies, at least it can extinguish our hearts...'" As she spoke, Vit’via curved her lips into a smile, "But I fell in love with you, and everything went awry." She turned to her beloved, a glimmer of omphacite flashed in her dark eyes, as if she momentarily regained her sight. "Everything that could go wrong went wrong, but Capillata, somehow, I have no regrets."

She reached out and gently clasped the young man's hand.

"My life is destined to be weak and powerless, and yet, I beg you, don't overturn the few choices that I can be proud of," she pleaded with a weary expression, "Don't waste your life, Capillata. Don't fall in love with the feeling of disillusionment."

"But we are one," Capillata lowered his shoulder, pressing his forehead against the hand illuminated by the flames, "You are my only fate left."

"No," Vit’via stared at a spot above, whispering, "You are not the prophesied Morning Star, yet you have found a way to shine. 'The gate is narrow, and so is the path; only a few can pass through.'"

The flame stirred within the gem quieted down, and the hot gusts of air lifting the pages gradually subsided.

"Take my place and continue to defy the tyranny of the goddess of fate."

Vit’via's right hand hung down as if she had exhausted all her strength, and Capillata gently placed it on his abdomen. In her blooming flaxen hair, she revealed a slightly shy and comforting smile.

The young man continued his silence for a while, not making any sound, until Vit’via softly called out again.

"Capillata, are you still there?"

The boy sniffled and nodded.

"Talk to me."

"I don't know what to say."

"Then tell me a story. I want to hear a story. Have you seen that book?"

She pointed to the heavy tome placed beside her. The weighty hardcover book sank deep into his lap upon resting on his thighs. The rigid cover was wrapped in aged leather, now cracked like tree bark. The thick lock on the side of the book had been undone by external force.

Capillata opened the tome. To his surprise, the manuscript pages bound with linen thread, although old and fragile with a history of hundreds of years, remained pristine. He could easily imagine that Vit’via had been reading it throughout the nights inside the dimly lit carriage until recently.

The first few pages were a complete mess, as if written with hooves gripping a pen. In the subsequent pages, the handwriting gradually transformed from sloppy to neat, but judging from the coloration at the edges, they had never been read as extensively as the initial ones.

As Capillata gradually grasped the contents recorded within, his thoughts seeped into its pages, narrowing his vision and eroding the surrounding world, leaving only the pulsating pages that matched the flow of blood through his temples. He flipped to the last page, which contained Vit’via's delicate annotations. He read aloud:

"The original author of this 'Book of Witches,' Ossid, was the first witch and undoubtedly the most knowledgeable among us. She was not from the village and was once a slave before escaping from the hills of Cavaus. Even after having her eyes gouged out, she never forgot the art of 'divinity refine', which she learned from her Etnan slave master."

Capillata flipped through the pages of the book and continued:

"Next is Tabatha, an oddly ugly woman who concocted a love potion to seduce young nobles who ventured into the forest for hunting. Ultimately, she left behind an heir just a year before her menstruation ceased."

He turned the pages once again.

"Then there's Myatris, 'the most compassionate', but terrifying events kept happening to her one after another. The offspring she gave birth to not only lacked golden hair, but even for six consecutive pregnancies, they were terrifying creatures resembling goats. However, she was not defeated; instead, she left behind valuable records of the dangers of inbreeding."

Centuries of history, the setbacks endured by generations, the pain endured, and the excitement and joy brought by new discoveries unfolded before Capillata like a vivid yet eerie tapestry. And at the forefront of the arrow of time stood Vit’via, pale as a sheet of paper, seemingly on the verge of being sucked into the book, as she spoke:

"There are many more, each generation bringing the stargazers closer to liberation. And finally, It was I, who discovered you, making me the luckiest and yet the most timid... the only witch who chose to escape from destiny." She lowered her long, sturdy, pale golden eyelashes. "Am I a disgrace, Capillata?"

"You are the last, and the greatest witch." Capillata closed the book and kissed Vit’via's smooth forehead.