At last, Theresa made her way through the crowd and stopped before a mother and daughter. They were the very picture of poverty—both with sallow faces and brittle hair. Though their features and clothes were scrubbed clean, nothing could hide their wretchedness.
The young mother, though once fair, was now little more than skin and bones, her forehead shadowed, her cheeks hollow. It was clear she had given every scrap of nourishment to her child.
The little girl’s eyes still sparkled, but her face was bloodless, and she coughed intermittently—already gripped by illness. Their family had no means to afford a physician.
As Theresa approached, the young mother fell to her knees with a thud, pressing her forehead to the ground. "Sister Theresa, "I beg you, show mercy! Save my daughter! She’s coughed for seven nights—no sleep, no food. She’s only eight, innocent of any sin! She doesn’t deserve this suffering!"
Her pleas were desperate, her voice thick with tears. Yet Theresa did not spare her a glance.
Instead, she knelt, heedless of the dirt staining her immaculate opulent nun’s robe. Her aqua-blue eyes softened as they met the girl’s. "Child," she murmured, "tell me... what is your dream?"
The girl lifted her face. Though sickness clung to her, there was a quiet grace in her features. "I... I want to become a great big shot! So no one in the slums goes hungry or sick again! I—cough!"
A fit of itching seized her lungs, and she hacked violently, flecks of blood appearing at the corners of her mouth.
Theresa nodded gently. "A noble dream. May you succeed."
Then she gathered the frail child into her arms, pressing her forehead to the girl’s.
A soft white light emanated from Theresa’s body, flowing into the girl. In moments, color returned to the child’s cheeks. She gasped—but the coughing had ceased.
Realizing her daughter was healed, the young mother wept openly, kowtowing again and again. "Thank you, Sister Theresa! Bless you, bless you—!"
Theresa still did not answer. She rose, the girl cradled against her. Not a speck of dust marred her opulent robe.
Bathed in golden sunlight, holding that child, she stood before the slums’ poor as nothing less than an Our Lady of Redemption.
At once, the gruel-line crowd dropped to their knees, foreheads to the ground, voices choked with fervor as they cried out Theresa’s name and that of the Goddess of Life. Some sobbed too hard to speak.
Inside the Offering Porridge Room, the witches observed this farce with grim amusement. Those who knew Theresa understood: this witch, who so loved to toy with the threads of destiny, had just marked that poor girl.
In the years to come, the child would endure unimaginable highs and lows. "Fate" would dangle hope before her—only to snatch it all away, grind her into despair, and finally break her into an extreme anti-human terrorist hellbent on revenge against society...
The grateful mother and daughter would never know it, but today’s seeming blessing was their first step into an abyss—with no path back.
The sun dipped westward, and as the last person in line for gruel trudged away with their bowl, the day’s offering porridge finally came to an end. The witches retreated into the monastery—yet despite their exhaustion, rest would not come.
The moment the monastery gates shut, Theresa gathered them all without delay. Her first question struck like a blade:
"Where is Sophia? Does anyone know her whereabouts?"
The witches exchanged glances, then shook their heads in unison. "No. We’ve seen no trace of her, nor heard any clues these past days."
After a pause, Sephera spoke up. "Master, has something happened to Sophia?"
In the past, Sophia had often vanished for weeks, even a month, before returning.
Now, barely a week had passed since the Night of the Witches. To them, her absence was hardly unusual.
"I have foreseen it. Sophia is currently in the South Harbor District. But in the near future, she will face a significant crisis," Theresa explained, her voice heavy with concern. "Only we can help her now. That’s why I rushed back to inform you all."
The establishment of this monastery had been Theresa’s idea from the beginning. She envisioned every witch living as sisters, supporting each other, surviving the Night of the Witches together, and enjoying peaceful, joyful lives - never lacking for human souls to consume or torment for amusement.
That’s why, having foreseen what would befall Sophia, she had returned with such urgency.
"If she’s in the South Harbor District but still in danger, then..." Sephera murmured to herself before suddenly turning her gaze toward Ruth. "Hmm?"
Immediately, Ruth’s expression darkened. "I..."
Theresa’s aqua-blue pupils fixed on her, her calm face the precursor to anger. "Ruth, tell me. What exactly happened in the slums on the Night of the Witches?"
The mental pressure and the authority accumulated over years as an archwitch made Theresa’s interrogation brutally effective against the other witches of the monastery. No one dared lie to Theresa.
Unfortunately, Ruth now had new Belief. And her will had become unshakable through piety.
She lowered her head meekly, speaking like someone making a confession: "The Xanathar’s Guild and the Amazons were fighting, with Devils involved behind the scenes. Of course, I didn’t know this at first. I only felt my condition being interfered with, then lost control and went berserk."
"I’m sorry, Theresa, and all my sisters. This matter has escalated too far, and I bear undeniable responsibility..."
Sephera gave a cold laugh. "At least you recognize that! Because of your little episode, the Blackstaff Tower has sent investigators! Hah! The South Harbor District would have been perfectly safe otherwise - Sophia could have wandered there for days without danger. But now? One wrong move and we might all pay with our lives!"
Ruth remained silent, only clenching her fists slightly. The other witches didn’t dare speak up either - not even Hattie would defend her now.
Only Theresa could restrain Sephera at this moment.
Fortunately, she didn’t deliver any reprimand: "We can’t blame Ruth entirely for this. She fell victim to someone else’s scheme. Besides, even without this incident, the clash between those two major factions with Devils interfering would have thrown the South Harbor District into chaos anyway. It would have drawn the Blackstaff Tower’s attention regardless."
"I’m just relieved you all returned safely. However, Ruth - next Night of the Witches, you must prepare thoroughly in advance!"
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