In the dark inner chamber of the bedchamber, the sleeping figure on the bed gradually faded. Specks of starlike light peeled away and scattered until they vanished into nothingness.
Impossible! Impossible!
The Witch's vision went black, and she nearly collapsed. Staggering toward the bed, she spread her arms, trying to hold that figure tightly.
Yet her pale hands passed straight through the nearly transparent outline of light, unable to touch even the slightest warmth again.
No matter how tightly those hands clutched and held on, they still could not stop the spiritual particles from dissipating or the body from fading away.
In the end, everything before her became a shattered illusion and ceased to exist.
The Witch's pale face was utterly bloodless. Her teeth bit through her cherry lips, and the rusty taste spreading through her mouth forced her to remain calm.
At the same time, she stubbornly reached out again and again, trying to gather the scattered motes of light and hold them against her chest. Yet as time passed, her slender shoulders trembled endlessly, as though boundless cold had engulfed her.
Merlin and Kay at her sides wanted to speak several times, but ultimately held back. Their expressions dimmed as they let out complicated sighs.
Then, accompanied by the cold scrape of armor plates, a tall figure slowly approached and stopped behind her, casting patches of shadow over Morgan.
The Witch spun around furiously, her eyes wide with rage.
"You killed him!"
The awakened goddess fell silent for a moment, then nodded faintly.
In a sense, it was the truth. It could not be denied.
Morgan's blade-sharp gaze gouged into the goddess before her as she demanded darkly.
"Why?"
The goddess lowered her head without answering.
"You took my country, took my throne, took my father, and took