Night lay heavy as congealed ink. Blood mist swallowed the mountains, leaving only a towering stone altar atop steps built from white bones.
Thousands of members of the Snow Oath wore battered armor or robes adorned with bone ornaments.
Dense totems had been carved into their chests with sharp blades, patterns of self-mutilation bearing devotion and madness.
They knelt in orderly ranks before the altar, their heads bowed.
Among them were elderly veterans, tears welling in their eyes, their lips trembling as they murmured, "Today... is the day the gods return... at last..."
The young warriors, their eyes bloodshot, shouted, "The blood debt will be repaid! Our fury will cleanse the earth!"
It was as though they had come not to attend a sacrifice, but to embark on a sacred journey of vengeance.
Some even raised the severed heads of Empire captives, smeared the dripping blood across their foreheads, and cried, "The Ancient God's food... is ready."
At the height of those frenzied prayers, the air abruptly froze, and an oppressive chill surged onto the stone altar like a dark tide.
She appeared.
A half mask woven of silver and black concealed one side of her face. The exposed side resembled an ice sculpture beneath the moon, coldly beautiful and merciless.
Her long hair fell like night mist, stirring gently in the wind like a whisper breathed from the abyss.
Blood and snow formed a carpet beneath her lightly treading toes. She left not a single trace, as though even the earth dared not stain her presence.
All fell silent upon the altar.
Everyone bowed their heads at once, like believers welcoming a god, and cried her titles in trembling unison.
"High Priest!"
"Apostle of the Frost Abyss!"
"Divine Envoy!"
The Despair Witch did not respond. She simply walked slowly