Babylon, Year 11.
The death of the tribe's wizard plunged Babylon into chaos.
Fear spread—not of beasts or famine, but of the witches themselves.
"Run! This isn't the Babylon we once knew—this place has become hell!"
"The age of Gilgamesh is over! A dark era has begun, ruled by monstrous witches!"
In desperation, many chose to flee. They would rather gamble their lives in the wilderness than remain beneath the ever-growing shadow of witchcraft.
"Circe must be stopped!"
At the heart of the tribe, Medea and Cassandra stood face to face, their expressions grim. Though the warriors teetered on the brink of panic, the two witches calmed them, their resolve firm.
They could no longer ignore Circe.
With four new witches having emerged, their strength was finally sufficient to protect Babylon even without her. They believed the time had come to confront their fallen sister—if necessary, to suppress her by force.
But what they discovered filled them with dread.
Circe had grown far stronger than either of them had imagined.
Only together could they barely match her.
Unlike Medea and Cassandra—who restrained their desires in pursuit of balance—Circe embraced indulgence and unrestrained power. And that freedom fed her growth without limit.
---
Babylon, Year 16.
Deep within tribal lands, a secluded spring lay bathed in the soft light of dawn.
The three guardian goddesses of Babylon bathed together, their laughter echoing gently through the mist. On the surface, the scene was peaceful—almost intimate.
Beneath it, tension coiled like a blade.
Six years had passed.
Circe's power had reached a terrifying level. Even when united, Medea and Cassandra could barely hold her in check.
"Well?" Circe's voice was soft, teasing. Her pale fingers stirred the water as she smiled at her sisters. "Are you really so opposed to my way?"
She spoke with genuine fondness. "Why cling to repression? Desire is growth. You know it works… and you know it feels good."
Medea leaned against the stone edge of the spring, golden hair slick against her back. Her smile was gentle, but unwavering.
"No, Circe. That path leads to ruin. What happens to the tribe if we abandon restraint?"
Circe's playful look faded. Thoughtfulness crept in—then certainty.
"We rule," she said calmly. "Women will protect and govern. Men will serve. Each month, strong young men will be chosen to please us. Used once… then discarded. At least they'll die happy."
"That's tyranny," Medea replied quietly.
"It makes us no better than Gilgamesh—or the brutal Sumerians who defied the gods. That road leads away from civilization and into savagery."
She met Circe's gaze. "Do you remember why the Hero King ordered history to be recorded?"
Circe tilted her head, smiling faintly. "And why is that?"
"To remember the cost of defying nature. To learn, and choose wisely. Your path is not civilization, Circe. It's ancient folly. Destruction."
Medea's voice darkened. "Are you not afraid… that this will summon another great flood?"
For a fleeting moment, fear crossed Circe's face.
The stronger she became, the more clearly she understood her own insignificance. She could slay an Arrah beast with ease—but compared to the Hero King, she was nothing. Even the one who challenged Fenba had perished.
Her breath quickened.
Then she laughed.
"Ahahahaha!"
"Don't deceive yourself, sister. I'm not provoking the Creator. I'm not erasing species or breaking the balance. This is merely a human matter. Why would He care?"
Her eyes gleamed. "Your cultivation has stagnated. You're barely a third as strong as me. My way is faster… and far more enjoyable. Why should we care about men?"
Medea raised her voice. "Because it's corrupting you! You're losing yourself. There must be another way—one that doesn't cost us our humanity!"
Circe's smile vanished.
Her gaze turned cold.
"Then if words fail… I'll force you to understand."
Sadness flickered across her face.
"You're my sisters. My only companions through these endless years. I love you. That's why I must show you… that my way is right. One day, you'll thank me."
BOOM.
A surge of icy, oppressive spiritual energy erupted from her body. The spring rippled violently, frost-like waves spreading outward.
"I will make you accept men!!!"
"You've become this powerful…" Cassandra whispered, her face pale.
"Come!"
Four figures emerged from the forest—beautiful witches clad in fine furs, black staffs in hand, flower crowns resting on their heads.
Medea had prepared for this.
BOOM!
Circe's aura flared.
The spring churned violently. Fish floated lifelessly to the surface, crushed by pressure alone.
"So this…" Circe murmured, "is the power of a witch?"
A calm voice cut through the chaos.
From the trees, an unfamiliar creature watched—a black crow, grotesque and otherworldly, bearing three eyes.
"Who's there!?"
The witches reacted instantly. The area was sealed by spiritual barriers meant to repel even the most reckless men.
And yet—
BOOM!
All five witches struck at once, unleashing a unified mental assault—power enough to kill a mountain-sized beast.
The crow did not move.
Their power vanished, swallowed like dust into an endless void.
"Impossible…"
The witches stared in disbelief.
"What kind of power is this?"
From the branch, the crow finally spoke.
"It's the power of meditation,"
said Felix.