Pre-dawn light hit the water. Loren Eir waited at the docks with the Knight Order.

The King had begged him to see her off. A final mercy so the mob wouldn't tear her apart before she left the border.

Loren heard footsteps. He turned to speak, but the words died in his throat.

Yulia wore a white-gold gown. Moonbeams caught the gold thread, creating a halo around her.

She looked like a saint.

"Coming to die with me?" Yulia smirked. "I'm moved."

Loren's jaw locked.

"A Knight of Radiance doesn't die for heretics."

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"My men will take you to Catharsis. The others will meet you there."

"May the wind be with you. Atone for your sins."

"…?" How can sending someone to their death be phrased so nobly, like it's for their own good?

Yuli wanted to die, sure—but she still couldn't stand Loreny's sanctimonious, righteous expression.

Yulia leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "Forget my sins, Lord Loren. You should check your love—unfaithful people may encounter unfaithful people as well."

Loren's jaw tightened, his brow furrowing in confusion.

She didn't wait for him to catch the insult. She hitched up her silk skirts and hummed a light tune, marching onto the ship without a backward glance.

Loren stared at her receding back. His gaze lingered on the white-gold lace of her gown—the dress tailored months ago for a wedding that would never happen.

Dawn cracked the gray clouds, spilling cold light over the fog-drenched coast of Catharsis.

The crew hit the deck on one knee, their heads bowed in a solemn, final goodbye to the doomed princess.

Yulia answered them with a long, jaw-cracking yawn. The boat had rocked all night, and her eyes felt like they were filled with hot sand.

On the shore, two lines of black-robed figures waited like a funeral procession. Flutes and fiddles wailed an eerie, discordant melody as the carriage bumped toward the Temple of Abyss.

The temple loomed against the sunset, its jagged spires stabbing into the bruised purple sky. Flying buttresses and narrow towers formed a stone city-state that felt chillingly familiar from Yulia's previous game loops.

Cultists led the group up a maze of spiral stairs to a high, circular hall. The space was open to the wind, supported by massive Roman pillars with a ten-story drop to the jagged rocks below.

"Brides of our Lord," a hooded man rasped, his voice scraping like flint. "Pray your bodies please the sleeping god."

"If you aren't chosen in ten days, the Pope will 'gift' you to his most faithful followers as an act of mercy."

Yulia watched the iron gate slam shut with a heavy, final clack. The other girls collapsed into a heap, their screams echoing off the high dome.

"Listen to me!" A red-haired girl stood, clutching a scrap of weathered parchment. "The God hasn't left us—I found the Lost Hymn."

"If our faith is strong enough, the God of Radiance will hear his children!"

The girls scrambled toward her, clutching at the hope like drowning sailors. Yulia leaned against a pillar, watching them with a tired, silent pity.

She remembered her Saintess run, where she had maxed her light affinity and still ended up as dragon-charred remains. Caerus was a walking landmine; one wrong word and you were ash.

The chanting started, a low, rhythmic hum. "With my bone and blood, I remold your form..."

Yulia mouthed the words, blending into the crowd. Then came the names, each girl whispering her identity into the cold air.

"Yulia Farislan," she said when the turn reached her.

The chanting died instantly. Dozens of eyes snapped toward her, flickering with a sudden, sharp venom.

"The heretic! The one who smashed the statue!"

"What insolence!"

"We cannot pray alongside a blasphemer!"

"If she's here, how could the God respond to us?!"

The red-haired girl pointed a shaking finger at Yulia. "We must offer her blood to appease the God's wrath!"

"…Eh?!"

Before Yuli could react, she was dragged onto the altar and bound tightly to the central pillar with iron chains.

…Damn it, Yulia thought as the locks clicked home.

She messed up.

Yulia's reputation hit every corner of the continent faster than a plague. These people weren't just believers; they were obsessive fanatics.

"Wait!" A voice cracked through the chanting.

Yulia slit one eye open. A tall girl with trembling knees stood in front of her, blocking the red-haired girl's dagger.

"She's... she's a heretic, yes, but we're all the same here," the girl stammered. "We're all just meat for the dragon. Don't do this."

The mob didn't skip a beat. Their eyes burned with a feverish, cult-like intensity.

"A heretic is never 'the same' as us!"

"She's an apostle of the evil gods! Look at her eyes!"

"Bleed her! Use her filth to pay for our sins!"

Yulia didn't bother arguing. Reason had left the room minutes ago. She hung from her chains like a dead fish, waiting for the end.

Then, the wind changed. A heavy, rhythmic thrumming vibrated through the stone floor.

Shadows swallowed the altar. Massive, obsidian wings blotted out the sunset, plunging the hall into sudden, artificial night.

A razor-sharp talon tore through the air. It pinned the red-haired girl to the floor with a bone-deep thud.

"Noise!" a voice rasped. It was a low, seismic rumble that vibrated in Yulia's teeth.

Yulia looked up. Caerus loomed over them, his golden slit eyes glowing like molten lava in the dark.

The girl under his claw couldn't see him. She only saw her 'Lost Hymn' parchment glowing gold and felt victory within reach.

"Release me, monster!" she shrieked, her voice reaching a frantic, shrill pitch. "Once the Saintess's soul is offered, the God of Radiance will—"

A wet crunch silenced the room.

Caerus didn't even look down as he crushed her skull like a overripe melon. He plucked the parchment from her lifeless fingers and let a breath of shadow-flame incinerate it into gray ash.

The silence was absolute. No one dared to breathe.