He walked slowly, deliberately. The voices in the mist tried to mimic scripture, twisting sacred words into venomous threats.
"You kneel to a god who sleeps while roots crawl into your lungs," they whispered. "Your cross is wood. Your prayers are ash."
But Methodius held tightly to the small cross strapped to his chest.
He stopped walking.
The fog pulsed around him like a living sea.
He knelt and took out a worn book.
Not just any book—it had been passed down by his brother Cyril, blessed in secret beneath the eyes of saints. It was said that within its pages, Christ's will whispered between lines of ink.
He undid the rivets of the ancient book.
Opened the Bible.
And read.
The air shook.
A beam of light, golden and sharp, pierced the fog above. The pages fluttered violently, glowing faintly. The mist recoiled as if burned.
And a voice—ancient, not Methodius's—spoke from somewhere between the branches.
"'She' wakes."
The temperature dropped.
The trees moaned.
Somewhere deep beneath them, something massive shifted in its sleep.
Mara.
And 'She' was not pleased.
A new presence bloomed in the fog—cold and vast, like a thousand mourners holding their breath.
"You delay the inevitable, priest," the voice of Mara hissed. "Death is deeper than your words."
Methodius pressed his palm against the open book. "Then let this word be carved in stone."
Light burst outward.
The fog split, shattering into ribbons that dissolved into the earth.
Across the forest, the scattered group blinked against the sudden clarity.
Kyi stumbled forward, his shoulder bleeding. Yurko gasped for air, mud coating his arms. Shchek crawled out of the thorns, blinking like a beast pulled from shadow. Lybid emerged from the trees with eyes that glowed faintly, runes pulsing on her skin. Maksym had red eyes from crying.
They found each other within minutes, drawn like sparks to a fire.
No one spoke at first.
Only when Methodius walked toward them—cross in one hand, Bible in the other—did they realize what had happened.
"What is it, Father?" Kyi whispered, feeling something warm inside.
"I followed the Word," Methodius said. "And something listened."
Lybid stepped forward, frowning.
"Seal is weakening."
A tremor rolled beneath their feet.
"Yes," Methodius said. "And 'She' is awakening."