Roland knocked on the door, and after hearing the nightingale's response, he pushed it open and entered the room.
The room is lined with thick curtains, which are only opened for ventilation during the early morning and evening. At other times, they remain closed to maintain warmth and block out light.
The only light came from two candlesticks at the foot of the bed, where the candles burned quietly, casting two interlaced shadows on the furnishings.
He approached the bed and gazed at the woman, still asleep with her eyes closed, buried beneath the soft velvet pillow and bedding. He let out a soft sigh.
"Is the border line safe?" Nightingale approached and handed him a cup of warm water.
"Everything's been going smoothly," Roland said casually, taking a sip and returning the cup. "No more monster swarms since that day. When the injured militiamen returned unscathed, everyone's fighting spirit... grew a bit more intense." "What about the broken sections of the wall?" "Carl used logs to move the hybrid monster's shell to the gap, then hoisted it up with a winch and wooden frame, making it part of the wall," Roland explained. He knew Nightingale's question was meant to distract him from overthinking. But the moment he stepped into the room, his entire focus automatically shifted to the woman lying asleep on the bed.
If we consider the last time we faced a massive invasion by evil beasts and still achieved a victory worthy of pride, the greatest hero was undoubtedly Anna. Without her sealing the city wall breach with flames, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
However, she collapsed in her own arms and never woke up again.
"It's been a week," Roland said softly.
Theoretically, if a person remains in a coma for a week without food, water, or external nutrition (such as injections), their bodily functions would deteriorate, and the brain would gradually die from shock. Yet Anna showed no signs of weakness or critical illness—she was in much better condition than when she first collapsed. Her cheeks were rosy, her breathing steady, and her forehead felt warm enough to touch. All signs indicated that Anna was healthy, except... she couldn't wake up.
"This is my first time encountering such a situation," Nightingale said, shaking her head beside him. "Her Magic Power was depleted during that battle, but now it's approaching saturation—indeed, more intense than ever. If I'm not mistaken, her coming-of-age ceremony will be tonight at midnight." "You mean she'll reach adulthood while unconscious?" "No, she'll die in a coma," Nightingale stated bluntly. "The agony of coming-of-age must be overcome through willpower. Once resistance is abandoned, the backlash of Magic Power will irreversibly destroy the Witch's body." Roland moved a chair to the bedside. "But I remember you saying that when a demon consumes a body, consciousness remains clear regardless of pain—either endure this ordeal or end your life." "That's true. Some in the Guild of Mutual Aid tried to survive demon possession through unconsciousness. That wasn't coming-of-age... It was just the annual torment," Nightingale hesitated. "She used alchemical drugs to induce sleep, but it was futile... When the Magic Power backlash struck, she instantly awoke and lost her ability to resist." "Doesn't this pain build gradually?" "No. When that moment arrives, the agony strikes like thunder, though its duration varies. My sister isn't weak—she just..." Her voice faded.
Roland understood her point: a verdict with no set deadline was torture in itself. He couldn't tell how long he'd been holding on, or how much longer he'd have to endure—like a lone boat adrift in a stormy sea, it was easy to lose the will to live.
In silence, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Through years of wandering, I've witnessed countless deaths. The witches were treated like livestock—hanged, burned, or tortured to death by the Nobles as mere playthings. Those who survived were forced to live in seclusion, isolated from the world. The Holy Mountain, though unknown, remained an unattainable dream in their hearts," Nightingale's voice softened. "But Anna was different. For the first time, I saw someone care for a witch beyond the Order's sisters. She was needed, valued, treated as a human being... Your Highness, even if Anna didn't live to adulthood, she had found her Holy Mountain." Yet this wasn't the ending he wished for. Roland closed his eyes, recalling their first meeting.
Her feet were bare, her clothes tattered, and she was in a cage, yet her face showed no fear. Her eyes were as clear and calm as a lake that had never been polluted.
She is a flame, yet not as free-spirited as flames.
The pictures are rotated one by one, as if a carousel.
"I've satisfied your curiosity, sir. Now may I be taken?" "I've never harmed anyone with it." "I only wish to stay by Your Highness's side, nothing more." "The demon's body-sucking creature can't kill me—I'll defeat it." "Are you dreaming? I'm not going anywhere."...
Roland suppressed his surging emotions and whispered, "I'll stay with her until the very end." "I will, and... thank you." After dinner, Nana Wa arrived too. Upon learning Anna was about to reach adulthood, she insisted on staying. Roland had to arrange an extra room on the second floor for Tigu Payne, who had come along with her, to stay overnight.
And so, Roland and the two witches sat by the bedside, waiting in silence for midnight to fall.
Both Nightingale and Nana Wa will endure the torment of demonic possession this winter. Fortunately, their awakening dates are staggered, so the three witches won't face the same uncertain trial simultaneously. Roland probably can't keep up his composure in the room anymore.
The small town had no bell tower. In the dimly lit room, the passage of time grew indistinct. A cold wind battered the windows, its occasional whistling through the gaps. Just as Roland felt a wave of fatigue creep over him, the Nightingale suddenly said, "It begins." Only she could see the Magic Power within Anna growing restless—the green flame grew denser, its core shifting from white-hot to dark. The frenzied energy surged toward the center, as if tugged by an unseen force. It struggled, it rolled, but to no avail.
Roland couldn't see these changes, but he sensed something was off.
The flame at the candle's tip began to waver, with no wind stirring the room. The light grew dimmer, as if consumed by the surrounding shadows, until the tip's hue shifted—orange-red flames transformed into a sapphire-green glow.
He looked at the woman in the bed, Anna still asleep, her face unchanged, as if this had nothing to do with her.
The candlelight had nearly vanished—its green flame was slowly consuming the orange-red portion until the light faded completely, plunging everyone into darkness.
But soon, the firelight flickered back on. This time, the flame on the candlestick had turned a pure emerald green. The three of them stood bathed in the green glow, staring at each other in confusion, struggling to make sense of what was happening.
At this moment, Anna's moan drew all three of their attention back to her.
She slowly opened her eyes.
"Anna..." Roland froze. Had she woken up?
The woman blinked, smiled at him, then extended her right hand, spread her palm, and handed it to Prince.
A green flame leapt from the palm and burned quietly.
For some reason, Roland felt he had understood the other's meaning. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly inserted his fingers into the flame. The anticipated searing sensation never came—instead, he felt a soft warmth, as if enveloped in lukewarm water.