March 15, Year Unknown
The Pythia finally spoke, “You have failed, Witch of Arc. The Princeps lives. The prophecy, the prophecy! A purple gown set afire. Comets scar the sacred alter. Danger is everywhere, danger for you too, witch,” the high priestess began chanting in the strange language once more.
Joan hated being called a witch, even though she knew that the priestess didn’t meant it in the same way that the English did, “What needs to be done?”
The priestess chanted a bit longer before answering, “You must go to the beginning of the end, Witch. Stop the madman before his evil mission can begin. A mother’s death must take place; we must not interfere with their illusions. Illusions are their only truth.”
“Why is he doing this?”
“There is no why, there is no when, there only is. Have you not learned anything yet, Witch of Arc?”
Joan didn’t understand everything that the priestess’ said. She did understand the most important part, though. Her mission was to stop Caesar, at any cost. Before he destroyed the world.
“Go now, witch. Be ready for him.”
