CHAPTER 607: CHAPTER 608: A PRAYER TO THE ABYSS

Lilith ran through the forest as the sun began its descent, the sky darkening above her until the world was swallowed in shadow. The dim light made every root, every stone, a hidden snare waiting to drag her down.

She stumbled—her foot catching on a root—and her small body was flung forward, rolling through dry leaves and brittle dirt. Her palms scraped, her arms bled, her cheeks were smeared with soil and blood. She hardly noticed.

The tatters of her dress hung like broken wings, shredded by the clutching branches of the forest.

All she could think of was Isha.

As long as she reached the temple, Ishana would be saved.

Lilith never doubted her. What kind of child would not believe her mother? Even if she was old enough to think better, she placed her faith not in the goddess of Doom—but in Ishana. And Ishana, in turn, had faith in the god of the temple.

Lilith did not care what she had heard whispered of this god. She did not care that he was worshiped by the demons, or that goddess races called him unknown and dangerous.

She cared only for one thing—that those hunters chasing them would die before they could take Ishana.

The trees fell behind her as her blurred eyes wept freely. The sounds of pursuit grew louder—shouts, steel, the tramp of boots through the undergrowth.

"Isha... Isha!" Lilith cried as she burst into a jagged clearing.

The night was alive with the howls of monsters. From the darkness, shapes emerged—half-men, half-wolves—lycans.

These beasts noticed the aggressive Templars.

Blades clashed, throats were torn, the earth shuddered beneath their struggle.

Gritting her teeth, Lilith used the chaos as cover. She darted toward the steep, stone-strewn hill Ishana had shown her.

She saw no temple there, only cruel rocks that bit into her bare feet until they bled. Still she ran. Still she climbed. The lycans would not approach this place—if anything, they shied from it, as though the hill itself exuded dread.

Her trail was a line of crimson footprints. Her lungs burned. Her legs shook. And then, she felt it—a ripple in the air, like a curtain torn open. Raising her head, she found herself before a stairway of stone, ascending into the night sky.

At its peak stood an open temple.

The stars gleamed brighter here, bathing the temple’s threshold in a pale light. Shadows clung to its walls, ancient, dark and forgotten.

At its entrance, two statues stood.

The first was the veiled goddess of Doom, her hand gripping a sword that pointed accusingly toward the second figure. That second statue—a woman hewn from stone, serene, radiant—seemed to glow faintly on her own, as though the stars adored her.

Lilith froze, staring. To look upon the veiled goddess was to feel dread, a suffocating weight of inevitability. But to look upon the other woman was to see salvation itself.

Shaking her head.

No time. No time for awe.

She forced her battered body up the long stairway, each step setting her wounds aflame, until at last she collapsed into the temple’s hollow interior.

The air was heavy, sacred, oppressive. Murals lined the walls, but she could not see them in the dark. Statues stood silent, shadows of distant divinity. And at the temple’s heart—an altar. Behind it stretched the massive symbol: four wings encircling an abyssal eye.

To one side stood the goddess of Doom. To the other, the unknown woman.

Lilith staggered forward and slammed into the altar, her breath ragged, her hands trembling.

"What do I do... Isha...?"

Closing her eyes, she fought to calm her shaking. Tracing her fingers across the altar’s surface, she felt the grooves of ancient words. She squinted, unable to see in the dark, yet her hand formed the letters.

Hail. That was the first word.

"Hail... unknown... the Unknown God."

Her voice rang in the emptiness. She put every shred of faith she had into those words. But nothing happened.

Her eyes widened. Her heart sank. Despair dug its claws into her. Ishana... had lied?

Her gaze shifted to the veiled goddess. She understood now. If she knelt to the goddess, the templars might spare her, might drag her away alive, saved by their fanatical faith.

"Isha... is this what you wanted? For me to live under her shadow? Why...?"

Tears streaked down her dirt-smeared cheeks as heavy footsteps echoed from outside.

A man’s voice rang through the temple:

"The demon woman is dead. Do not resist, Lady Astranova. You will be taken to the Holy City for re-education."

Lilith’s eyes snapped toward the doorway.

’Dead?’

Her lips trembled. "Dead...? Isha... is dead?"

The templar stepped into the faint light, smiling cruelly. "The witch is dead. The goddess is merciful."

Something broke inside Lilith. Her green eyes darkened, filled with despair.

"Merciful? You killed Isha... and call it mercy?"

Her voice cracked with rage. Hatred—raw, burning—swelled in her chest. Resentment drowned her innocence, filling her heart until nothing else remained.

"If this is mercy, I don’t want it. I denounce the goddess who took my Isha."

Before the templar could react, Lilith climbed onto the altar. He sneered—there was nowhere for her to go, nowhere to run.

But then she did the unthinkable. She slammed her head against the altar.

Her blood spilled across its surface, and she pressed her weak body down against the stone. Only the burning hatred in her eyes remained.

"I offer myself... as a sacrifice to the Unknown God. I pray for the most horrible calamity to fall upon them... and upon their temple."

Her blood seeped into the altar’s grooves. At first, nothing. The templar’s lip curled.

"Heretic."

But then—her blood was drawn inward. The symbol of the Unknown God began to glow.

Lilith’s body weakened, her eyes fluttering. She was becoming the offering, her resentment and hatred calling into the abyss.

Far away, where Ishana lay broken in the forest, blood pooling beneath her, her trembling hand still reached for the sky. Her lips parted weakly, her last breath spilling forth in prayer.

"Hear me... see me... I beg you... please..."

Her voice cracked with desperation.

"Save my Lilith. Save her..."

That was Ishana’s prayer to the Unknown God.

"God of wrath and resentment... I have no hatred to offer you. I carry no resentment. Still I call upon the star that weeps, that rages at injustice..."

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood.

"I offer you no pain. No despair. No resentment. I give you... all that I am. I give you my love. My devotion. Give my Lilith life."

Those were Ishana’s last words, the final invocation of a priestess of the Snake Temple. Her arm remained lifted toward the heavens, as though she refused to lower it until she was answered.

And in the abyss... something stirred.

A little light fell.

Not the familiar feast of hatred and resentment. But something forgotten. Something long buried. A warmth, small and defiant. Love.

In that abyss, the Unknown God’s eye opened—drawn not by rage, but by the flicker of a single light.

Now, the god would make a choice.

Whose prayer would he answer—Lilith’s hatred, or Ishana’s love?