Babylon, Year 11.
The death of the tribe's wizard plunged the people into chaos. Fear gripped their hearts, not because of wild beasts or famine—but because of the witches.
"Run! This isn't the Babylon we once knew—it's hell now!"
"The age of Gilgamesh, the heroic king, is over. A new dark age has come… ruled by monstrous witches!"
In desperation, many fled the tribe, choosing to face the dangers of the wilderness rather than remain under the looming shadow of witchcraft.
"Circe must be stopped!"
Within the heart of the tribe, Medea and Cassandra stood face to face, their fury barely contained. Though the tribe's warriors were on the brink of panic, the two witches calmed them, determined to confront Circe directly—even if it meant turning against their own sister.
They could no longer ignore her transgressions.
With the recent emergence of four new witches, their numbers had grown strong enough to protect the tribe. They believed the time had come to subdue Circe once and for all. Yet to their horror, they discovered that Circe had secretly grown far more powerful than either of them had imagined.
Only by working together could they match her strength.
Unlike Medea and Cassandra, who restrained their power and desires in pursuit of balance, Circe embraced indulgence and unrestrained magic. Her freedom gave her strength—and her strength knew few limits.
Babylon, Year 16.
In a serene spring nestled deep within the tribal lands, the three guardian goddesses of Babylon—the witches—bathed beneath the soft rays of dawn. Laughter and conversation filled the air, painting a picture of harmony. But beneath the surface of this tranquil scene simmered a deep and dangerous tension.
Six years had passed. Circe's power had reached an unfathomable level. Even with their combined strength, Medea and Cassandra could barely hold her at bay.
"Well?" Circe's voice was soft and teasing. Her pale hand stirred the water lazily as she glanced at her sisters. "Are you really so opposed to trying my way?"
She smiled with genuine fondness. "Why cling to repression? Embracing desire is the true path to growth. You know it feels good… and it works."
Medea leaned against the edge of the spring, her golden hair wet and glistening. Her smile was kind, yet firm. "No, Circe. That path leads to ruin. What happens to the tribe if we abandon restraint?"
Circe's playful expression faded. She grew thoughtful, then serious. Her voice carried an unsettling certainty.
"We will lead the tribe as queens. Women will protect and rule. Men… will serve. Each month, strong young men will be chosen to please us. Used once, then discarded. But at least they'll die in bliss."
"That's tyranny," Medea said quietly.
"It makes us no better than Gilgamesh," she continued, "or the brutal Sumerians who defied the gods. That path leads away from civilization… and into savagery. We are meant to learn from history—not repeat its mistakes. Do you remember why the Hero King ordered the chronicles to be written?"
Circe tilted her head, smiling. "And what is the purpose of history?"
"To remember the greatness of those who came before us. To understand the price they paid to defy nature—and choose a wiser path for the future. Your way is not the path of civilization, Circe. It's the path of ancient folly. The path of destruction."
Medea's voice grew somber. "Are you not afraid that your actions will call down another great flood?"
For a moment, fear flickered across Circe's face.
The stronger she became, the more aware she was of how insignificant she still was. She could easily kill an Arrah beast now—but compared to the legendary Hero King, she was still a shadow. Even the one who challenged the behemoth Fenba had perished in the end.
Her breath grew heavy. But then she threw her head back and laughed, water cascading off her glowing skin.
"Ahahahaha!"
"Come now, sister. Don't lie to me. I'm not provoking the Creator. I'm not wiping out other species or upsetting the ecosystem. This is merely an internal matter among humans. Why would He care?"
Her tone turned smug. "Your cultivation has stagnated. You've grown barely a third as powerful as me. My method is quicker… and far more pleasurable. Why should we care about the men?"
Medea's voice rose. "Because your method is corrupting you! It's leading you astray. There must be a better way to refine our powers without sacrificing our humanity."
Circe's smile vanished. Her eyes turned cold.
"Then if words won't work… I'll make you follow me by force."
Her expression twisted into something sorrowful.
"I never wanted it to come to this. You're my sisters—my only companions through these long years. I love you both. I truly do. And that's why I must show you… that my way is the right one. One day, you'll thank me."
BOOM.
A wave of freezing, eerie spiritual energy exploded from Circe's body. Ripples spread through the spring like icy fingers.
"I will make you accept men!!!"
"You've become this powerful..." Cassandra whispered, her face pale.
"Come!"
Four beautiful witches emerged from the trees, their forms cloaked in fine furs, black staffs in hand, flower crowns adorning their heads. It was clear Medea had anticipated this confrontation—and gathered their remaining allies for the final showdown.
BOOM!
Circe's aura flared.
The water began to churn violently, frothing from her spiritual pressure. Dead fish floated to the surface.
"So this… is the power of a witch?"
A gentle voice cut through the chaos.
From the nearby trees, an unfamiliar creature stood watching—an enigmatic black crow, three-eyed and otherworldly.
"Who's there!?"
The witches were instantly alert. They had cloaked the area in spiritual barriers, designed to deter even the most lecherous of tribesmen. No man could enter without suffering unbearable pain.
But now—
BOOM!
All five witches struck at once, channeling their spiritual might into a single, devastating mental assault.
The power was overwhelming—enough to kill a beast the size of a mountain.
But the crow remained unharmed.
It was as if their power had been swallowed by an infinite void.
"Impossible…!"
The witches stared in disbelief.
"What kind of power is this?"
From his perch on the branch, the crow finally answered.
"It's the power of meditation," said Xu Zhi.