"Your Highnesses..."
A young witch trembled beside them, tears streaking down her face. She understood what it meant—for the two legendary guardian goddesses of Babylon to stand here, at the temple, at the moment of their death.
"Lilith, you are the kingdom's next ruler. You must not cry."
Medea's voice was soft, her smile calm as she looked at the girl beside her.
Draped in a black robe etched with glowing blue sigils, the Witch of War stood tall before the towering statue of the God of Wisdom.
"O Great God of Wisdom… in the end, we have failed you. We, foolish mortals, could not take the final step. We could not glimpse the last mystery of alchemy, nor open the Gate of Truth."
"O thrice-exalted Hermes... we have failed."
Cassandra's gentle face held a sorrowful smile. The pale sunlight spilled across her features as she raised her gaze to the heavens.
"The end is near. So many years have passed. The three witches you once taught—each has taken her own path. And now, we reach our journey's end. Circe… I suppose you're no different. What a pity we can't see each other again."
A sudden cry—"Reporting!"
A palace guard rushed forward, presenting a parchment of animal hide.
Medea took it and unfolded it slowly. Her frown softened into a wistful smile.
"She couldn't forget us in the end… Look. Circe wrote us a letter."
"Oh, Circe…"
Cassandra's expression turned complex as she took the letter. As she read, she could almost see Circe's mischievous smile. Her heart ached. They had been sisters-in-arms for centuries.
"So… it's your time too, huh?"
Outside the Temple of Wisdom, the stone plaza of the Babylonian Royal Palace was filled with thousands. The people wept openly, prostrating in sorrow.
"The three god-queens… they're leaving this world!"
News spread like wildfire. All of Babylon mourned. Every household hung white silk from their doorways, and the air echoed with ancient funeral ballads.
Children formed choirs in the streets, singing songs of lamentation.
Their voices told of the three legendary witches. Though their battle prowess could not rival Gilgamesh, in the hearts of the people, their deeds were divine.
They were the angels who guided humanity.
Medea, the Witch of War—who led her armies to triumph in an age of chaos.
Cassandra, the Witch of Spring—who nurtured life, crafting medicine and protecting livestock.
And Circe, the renegade Witch of Ruin—bringer of curses and chaos, yet one who had also carved her name into history with noble deeds.
Though her end would come far from home, Circe chose not to return. She sent only a letter.
"If Circe had come back, she would have stood proudly beside her sisters in the royal palace. No one would have dared raise a hand against her. For her glory, she deserved that much."
The people were silent, overcome with emotion.
Circe, too, had been one of the great founders of civilization. Even those who had hated her in life could not deny her greatness in death.
Her sins could not outweigh her legacy.
The Three Witches had emerged from a time of blood and fire.
They were the sole survivors of a cataclysm that wiped out every other woman in their tribe. In the face of extinction, they rose.
They stepped forward when the tribe faced its greatest trial—against the terrible beast Baboko. In that savage battle, Medea transcended herself. Between life and death, she conceived Heaven's Hammer, a spell that felled the beast in a single stroke and changed the world.
They laid the foundation for Meditation, Magic, and Alchemy. They codified the arcane arts into sacred tomes—A Beginner's Guide to Meditation and Magic, and The Occult Gate of Truth—revolutionizing human knowledge.
They led the tribes in taming forests and hunting beasts, transforming wilderness into civilization.
Their achievements were endless.
They pioneered the age of magic. They raised mankind from prey to predator, from scattered tribes to a kingdom. They defied fate, challenged nature, and sought the divine.
Some said they were not inferior to the Hero King Gilgamesh himself.
But now, even they had reached the end.
"You must not grieve for us."
"Humans cannot escape age, illness, and death. We are no different."
The two witches exchanged smiles.
On the plaza, beneath the massive statue of Hermes, they raised their eyes to the vast blue sky. Crystalline tears sparkled on their faces.
"If I could see the God of Wisdom once more before I die… I would have no regrets."
"We failed to meet the Great God's expectations. We could not complete the art of alchemy. We came here only to apologize."
"O God… will you come to us one last time? Or do you suspect us of seeking to slay the divine?"
At that moment, Xu Zhi sat quietly at his doorway, lunchbox in hand.
Chewing a carrot, he let out a soft sigh.
"You've done more than enough. You're both exceptional. You've moved the hearts of mortals and pioneered an entire era."
"If not for you, I wouldn't even be able to cultivate right now… I'm the inept one here. Not you."
"You shouldn't die thinking yourselves fools—believing you failed to comprehend divine wisdom."
No one was truly unfeeling.
Not even Gilgamesh, nor the witches who defied heaven.
Even Xu Zhi, faced with death himself, was not immune to grief.
He wanted to meet them one last time—but he couldn't. To enter the sandbox again as the Beast of Wisdom would mean shutting it down, evolving a new species… it would take hours.
"Since I can't meet you before the end…"
He closed his lunchbox.
"Then let me do this much for you."
He stood and picked up a watering can. A few drops of rose oil turned the water crimson.
With deliberate grace, he sprinkled it across the land.
"By my will—at the moment of the Three Witches' passing—let it rain blood from the heavens, let the scent of flowers fill the air, and let the entire world weep!"
BOOM!
His voice thundered across the world.
The divine proclamation echoed through the skies and pierced the hearts of all in Babylon.
"This… this is!?"
"A miracle!"
"It's the voice of the Great God of Wisdom—Mercury!"
Medea's tear-lined face turned skyward, overcome with emotion.
Pitter-patter.
The sky wept crimson.
Fragrant rain fell as the scent of roses filled the world.
"The rainwater… it smells sweet."
Medea and Cassandra embraced the falling rain, their faces calm, serene. A gentle happiness bloomed in their smiles.
Then, Xu Zhi bent down, plucked a flower, and with a knife etched letters into its stem—his fingers guided with supernatural precision.
With a flick of his hand—
WHOOSH!
The flower soared like a dart, flying over ten meters and landing in the heart of the plaza.
"By my will—at the moment of their passing, a great flower shall descend from the heavens to honor the glory of the Three Witches!"
BOOM!
The sky cracked once more.
From the sea of clouds, a colossal flower—hundreds of meters tall—descended and took root in the stone plaza, rivaling the size of the palace itself.
"A flower… that immense!?"
Newly initiated witches gazed in awe.
Medea and Cassandra, lovers of beauty, were moved to tears.
Even knowing God's immense power, this romantic gesture touched their hearts.
"God of Wisdom," they whispered, "we would serve you for all eternity… but we are about to die."
"I cannot save you from death," Xu Zhi whispered. "Only you can do that. This is all I can give."
He turned on his phone. A soft click. Beethoven's Symphony of Fate began to play.
"Just as the Creator once answered Gilgamesh's final questions… I will grant you the same. Let your final moments be free of regret."
"By my will—at the hour of their death—let heaven sing a requiem, and let all the world mourn their passing!"
The skies trembled.
The world shuddered.
And the symphony echoed through the earth.
"This… this is the music of heaven!"
"What a divine melody… like a river from the sky!"
The majestic symphony poured across the land, a stirring struggle against destiny, crowned with triumph.
The requiem of heroes.