Eni stood over the massive carcass of the Krampus, a heavy, viscous silence settling in the study, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind outside. The stench of sulfur emanating from the beast was becoming unbearable, mingling with the scent of old vellum from the Living Atlas.

  "Hack him apart, Eni," the Voice whispered, its tone slick with a predatory satisfaction. "It’s your only option. You’re a Juggernaut, not a pack mule; your inventory is vast, but you’ll never haul a carcass this size through the doorway without leveling half the manor. Render him down before the rot sets in. Believe me, in two hours, this 'holy executioner' will turn your paradise into a gas chamber."

  Eni grimaced. The idea of butchery filled her with a dull revulsion, but the Voice’s logic was flawless. She unsheathed Sin. The black blade seemed to lean toward the flesh of the fallen foe of its own accord. An hour of grueling, filthy labor followed, punctuated by the wet crunch of bone and the rhythmic slurp of steel through sinew. Eni hauled the Krampus out in pieces, casting them off the island’s edge into the abyss, where they vanished into the swirling mist. The study window and the exterior masonry were heavily splattered with dark, thick gore that began to congeal into hideous crusts in the freezing wind.

  Sometime later, Eni sat in the kitchen. She felt hollowed out, yet strangely calm. A fresh layer of grime coated her skin, and the magical stockings maintained their familiar, relentless squeeze on her thighs—a deceptive anchor of control. She sipped her water slowly, staring out the window, when the front door suddenly flew open. Wilhelmina stood on the threshold, her face paler than usual, her hands trembling. Seeing her mistress, she froze.

  "M-mistress..." she began, her voice cracking.

  "Nope," Eni cut her off firmly, not bothering to turn around. "Just Eni. Remember that."

  "Mh... Eni..." the woman swallowed, pressing herself against the doorframe. "I... I was frightened. Outside... under your window... there’s so much blood. It’s streaming down the walls, and I thought that you..."

  Eni set her mug on the table with a sharp clack and fixed her with a cold, vacant stare. "Oh... that. Don’t sweat it. I just had guests. They were quite loud. Actually, could you clean that up? I need to head to the village to pick up a few things."

  The woman nodded in silent, reflexive obedience, not daring to ask a single follow-up question. Her submissiveness was beginning to irritate Eni more than the Krampus’s audacity. "You can head into the study too; it needs a thorough scrub," Eni added, already making for the door. "But do not touch the book on the desk. You touch it, you pay the price. Clear?"

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  Two hours later, the Obelisk on the island flared to life, and Eni returned. Towed behind her was a wheezing, terrified tailor whom she had literally abducted from the nearest hamlet, not even granting him time to pack his shears. Spotting the girls sitting on the grass again, gnawing on sour apples from the orchard, Eni felt a dull flare of annoyance. She marched over to one of them, unceremoniously grabbed her by the head, and began to grumble:

  "You're starting to get on my nerves. I said it in plain language: THE FOOD IS IN THE KITCHEN. Are you actually stupid? Too many apples to the brain?"

  She dragged the children toward the kitchen, tossing a venomous, warning glare at the tailor that clearly communicated: Make a move, and you’re dead. The tailor swallowed hard and remained rooted to the spot by the entrance. The house smelled of soap and cedar—Mina had clearly been busy. Eni fired up the stove, pulled out the stored meat, and began to sear it, filling the kitchen with a heavy, savory aroma. She practically shoved the food into the children’s hands, forcing them to eat real sustenance, before fishing Wilhelmina out and seating her alongside them.

  When the meal was finished, Eni commanded everyone to the third floor. The tailor trailed behind, stumbling on every step. "Right," Eni pointed at the woman and children. "Take their measurements. I want everything ready by tomorrow morning. Durable, comfortable clothes."

  "WHAT?! Tomorrow?!" The tailor threw up his hands, his face contorting in shock. "B-but Mistress, it’s impossible! Hand-stitched, embroidery, fitting... it would take a week, at minimum!"

  Eni took a slow, deliberate step toward him, adjusting the hem of her magical stockings until they snapped against her skin with a sharp, leather-on-silk creak. "Artifacts," she enunciated, locking eyes with him. "I am wearing stockings that reshape themselves to the wearer at will. That means in this twisted world, you’ll find a miracle sewing machine if you look hard enough. Or would you like to test gravity’s velocity beyond the island’s edge?"

  "B-but..." the poor wretch tried to interject.

  "No," Eni snapped. "Get to work."

  Once the measurements were taken, she unceremoniously kicked the tailor out, promising to collect the order personally the next day. The woman, who had stood like a shadow the entire time, finally spoke: "Mistress Eni... we don't need new things. We are used to rags. There is no need to waste coin on—"

  Eni spun around. In the next heartbeat, she dropped to her knees before the startled woman and began a theatrical, hyper-exaggerated prostration, nearly touching her forehead to the floor. "OH HEAVENS, O GREAT MISTRESS!" she wailed through the house, overplaying every syllable. "I, YOUR LOWLY SLAVE, AM UNWORTHY OF EVEN A SCRAP OF FOOD IN YOUR DIVINE PRESENCE! HOW COULD I DARE OFFER YOU A DRESS?!"

  She lunged back to her feet, brushing off her uniform, her face instantly turning to ice. "It. Irritates. Me. Stop playing the holy martyr. Enough with this slave-like submissiveness."

  The woman looked away, her shoulders drooping. A long, awkward silence hung in the air. Eni could feel the Voice inside her rubbing its invisible hands together, savoring the friction. Finally, Eni broke the silence, asking almost tentatively: "So... what are your names, anyway? It’s... it’s embarrassing. It’s been this long and I don't even know."

  "Oh... you shouldn't trouble yourself with—" the woman started, but catching Eni’s cold, warning look of disapproval, she quickly blurted out: "Wilhelmina. And the children are Emiliana and Ophelia."

  Eni went quiet, rolling the names over her tongue. Long, ornate names, utterly ill-suited for life on a levitating war-base. "Right. Wilhelmina... you’re Mina. Short and simple. Emiliana—you’re Emmy. And Ophelia... you’re Fel."

  She headed for the stairs, tossing a final remark over her shoulder: "The names are too complicated, and we’re going to be living here a long time. We’ll call it... The Maidens' Vanguard. The island is yours to mind. The rest is mine."

  Descending to the second floor, Eni entered her study. Mina had scrubbed it to a shine: not a drop of blood, not a splinter of broken furniture remained. Only the clean Atlas lay on the desk, waiting for its... hour?