Veronica hurried across the plaza, anxiety gnawing at her with each step. The bells would soon toll noon, and Oscar and Joachim must have finished their preparations by now.
I’ve been delayed because of Johanna. I can’t be late!
She clutched her cumbersome skirts with irritation as she rushed up the stone steps to the podium, casting frequent glances toward the bell tower. The bell ringer was climbing his own staircase, preparing to announce the hour. The two of them ascended in parallel, each step bringing them closer to their destinations.
“Father, I’m feeling terribly unwell today,” she implored, turning to the priest trailing behind her. “Might we alter the order just for today? Perhaps have the prayer before your sermon?”
The priest hesitated. Noting her pallor—likely attributing it to the shock from the Johanna incident—he clicked his tongue sympathetically and nodded his consent.
“Thank you, Father!”
Veronica bounded up the remaining steps with renewed urgency. By now, the bell ringer had reached his position. When she finally reached the top, she stepped onto the raised podium and fought to catch her breath. Bracing herself against her knees, she gazed down at the plaza teeming with faces. Not one gaze mirrored another—each pair of eyes held its own thoughts. Such collective attention might momentarily make someone feel significant, but in truth, it meant nothing. In fact, humanity’s glorious diversity was the very foundation of their equality.
The first bell resonated across the square.
After one final steadying breath, Veronica closed her eyes briefly, centering herself, before opening them with renewed purpose. The moment her vision filled with the expectant crowd, she drew Genesis in one fluid, decisive motion. She raised the gleaming blade skyward, its polished edge catching the sunlight in a blinding flash. The priests’ eyes widened in shock at this brazen, unscheduled display.
“Let’s do it at high noon,” she’d told Oscar and Joachim, “when the church bells toll.”
Her heart raced with electrifying heat.
She’d told the two of them to get the blood from the beasts kept for slaughter in the military encampment. But since they’d only be able to get a limited amount, their timing had to be immaculate.
With the second bell’s somber call, she pivoted the sword horizontally, wielding it like an archer taking aim. She turned while pointing Genesis toward the western horizon, commanding all eyes to follow.
The murmuring throng began turning their heads in the direction she indicated. A shiver cascaded down her spine. She could almost hear their confused whispers—“What is this? What are we meant to see?”—though such distinct utterances couldn’t possibly reach her ears through the crowd’s collective hum.
She was about to recreate the first plague from the Divine Text.
The crowd stirred like a disturbed hive, whispers spreading like wildfire.
“Let the waters turn to blood before your eyes.”
The mighty river cutting through Karta’s heart was transforming into a crimson torrent before their very eyes.
Watching the scarlet tide spreading outward, Veronica felt a wave of vertigo wash over her. Under the merciless sunlight and amid the crescendo of horrified gasps, she experienced an otherworldly sensation, as though watching herself perform from somewhere beyond her body.
The plan is unfolding perfectly.
Joachim and Oscar had collected animal blood to release into the Winter River, the lifeblood of Karta itself. Even though it came from creatures slaughtered to feed the military, the quantity was limited, so the illusion wouldn’t endure for long. Precise timing had been everything.
But even when the waters eventually returned to their crystalline blue, what mattered was the indelible record that the river had run red with blood. Hundreds had witnessed this with their own terrified eyes.
This spectacle mirrored the first plague recorded in the Divine Text. In ancient times, people might have been less afraid because they remained blissfully ignorant of the nine catastrophes to follow, but the citizens of Karta would instinctively recall the prophecies of what came next after witnessing this first harbinger of doom. Knowledge was sometimes poison, in that sense.
After allowing sufficient time for horror and confusion to ripple through the masses, Veronica pressed her blade against the throat of the priest standing frozen at the edge of the platform.
“Repeat my words to the crowd,” she commanded.
The priest started trembling uncontrollably.
“Wh-What in the s-sacred name is this?” he stammered.
“We must flee to the wilderness. Karta will soon crumble into dust,” Veronica proclaimed, each syllable ringing with certainty.
The quivering priest stared at her as though beholding an avenging angel. Despite the cold sweat streaming down his ashen face, she remained as motionless as a statue, her resolve unshakable. Now that she had crossed this threshold, retreat was impossible. She might be branded a heretic for invoking the Divine Text in such a manner, but it would all be worth it if it worked.
“W-We must flee to the wilderness!” he choked out, shutting his eyes tightly. “K-Karta will soon crumble into dust!”
“Again. Louder,” she whispered, adjusting her grip on the sword.
“We must flee to the wilderness! Karta will soon crumble into dust!”
“Again.”
“We must flee to the wilderness! Karta will soon crumble into dust!”
Beneath the merciless afternoon sun, the crowd stood transfixed, silent as the grave.
The unexpected sermon echoed far and wide across the vast plaza.
“We must flee to the wilderness! Karta will soon crumble into dust!”
In this dreamlike tableau, Veronica lowered her sword slightly and thought, My brief role as a saint is now over.
“We must flee to the wilderness! Karta will soon crumble into dust!”
Armored soldiers swarmed from behind, seizing her with brutal efficiency and forcibly dragging her from the podium.
Beyond the abruptly silenced proclamation, the azure sky tilted and swayed above her like a tapestry in the wind.