A fiend walked around the razed forest. It was a lion-fiend with a crude sword in one hand: Cargikk, one of the commanders, the one who led 60 percent of all fiends. No retinue accompanied it. It strode the battlefield alone. Already, signs of any living fiend had entirely vanished. All that remained were charred corpses and the bodies of those slain by the Braves and Dozzu and Nashetania. Having lost their commander, Tgurneu’s subordinate fiends had all scattered and fled. “…This is horrible,” said Cargikk. “…Too horrible.” Cargikk’s knees crumbled. Its obsidian sword fell to the ground. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…my comrades… I…should have…” When both its fists slammed the ground, a thunderous rumble reverberated around the area. A sound like a tiny cough choked out of its throat. Cargikk sobbed. Apologizing to the dead fiends over and over, it wept voicelessly. The great space, about a hundred yards squared, was so quiet it was painful. In this stone room, in the lowest part of the Temple of Fate, the Saint of the Single Flower sat quietly. Her whole body bound in chains, clad in the fashionable dress Tgurneu had put on her, with the flower crown on her head, she simply sat. Then suddenly, the flower crown swayed and fell to the ground. The chains binding this mummy of a Saint slowly began to shake. Though no one had laid a single finger on her, they came undone. Eventually, they all fell to the ground, and her body vanished like an illusion.
Then, an instant later, her body was lying on the roof of the Temple of Fate. Her shriveled form did not move so much a finger. A bird-fiend flew down from the sky as if controlled by something. It eased the Saint of the Single Flower onto its back, then cautiously flew into the sky, heading westward. The Weeping Hearth. At some point, that name had been given to the furthest tip of the Howling Vilelands, where the Evil God had been sealed away. They said it had been so named because the Saint of the Single Flower had covered her face and broken down in tears after she defeated the Evil God. Why had the Saint wept after her victory? There were no texts remaining in the present day that recorded the reason. The fiend with the Saint of the Single Flower on its back soared over the defensive wall that Cargikk had built, descending easily to the blackish-red earth below. In the center of the Weeping Hearth, now the Land of Death where the Evil God slept, the bird-fiend landed and lowered the Saint to the ground. The ugly lump of mud known as the Evil God extended a tentacle. It grabbed the bird-fiend, twisted its body, and pulled the creature into its own mass. “Oh, Maon.” A pair of captivating woman’s lips rose from the surface of the lump of mud. They spoke in a voice overcome with emotion. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you, Maon.” The Evil God’s tentacles reached out to the body of the Saint on the ground and lifted her up as if cradling a baby. “It’s been so hard, Maon. I couldn’t see you for a thousand years—even though you had always, always been by my side.” Then, one of the desiccated Saint’s fingers moved. Gently, it stroked the tentacle that supported her body. Tears dripped in an unbroken stream from her eyes, even though no moisture should have remained within her. The mummified Saint of the Single Flower cried without a sound. “You don’t have to say a word. I know everything—just how hard you worked for me, Maon, and just how many painful days you overcame for me.” As the Evil God spoke, its tentacles brought the Saint’s body close to the ball of mud. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Adlet Mayer will come soon. And he’ll be bringing the seventh crest that was made for me.” The Saint’s body touched the mud. The shriveled mummy of a woman was quietly swallowed by the body of the Evil God. “Wait, Maon. And be at ease. Soon, Adlet will come save me.” The body of the Saint of the Single Flower disappeared into the Evil God.
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