The square buzzed with anticipation as the crowd surged forward, eager for the public execution. Bodies pressed together, their frantic energy palpable. They elbowed each other, desperate to be close to the spectacle. For them, it wasn’t just a punishment—it was entertainment.

At the center, the condemned woman stood bound to the stake. Her dress was shredded, clinging to her body in tatters, her face streaked with ash. Her eyes, however, burned with a fierce defiance. She didn’t beg for mercy. She had learned long ago that mercy had no place in a world like this.

Amid the chaos, a solitary figure stood apart—her gaze fixed not on the woman, but on the man who had orchestrated this brutal display. Konig.

The infamous witch hunter stood tall on the platform, his dark armor gleaming in the flickering torchlight. His voice echoed across the square, amplified by the eager crowd.

“This is the third witch in three weeks!” he proclaimed. “The third to be purged from this land. Magic is a plague, and I will rid us of it, one life at a time.”

A roar of approval erupted from the crowd. They cheered, some with fervor, others out of fear. But in the midst of them stood one who remained still—silent, eyes cold.

As the flames ignited, crackling and surging forward, the woman at the stake screamed, her voice raw and desperate. The fire consumed her swiftly, the stench of burning flesh filling the air. But she didn’t flinch. Her gaze stayed fixed on Konig, whose eyes swept over the crowd, searching.

Then, they found her.

His cold gaze locked with hers, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. His lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

“You’re next,” he whispered, so softly only she could hear.

Her blood ran cold, but her resolve hardened. She would not be next. Not if she had a say in it.