"Their might shall make the throne of sin tremble, and the Beast of beasts shall fear the stars…"
(Prophecies of Rivyahu)
Matej sighed, for the thirteenth time that day, with weariness, and slouched in her chair, already tired after just ten minutes since the last time she had checked her phone—with Cunegunda’s permission.
Her eyes wandered across the room for a moment, trying to find something more interesting than the dance of her governess and the melodic, harmonious music coming from the radio. Soon she would face the most important ceremony of her life, the moment she was to be presented as the holy and exalted Protector Goddess of the Danube Federation. What Zanich had accomplished—after pacifying the world—was now being handed over to her rule.
Matej felt her stomach churn at the thought that so many people, from different cultures and centuries of history, would fall under her administration. She placed a hand on her flat abdomen, sensing a discomfort that rose and fell through her throat.
It had only been a few years since she and her brother Miralem had been adopted by Zanich. Matej barely remembered it, as she had been just a small child who had stopped nursing from her mother’s breast—more from her mother’s death than from age.
She had gone from being a poor girl of Slavic origin in Austria, to becoming the Princess of Germania Magna, and now the future Protector Goddess. The leaps life takes, thought Matej with a one-sided smile. Two claps echoed through the hall, pulling her back to the present.
—Matej, eyes forward —said Cunegunda, the old woman, with wide-open eyes that demanded attention to her words. She straightened her hunched back from the chair and ran her aged tongue across her thin, gaunt, wrinkled lips to moisten them.
And there stood Cunegunda, her aged teacher and leader of the council of elder women, which Matej herself would soon preside over.
At least I won’t be under the tutelage of that anti-heretic fanatic Cunegunda and her decrepit followers anymore, Matej thought, recalling the position she would hold as Protector. Once she received the title, she would be fully autonomous, her bond with Zanich surpassing that of anyone else. No more ballet classes after today—unless she chose them out of her own will and liking. But fencing lessons… those she would gladly take.
Before her, a woman dressed in ballet attire—though to Matej it looked more like outdated aerobics wear from the last century, right down to the ribbon-tied curls across her forehead—danced with such delicacy and spinning movements that the only sound produced was a gentle whistle of wind as she turned and balanced on the tip of her toe.
She leapt, spreading her legs in a pose so flexible that Matej winced, remembering the painful moment she had been forced to “adjust” her posture until her thighs reached their limit.
The woman fluttered her arms with swiftness, cradled herself with them, then rose again on one foot before springing into several jumps, finishing with a pirouette and landing in a perfect split.
Boring. I’ve seen this already, Matej thought, suppressing an irrepressible yawn by delicately covering her mouth with her hand. Cunegunda lifted the cane she clutched so firmly and pointed it at Matej, who responded to the gesture with quick applause, praising the end of the dance.
—Very good. I’m glad you remember the gesture to avoid such a low behavior as opening your mouth. —Cunegunda rose from the chair with a motion that reminded Matej of a gear machine her brother Miralem had once shown her, each part aligning with every move. The governess rose from her split and bowed to Matej.
—However, Princess Matej, it is most improper for you to display such manifestations. Always entertained, always victorious against boredom. —Cunegunda struck her cane on the floor as she advanced toward Matej—. Impassive, and above all, with good posture. —She nodded, making Matej straighten in her chair.
—Understood, Matron —Matej muttered reluctantly.
—There is still no trace of the impassivity of a worthy heir to the throne in those eyes. —Cunegunda drew close and grasped Matej’s face, turning it toward the back wall to the left, causing her twin ponytails to swat her nose. Now she also had the urge to sneeze—. Look at that statue—its eyes, its bearing, and its—
—Improper nakedness —Matej scoffed. The statue was marble, white from head to base, about two meters tall, resembling Athena with her helmet, shield at her feet, spear in hand, and bare breasts modeled.
Cunegunda frowned.
—No, its gaze—it is worthy of a goddess, as you shall be today. —Cunegunda released Matej’s face and gestured to the ballet governess—. Princess Matej is right about the indecency. An idol like that has no place here. Call Mitch and tell him to destroy it at once, and the same for all the others in this house, whether gods or not.
The governess nodded and left through the door.
—Ironically, that’s not what the book teaches. —The old woman’s eyes narrowed with sharp intensity, making Matej’s skin crawl at those words. It wasn’t entertaining to scan such a room with her eyes, but the amusement she found in making such remarks in front of the anti-heretic fanatic Cunegunda at least cheered her a little. A prickling sensation along her spine—better than the boredom of another ballet routine.
—They twisted the texts. Do not mention them as if they carried authority —said Cunegunda with such solemnity it seemed she was reciting a mantra. Her face showed such distaste at Matej’s words that her usually expressionless mouth bent downward, stretching the skin—. Authority resides in Zanich and his word. He is the living testimony. You should already know this. Or do you doubt his power?
The old woman struck her cane against the floor, her eyes sweeping Matej up and down with an inquisitorial gaze that made her skin itch and her hair stand on end, discomfort flooding her body. At least she had achieved what she wanted.
—Relax —Matej said, shrugging and averting her gaze from Cunegunda to escape the weight of judgment in her eyes. She began adjusting her ponytails—. I am sure of his testimony and his power, which I will soon enjoy when invested. I was only repeating what I read in the book.
Cunegunda’s gaze returned to its usual impassive state—if such a face could even be called “normal.” Matej sighed in relief as the tension lessened; a moment longer and her heart might have burst from her chest at the old woman’s reaction.
—It matters not what that book says. The testimony of Zanich is living, and that is all that matters. —Cunegunda exhaled sharply, producing a nasal whistle—. Do not heed the apostate Christians. I suggest you read something else—like the book the council recommended at the day of the assembly.
Matej clicked her tongue, recalling that massive tome: the first edition of the important deeds of the Ansat’ez and the rewritten biblical histories they called the True Book, or Biblion.
Just imagining reading such a mountain of words made even this dull place seem less boring. The volume hidden beneath her bed in Lower Austria would serve better as a table prop than for reading. Matej sighed heavily, trying to ease her mind.
—Seems like Mitch is not only a security guard, but also a professional iconoclast —Matej imagined a blond man, dark glasses, an earpiece, black suit, an impassive gaze, and impeccable hair, using a hammer to smash the statue.
—No, but he’s strong-armed, I’m sure he can do it himself —Cunegunda returned to the armchair, and just as slowly as she had risen, she sat back down—. For now, it’s your turn to practice and do what you’ve seen. Come on —she struck the floor twice with her cane.
When the time came to put into practice the poses she had observed from her ballet governess, which to her didn’t seem complicated at all, Matej allowed herself to glance away, noticing how the sun’s rays entered through the cruciform glass windows because the curtains were so poorly closed.
The armchairs around were upholstered with vintage fabric, unworthy of such a luxurious room. It was clear that whoever had organized the place hadn’t cared about filling the side areas of the chamber, and now, without the statue, it felt emptier. After this dance, I don’t want to come back here.
—Come on, don’t get distracted —Cunegunda interrupted her thoughts.
Matej stopped in the middle of a leg stretch.
—Matron, with this music it’s easier for me to end up thinking of something more entertaining, though the place is so boring that all I can notice is how ugly that cover is —Matej pointed at the armchair, and Cunegunda nodded when she looked at it.
Three knocks were heard on the door, making them both turn in its direction.
—Come in! —said Cunegunda. The door opened, and several men in suits and dark glasses, much like what Matej had imagined, entered. They bowed to Matej with the salute, “Hail, o heiress, hail,” and carried the statue away between the six of them—. I hope they turn it to rubble.
Matej continued practicing her ballet exercises: she spun, turned, danced on her toes, then leapt, spun again, and finished with a split. She had rehearsed the steps so many times that not a drop of sweat was needed to replicate them, despite the heat in the entire room. So many repetitions of the same routine had their results.
Though, judging by Cunegunda’s serious face, she seemed neither pleased nor surprised—in fact, nothing at all, only old. I suppose that’s the impassive face she wants me to have, thought Matej.
—Good, do it about ten more times and then we’ll leave —Matej sighed heavily—. For now, when you’re done, you’ll have to practice your oratory in the conference hall.
—I need to drink and eat something —Matej crossed her arms.
—When you’re finished, and no cold drinks, you will not ruin your voice —said Cunegunda, dragging her tongue. She clapped, and a man in a suit, similar to the others, opened the door and, bowing, stood silently—. Bring bland cookies and tea with honey, Lukas.
The man nodded and closed the door behind him, soon returning with a table on which, hidden under an aluminum lid, lay the ordered items: a jar of golden honey with a hive-shaped spoon, some cookies arranged on a porcelain plate, a teapot matching the plate, two spoons, and their cups with saucers beneath.
Lukas began serving Cunegunda, and she quickly devoured the cookies in front of Matej, who, more than feeling envious of the cramps in her stomach, found that just the thought of tasting those cookies took away her hunger. Sticking out her tongue, Matej made a gesture of disgust.
—Continue, come on, you still owe me another ten times —she said after sipping from the cup, her pinky raised, of course.
Matej began spinning over and over, and in the midst of her turns she saw Europa enter through the door, dressed in a black suit and open-toe heels. Cunegunda’s face wrinkled even more when she saw her, and she stopped enjoying the bite of her cookie. Now those “bland” cookies seemed to live up to their name, given how her expression sank upon seeing Europa arrive.
—I see you’re practicing for the big moment —said Europa, removing her dark glasses.
—Europa! —Matej stopped spinning, and her face shifted from imperturbable boredom to a wide smile, like a daughter being sought out by her mother after her first day of school. She rushed toward Europa, her heart dancing, but at the sound of Cunegunda’s cane striking the floor, she stopped midway across the room and walked slowly to reach her, finally embracing her.
A voice spoke from the other side of the door:
—I hope there’s a hug for me too —a young man stood in the doorway and raised his arms toward Matej.
Matej’s smile grew even wider on her face. Not only had she been delighted to see Europa, but also to find her brother Miralem after such a long time.
The emotion swept away all that training in manners and etiquette as she saw her brother again; she ended up burying her head in his chest.
And this scent? thought Matej, after smelling the white grenadier uniform with several insignias and the typical golden shoulder piece that Miralem was wearing. The scent struck her as peculiar—it smelled of lotus flower, but was so strong it made her feel dizzy from inhaling it so much.
Since falling into Cunegunda’s hands, the sheer number of perfumes that had been sprayed on her had trained her into mastery at recognizing any peculiar scent she had smelled even once.
This fragrance felt familiar, that typical sense of déjà vu, like when you think you picked something up but didn’t. And suddenly, a spark—in her mind, a familiar face appeared among her boring thoughts about ballet.
It was that of a dark-skinned girl, with hazel eyes, round cheeks, and reddish chocolate hair. Kali Devi, she remembered. Being so long away from her brother had caused her to miss out on interesting things. Matej pulled away from his chest, her eyes narrowing so much her pupils could no longer be seen, her lips pressed tightly together. Something was happening.
—You smell strange, Rich —that’s what she called him, by his middle name, Richard. Miralem smiled, and with a quick glance looked at Europa, who raised an eyebrow—, like a woman’s perfume.
Miralem burst into loud laughter and, with an almost mechanical motion, passed his right hand over the collar of his uniform. Nervous laugh, Matej noted. Something was definitely happening.
—What things you say, Matej! —Miralem began to stroke his younger sister’s head—. I’ve only just arrived and this is how you greet me. Ah, little sister, such a welcome wounds my heart —he pointed to his head.
Cunegunda cleared her throat, and the sound from her gullet resembled that of a tractor struggling to start. Then came a cough, which she covered with her hand. Everyone turned their eyes toward her.
—Firstborn of Austria, Prince of Germania Magna, Miralem Richard Rebic, it is a pleasure to see you here in Berlin, after so long since you left the Austrian throne to go to the Mahastan to attend to affairs far from your homeland —said Cunegunda, in a tone so dry and methodical it concealed very well what she felt.
Miralem gently moved Matej aside and walked with his back straight, chest lifted, the insignias and medals on his uniform clinking, and bowed, placing his gloved right hand over his chest before inclining himself.
—The pleasure is mine, Matron Cunegunda —Miralem rose from the posture and offered her his right hand—, I thank you for the work and dedication with which you have tended Austria in my absence.
Cunegunda looked at his hand, then at him, then fixed her eyes on his left arm and pulled it toward her.
—You don’t have the left glove —she said, dragging out her words—. Careless, just as you have left Austria by going away. The struggle against dissidents and apostate Christians has intensified. I hope you will pass through Austria and continue the work entrusted to you.
Miralem kept the smile on his face and carefully removed the right glove. He handed it to Cunegunda. Matej glanced sideways at Europa, noticing a half-smile on her face.
—Since you know the problems Austria faces, take the glove —Matej swallowed hard as she saw Cunegunda’s eyes fixed on Miralem, unblinking—. I grant you the provisional chancellery and authority over the Ministry of Public Health.
At this moment I am charged with protecting the bloodiest inheritance of Our Lord Zanich, peace be upon him, a task entrusted to me before Austrian authority —Miralem paused, locking eyes with Cunegunda in a duel of gazes—. Is it not also important to protect his daughters?
The tension was rising with Cunegunda’s words, Matej felt a thick aura that unsettled her, and this even without having yet been invested to sense them.
However, she felt powerless in the situation, and worse still, not only because Europa was enjoying the confrontation more, but because she seemed to have no intention of intervening. Matej opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Cunegunda:
—Keep the glove, Young and Most Serene Miralem, I hope you find the other —Cunegunda withdrew her hand from his—, so you will not forget the danger posed by the fanatics of the Book, the Reds, and those of the North Atlantic Alliance against our Prophet —Cunegunda struck the floor with her cane—. Visit Austria, perhaps it will make you reflect.
—The Reds are no longer a threat, nor are the apostate Christians, only the North Atlantic remain a danger —said Europa as she walked toward Cunegunda—. Miralem does well to leave Austria in your charge, it is your duty to safeguard Zanich’s inheritance, peace be upon him, honoring the surname he adopted.
Cunegunda returned the greeting with a light touch, then let go without giving a proper handshake.
—I am glad for him, however, I must dissent regarding the apostate Christians. They are supported by the North Atlantic Alliance, they cannot be separated —Cunegunda’s tone of voice grew louder and louder—. They blaspheme against the name of Our Lord and support coups d’état. The straw must be cast into the fire.
Cunegunda’s last words sent a chill across Matej’s skin, spreading from her back over her whole body, raising goosebumps under her pink ballet leotard.
It wasn’t the first time this happened; even before, her declarations had made Matej feel endangered, and her coarse manner only worsened it. The room fell silent after those words. Miralem shook his head and began rubbing his hands. The music stopped as the melody came to an end.
—I’ll take you at your word, Matron Cunegunda. I believe I will leave the chancellery in other hands, and the same with the Ministry of Public Health —he sighed wearily—. Our views on governance are very different —Miralem bowed again—. It was a pleasure meeting you, we’ll see each other at the ceremony.
Miralem bid farewell with a nod to Europa, and when he greeted Matej he stroked her head.
—We’ll see each other there too, Matej —he smiled, pointing at her with a finger—. Today is your big day, little sister.
As soon as he arrived, he was gone, and Matej hadn’t even had time to catch up on what he had been doing in the Mahastan with Zanich’s other daughters.
All because of a political dispute over Miralem’s absence from the Austrian government. The old woman really is difficult, Matej concluded.
—Do you have something to say, or are you going to keep interrupting Matej’s ballet? —this time Cunegunda did not hide the displeasure on her face, though it looked more wrinkled than a raisin; when she wanted to, Cunegunda never spared herself from showing displeasure, directly or indirectly, but she always showed it.
Europa took one of the cookies from the tray, and her face wrinkled at the taste of it. Cunegunda’s eyes stayed fixed on her, watching and following her every move.
—Yes, though I don’t think it’s that important if I interrupt the repetition of a dance already learned —said Europa, winking at Matej, causing the latter to smile conspiratorially—. Besides, I came to tell you that the Elderly Council sends me to notify you, since you don’t read the messages, of a scheduled assembly. Perhaps it would be good if you attended, you know, the time you preside over it is coming to an end. This will be the last opportunity you’ll have.
Europa gave Cunegunda a wink and then took a cup of tea, which she held in front of the man in a suit, who filled it with tea. If this continues, I wouldn’t be surprised if they grabbed each other by the hair, Matej thought, noticing the murderous look in Cunegunda’s eyes.
Although most likely Europa would win, not only because her rival, Cunegunda, was a very old woman, but because she was an elite warrior known among the “Wasps.”
—Let me serve the honey myself, Hans, I like to do it myself —the man nodded and held out the honey jar before Europa until she had taken two spoonfuls and stirred them into the tea—. See you, Matron of the Council of Elders.
Europa turned, carrying the cup of tea in her hand, and stopped in front of Matej.
—See you later, Matej —Europa kissed her on the forehead and pinched her cheek before leaving through the open door. It seemed that Matej, the future Protector Goddess of the Danube Federation, never stopped being a little girl before Europa, who had greeted her that way since meeting her at the age of six.
Cunegunda handed her the teacup, and Hans left through the door, taking away what was supposed to prevent Matej from ruining her throat while filling her stomach with something. At this rate, she would end up fainting from the ravenous hunger she felt, but she didn’t complain.
Matej refrained from protesting. Old Cunegunda had already had enough with the argument with Europa and Miralem; it was better to finish the ten repetitions quickly, hurry through her oratory practice, and finally eat something.
Matej returned to her leg stretches and to balancing on her toes in the air. When she began to spin, Cunegunda’s voice distracted her, causing her to fall mid-turn. The blow Matej took to her head sounded hollow.
—That’s why I tell you to concentrate! —said Cunegunda angrily, but then she softened her expression. Matej held her head in both hands, her face scrunched up as the pain pulsed like a heartbeat—. Matej, what do you want to do with the power that Our Lord Zanich, peace be upon him, will grant you at today’s investiture?
Matej stared wide-eyed at Cunegunda, who hadn’t even turned to look at her while speaking. What’s going on here? Could this be a trick question? Ever since she could remember, Cunegunda had never asked her this. She had always told her that her duty in command was to govern and ask Zanich for wisdom to do so. Matej stood up from the floor, bewildered, and pondered the question. After a few seconds she said:
—I want to help him save the people of this world and win souls for the salvation of many —Matej exhaled deeply, releasing all the weight that had built up in her chest at hearing the question. Cunegunda remained silent, so she continued—. And to fight his enemies and those who threaten peace.
Matej recited this poem from the “True Book, or Biblion”:
*Scepter of power is justice,
and with it he judges the nations,
among the peoples he rises like a lion.
Proclaim, oh king, the salvation of the world.
Like an eagle in the desert, he guides the weary people,
fatigued by hunger and tired of the road.
Like a jackal he devours the enemies along the way,
leading the destined to the land of sustenance.
Like a lion, he reigns, like a god who shields from the wind,
and cares not for the breeze, for he is lord of time.
Great king, who saves his people.*
Cunegunda raised a hand, and Matej stopped reciting the poem. The old woman walked slowly from the armchair, and with a measured gait she approached Matej until she stood before her.
The old woman, her eyes fixed on Matej, took her hand and kissed it with a watery sound. Startled, Matej pulled away at once, but was restrained by Cunegunda’s grip. She’s strong despite her age, Matej thought.
—Matej, I’m glad you’ve learned that prophecy —Cunegunda held her chin, forcing them to look into each other’s eyes—. But how would you make your word come true? —Matej opened her lips, but was interrupted by the old woman—. If you had to choose between a crown and a sword to carry out Zanich’s will, which of the two would you use?
Matej paused for a moment to think and, after swallowing hard because of Cunegunda’s closeness, replied:
—I would use the sword.
---
In one of the front chairs of the auditorium sat Cunegunda, wearing a long red and black robe draped over the back of the seat, pondering what words would be fitting to address what was about to happen in just a few hours.
Beside her, in the surrounding seats, at a certain distance from the platform raised by steps leading to a pulpit, sat the eldest members of the Council, watching intently as Matej recited her speech.
Dressed in a great white toga that reached the floor, the princess of Germania Magna continued to speak with zeal, not pausing improperly at any point, with the right tone and the proper bearing.
Erect, solemn, without reading a single note that might make her seem unprepared. She was proving to be a source of pride for the many years Cunegunda had dedicated to guiding her toward the path of governance.
Before more than three hundred women, Matej was demonstrating the profile worthy of a Matron. Zanich, make her worthy and obedient to your ways. If she fails, let her remain on the path, thought Cunegunda, praying silently for Matej’s favor.
—She’s doing well —said a voice from behind, it was Ilsa, with a confident tone—. I hope she’ll be the same in a few hours.
—She will, in the name of Zanich —replied Cunegunda without turning her head.
When Matej finished her speech, Cunegunda motioned with her right hand to one of the young women in black togas, who immediately came and helped her rise from her seat.
Cunegunda was assisted up the steps by the young woman while a sea of applause followed her, just as it had followed Matej at the end of her speech. Cunegunda went on alone and embraced Matej before everyone.
—Very well, Matej, well done —she whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek. As she touched her, she felt Matej’s body trembling and noticed her breathing slowly relax. Cunegunda caressed her cheek—. You may go rest now —her voice echoed through the microphone.
Matej descended the stairs accompanied by five of the young women in black togas. Again, applause followed her until she left the place.
Facing the crowd, now smaller than before, Cunegunda cleared her throat and paused to observe the three rows of seats filling the lower part of the auditorium. Above, on an elevation, she noticed a familiar silhouette.
She used the spyglass hanging from her neck on a chain and saw that it was Mirto Jub’ez and Cándida Mire’ez, one dressed in red togas—Jub’ez—and the other in black, though in the dim light of that place, it was hardly necessary to confirm the color of Cándida’s toga.
—Thank you, sisters of the faith, and Lord. To Zanich, honor, power, and wisdom —the voices of all joined in with an “amen”—. Today, before long, we will have another festive day: the investiture of Matej as holy and exalted Protector Goddess of the Danube Federation, and I sincerely thank the God of heaven for granting me such an honor.
Cunegunda removed the microphone from its stand and began walking across the wooden platform where she stood. She paused a moment and then continued:
—It is also an honor to be here with you and to have presided among sisters of different tongues and origins —she stopped, turned, and beckoned with her hand to the same young woman who had helped her up—, though now you hear me speaking in Austrian German. Forgive me for that.
The young woman came up to the platform, and Cunegunda held her by the shoulder.
—But despite the good news, sisters, we know that our labor, no matter the years, is not yet finished —Cunegunda drew from her red toga a document rolled in yellowed, worn parchment—. As the last day of my presidency in the council, I, Matron Cunegunda Klauss Hausen, will share this with you.
Cunegunda held the microphone to the young woman, who broke the binding of the scroll and opened it, revealing it to be much larger and written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Koine Greek.
—Behold, your prince will give his heart to his own delight, and his desire will be for conflict; like lightning he will raise the sword, and from the wisdom of his elders he will turn away his ear, for his heart is stone, his neck as hard as iron. He will turn away from the many voices, and the cries of his people he will not heed. For in love he shall be struck down, and by passion for women he shall die —the young woman in the black toga recited the text, translating perfectly what was written, without hesitation or mistake in paragraph, word, or pause at a comma.
Voices began to stir in the auditorium, but Cunegunda, raising a hand, made the murmurs cease.
—Sisters, surely you wonder what this text means, and some of you, the eldest, already know —Cunegunda paused, feeling the strain in her throat—. This is a prophecy written by Rivyahu, son of Abai, enemy of Zanich, our God of heaven. Unlike the other writings of Camiel, Ishar, and the fragments of Elisa, here we have an entire prophecy against us, calling us impostors, in the very hand of Rivyahu.
Cunegunda felt a weight pressing on her back. She stretched and, thinking, recited silently: Zanich, oh Zanich, give me strength to continue.
—This is one of the most dangerous prophecies of all, for it gives us the key that links the origin of the rebellion against Zanich to that of a king who will be given to us —the young woman closed the scroll, rolled it, and Cunegunda took it from her hand. With the young woman’s help, she descended from the platform and continued—. I say “will be given to us” because, in light of time, there is no one who fulfills this prophecy more than this very moment when Matej will take leadership of the Federation. Therefore, on this day, I exhort you regarding what is to come at Matej’s investiture. Let us ensure that conflict is not her focus, but rather good governance, prudence, and the wisdom befitting a true ruler.
Tears began to stream down Cunegunda’s cheeks, her voice breaking. Feeling the ground spin beneath her, she leaned on the young woman beside her, who helped her down, trying to keep her balance. She shook her head, and her voice once again reached the microphone.
—Young ones, now I speak to you. I have little time left in this life, and my presidency ends today, as do those of the other elder sisters who are with you. Now you will stand behind Matej and be her voices and counselors on the path she undertakes in the days Zanich grants you on earth —Cunegunda’s voice broke again, but this time, she was not alone. Many others in red togas were the same, eyes shining with tears. She truly no longer had the strength to preside over that Council. She wiped her tears and continued, looking at the young woman at her side—. It is your moment. Tell your sisters, the elders, that it is their moment to carry forward what we have begun. It is your moment to prevent the enemies of Zanich from continuing to grow, always keeping watch so as not to be caught off guard! To help our future holy and exalted Protector Goddess Matej in her rule! This is your moment…
Cunegunda inhaled and exhaled, feeling the air escape through her nose, then embraced the young woman beside her, who was also weeping.
At that moment, there was a sea of tears, applause, and elder women in red togas repeating Cunegunda’s words to the younger ones among them, whether in black togas or none at all.