"Your Highnesses…"
A young witch stood trembling beside them, her voice caught in her throat. She understood the meaning of this moment too well—why the two legendary guardian goddesses of Babylon had come to the Temple of Wisdom.
They had come to say farewell.
"Lilith," Medea said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You are Babylon's next ruler. Do not shed tears for us."
She stood tall beneath the towering statue of the faceless god, robed in black embroidered with ethereal blue sigils. Her voice was solemn but steady.
"O Great God of Wisdom… we have failed you. We could not take the final step. We could not unravel the last truth… the sacred art of Alchemy. The Gate of Truth remains closed to us."
Her voice trembled as she lifted her gaze to the heavens. "O thrice-exalted Hermes… we… have failed."
Beside her, Cassandra wore a gentle smile tinged with sorrow. The soft, golden light of the morning sun caressed her face as she looked skyward.
"Our time has come. So many years have passed… Each of us found her own path. Circe… You too must feel the end drawing near, wherever you may be."
A guard approached, bowing deeply as he presented a parchment of animal hide.
Medea opened it with trembling fingers. Her eyes softened.
"It's from Circe… Even after everything, she remembered us."
Cassandra leaned in, and for a moment, saw her sister's mischievous grin flash before her mind's eye. She smiled, tears brimming.
"You stubborn woman… It's time for you too, isn't it?"
---
Outside, in the great stone plaza before the Temple of Wisdom, the entire city had gathered.
Children sang elegies in the streets. White silk fluttered from windows. The air was heavy with mourning.
"The three divine queens… are leaving us."
Songs of lament echoed through Babylon, telling the story of the Three Witches. Though their power did not match the might of Gilgamesh, their legacy had carved itself into the hearts of mortals.
They were angels who had guided humanity from darkness.
Medea, the Witch of War, who led warriors in glory.
Cassandra, the Witch of Spring, who healed the sick and nourished the land.
Circe, the Witch of Ruin, who once fell to desire, but had left an indelible mark on the age of magic.
Though Circe had not returned, her final letter was enough. Even in exile, even in disgrace, she was still one of the Founders.
"Had she returned," some whispered, "none would have opposed her. The throne would have been hers again—for her greatness, if not her sins."
Their story had begun in a primal world.
Three girls. The only survivors of a cataclysm. Together, they had protected their fledgling tribe, forged spells from nothing, defied beasts and gods alike, and pioneered the Three Great Disciplines.
They had lifted the human race from the bottom of the food chain… and brought forth the era of witches.
Now, at the peak of civilization, their journey was ending.
---
"You need not weep for us," Medea said with a warm smile. "Mortals cannot escape sickness, aging, or death. We are no different."
She and Cassandra stood before the Temple, facing the statue of the faceless god. They looked skyward, tears falling like jewels.
"If I could see the God of Wisdom one last time… I would have no regrets."
"We failed to unlock the secrets of Alchemy. We have come to apologize, O great Hermes."
"Will you come to us once more? Or… do you suspect us of seeking the death of God?"
---
Meanwhile, Ethan sat quietly on a wooden chair in the courtyard, munching on carrots.
He exhaled deeply.
"You've done far more than enough," he whispered. "You're both extraordinary. You moved an entire world. You gave birth to civilization. If I can cultivate magic today, it's only because you laid the foundation."
He gazed at the sandbox.
"You are not inept. I am."
Even Ethan—the hidden god of this world—could not escape the weight of mortality. These women had become living legends, and even they were bound to the grave.
He couldn't bring himself to meet them.
To do so, he'd have to shut down the game, dive into the sandbox, and evolve a new species. It would take hours.
"Since I can't greet you in person…"
He stood up, putting down his lunchbox with reverence. "Then I'll send you off the only way I can."
"Hive Mind, slow time to match the real world. I need a moment."
He reached for a watering can and poured in a few drops of rose oil. The water turned crimson and fragrant.
And then, he sprinkled it over the sandbox.
---
"By my will, at the moment of the Three Witches' death, the heavens shall weep blood. The world shall be filled with the scent of flowers, and all creation shall mourn."
---
Boom!
A divine voice echoed across the heavens, shaking the clouds and stirring the mountains.
The declaration of a god.
The people of Babylon fell to their knees.
"A miracle!"
"It's Him—Mercury! The God of Wisdom speaks!"
Medea's face was streaked with tears.
Pitter-patter.
Crimson rain fell from the sky. The scent of blooming flowers swept across the land.
She turned to Cassandra, both of them soaked in fragrant tears from heaven.
They smiled at one another.
---
Ethan picked a single pink flower from the yard.
With inhuman precision, he carved delicate letters into its stem.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, he hurled it into the sandbox. It flew like a comet.
"By my will, at the moment of the Three Witches' death, a flower of divine glory shall descend upon the Earth in their honor."
---
Boom!
The skies roared once again.
From the heavens descended a colossal flower, hundreds of meters tall. It rooted itself in the plaza beside the Temple of Wisdom.
"A divine flower monument!"
The witches and people of Babylon gasped. Even the newly initiated trembled at the sight.
Medea and Cassandra were awestruck.
They had always loved beauty—and this farewell was more beautiful than anything they could have imagined.
Their voices were choked with emotion:
"O God of Wisdom, we would serve you for all eternity… But our time is over."
---
Ethan sighed. "I cannot save you from death. Only you can do that. This… is the most I can offer."
He reached for his phone and turned on a song.
Yiruma – "River Flows in You.
Its powerful tones spilled into the sandbox like a divine current.
---
"By my will, at the moment of the Three Witches' death, the heavens shall echo with a divine requiem… and the world shall mourn."
---
The sky thundered.
The mountains trembled.
Music flowed through the clouds like molten light—stirring every heart.
---
"River Flows in You" drifted through the skies of Babylon like a whisper from the heavens. It was not just music—it was a gentle lament, a final embrace against the weight of destiny, and a tender tribute to lives that had burned brightly, beautifully, and without regret.
"This… This is heaven's song!"
"What beauty! What power!"
--
"
And in its echo…
The age of the Three Witches came to a close.