The battle was chaos.
The Navs surged like waves of rot and despair. Mavkas howled from the treeline, their arms twisting like branches soaked in grief. The hill turned red with blood and the light of curses.
Maksym fought tooth and bone with his hunter blades, slicing into the dead with grim precision until one snapped in half on a creature's ribs.
Yurko fired arrow after arrow—fletching soaked, arms shaking—but the spirits came faster than he could draw.
Shchek swung his axe, each strike grunting out defiance, hacking through limbs, bone, and shadow.
Lybid called to the trees. Runes burned on her arms as roots erupted from the soil, entangling the spirits. She flung raw force with Rod's fury, but for every spirit she banished, two more crawled from the dark.
Kyi stood at the center, Holy Book clutched in one hand, palm raised in the other. The water spirits hesitated around him. Every time a Mavka reached for his throat, the water recoiled, sensing something—a bond.
Yet they were too many.
A wave surged up the slope—black, bloated, screaming.
Lybid turned, her voice sharp.
"Kyi! PRAY! Call to Dana!"
"I—" Kyi faltered, caught between instinct and faith. He turned his gaze upward.
"Дана! Богиня річок та струмків, втілення усієї води. Покровительниця Русалчиного Великодня. Я шукаю твого благословення…"( Dana. The goddess of rivers and streams, the embodiment of all water. Patroness of the Mermaid Easter. I seek your blessing...)
He stopped reciting in Old Slavonic the moment he wanted to say Amen at the end of the prayer.
The wave paused.
And then the water around him roared.
A voice, feminine and furious, boomed from deep beneath.
"You call me while holding his name in your heart?"
Kyi's eyes widened. "I don't deny 'Him'… but I ask for you now."
The water hissed like a wounded serpent.
"Faith divided is faith denied."
The great flood reared to crush them.
Methodius shouted aloud the final words of his rite.
"Fiat lux!"
The Bible flared.
A column of light burst around them.
The Mavkas shrieked and burned. The Navs recoiled, shadows dissolving. The water froze mid-air, crackling into ice that shattered across the hill.
Then came a crash.
Wood splintered. Branches snapped.
A chicken-legged hut thundered onto the slope, scattering the remaining corpses like leaves.
And from the open door stepped Baba Yaha, wrapped in moss-colored robes, teeth bared in a delighted grin.
"Hah! Now that's what I call a battle. Pity none of you died."
She sniffed. "Ugh. I never liked Mavkas. And Navs are just soggy regrets."
Maksym limped toward her, knife broken to a stub in his belt.
"Then why didn't you help us?"
Baba Yaha wagged a bony finger, near her a large wolf like a small puppy similarly wagged its tail.
"Because it was a test, boy. And look!"—she spun, arms wide—"You're still here. Well, mostly."
Yurko groaned, clutching a bleeding arm. "What now? More tests?"
The witch nodded. "You want to reach the seal? You need wisdom. And only one soul left in this place knows where it lies."
She grinned.
"Khoryv."
Lybid frowned shocked, almost gasping. "The first elder of Myrnyi? He's dead."
"Oh, he's something worse," Baba Yaha cackled. "He's alive… just barely."
The hut shifted behind her, claws digging into stone.
"Find him. He knows the way."