The ground trembled.
Across the edges of the darkened forest, the Holy Army had begun its ritual.
Crusaders drove their swords into the soil, hilts glowing with sacred light. Monks knelt in circles, chanting prayers in tongues older than the land. Saints—each carrying relics said to have touched divinity—stood with their arms raised to the darkened sky.
Light poured from them.
Rays of golden purity flared across the cursed woods. The soil sizzled. Black leaves turned to ash. The forest groaned—its roots protesting. Trees twisted, shadows flailed. The air became thick with pressure.
Even the sky seemed to shift.
Somewhere in the forest, the group reunited around the fire—Methodius, Kyi, Yurko, Maksym, Shchek. They watched the tremors pass through the branches.
"Is it beginning?" Yurko asked.
Methodius only nodded.
Suddenly from the cave came out Khoryv.
Khoryv was walking away—quickly, silently.
She ran after him. "Wait! What did you mean?"
Khoryv didn't respond. Not yet.
Then, a heavy thud.
Thud. Thud.
From the trees to their right, a familiar clatter rose up.
The House with Chicken Legs emerged, its feet stomping with eager rhythm. It knelt down.
The door swung open.
From it stepped Baba Yaha, grinning wildly.
Seeing her Khoryv's eyes flickered.
But she was not alone.
A man stepped out behind her.
He was tall, robed in blue and silver, his cloak lined with scripture and gold stitching. His hair was shoulder-length, braided along the sides. His face held both youth and discipline—eyes that burned with purpose and a faint, paternal smile.
He looked like Methodius.
Cyril.
Methodius gasped—and then ran forward, arms wide.
"Brother!"
He embraced Cyril, clutching him like one returned from the grave.
His hug was so fierce that Cyril dropped his staff.
The others watched in stunned silence.
Even Baba Yaha, arms crossed, allowed a moment of quiet.
After Cyril from the Baba Yaha's residence stepped out four more man – Saints.
When they pulled apart, Methodius turned to the group.
"This is Cyril and our God's Saints," he said, his voice still trembling.
The group gave small nods and glances.
Then Methodius looked at Cyril again.
"…But what are you doing here? I thought you would start to purify from the outer forest..."
Cyril gave a slow smile, glancing at Baba Yaha.
"We're here to help."