The village elder had barely finished explaining the quest: four children, ages six to ten, vanished into the Whispering Woods chasing a “pretty glowing lights”.

  That was all which was needed.

  Fanática run forward with the serene certainty of someone who has never once doubted her divine GPS.

  “Fear not, the Goddess guides the righteous.

  I shall lead us straight to the little lambs.”

  she declared, halo already flickering like a lantern.

  Gorzod exchanged a weary look with Thrain and Liora.

  Erian gripped his staff tighter until his knuckles turned white.

  They followed her anyway.

  Ten minutes in, Faná strode confidently ahead, maul swinging at random bushes while humming a hymn.

  The underbrush thickened.

  Paths twisted and trees leaned in.

  After another twenty minutes of increasingly circular marching, Gorzod cleared his throat.

  “Lass. We passed that same crooked oak three times already.”

  Faná paused, tilted her head.

  “The Goddess is only testing our patience.”

  Liora, who had been silently cataloging broken twigs and faint footprints since they entered the forest, finally spoke:

  “She’s lost. Completely.”

  She stepped past Faná without waiting for permission, knelt, and traced a small shoe-print hidden in the moss.

  “They went this way. North-east. The prints are fresh, but the ground's disturbed. Something... bigger... followed them.”

  Faná beamed. She almost turned in different direction then the huntress was showing.

  “Excellent! Let me clear the path!”

  Liora shot her a look that could wither an oak.

  “Minimum effort means not burning the forest down when you get impatient.”

  Faná’s halo flared slighty brighter. “But if the path is blocked by sin-”

  “No burning,” Liora said with deadpan expression. “Children safety first. Holy smite second. Maybe.”

  They pressed on.

  Liora moved just like she would be part of the forest: with silent steps, her fingers brushing bark for signs, eyes scanning the ground and branches.

  The others followed after her:

  Gorzod at the front, axes at the ready.

  Thrain with his shield and war hammer in hand.

  Erian walked along, muttering something under his breath, holding his staff as if it were his beloved.

  The trail ended at a sluggish river bend shrouded in mist.

  It was then that the mage asked, “Where is Faná?”

  They looked around, but there was no sign of her luminous glow anywhere.

  Then a low melody came from the murky water - it sounded old, wet and hungry.

  The river hag hauled herself from the water, reeds and ribs knitting into a shape that only barely passed for a woman.

  Her skin was the color of drowned driftwood, her eyes were milky and deep.

  Four small kids dangled in water vines at her side, bound and gagged, their eyes wide with terror.

  “Ahh… new lambs come wading,” she rasped.

  “But these little morsels be mine, oh yes they're mine.

  Old Granny doesn't share her tender meat with hungry strangers.”

  The party members looked at each other and drew their weapons.

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  “She wandered off again,” Thrain muttered.

  Gorzod cracked his knuckles. “Then we handle it ourselves.”

  The hag laughed - it sounded nasty, as if bubbles were bursting in her throat - and lashed out with her vine whips.

  Combat was swift and brutal.

  Gorzod charged first, his axes whirling in arcs.

  He cleaved through vines like they were string, roaring taunts that made the hag flinch.

  One axe bit deep into her shoulder, and the black ichor sprayed onto him.

  Thrain planted himself like a boulder, his shield absorbing the hag’s swipes with dull thuds.

  He countered with hammer swings that cracked beast ribs in a loud noise over the river’s rush.

  “Stay down, ye slimy crone!”

  Liora was perched on a low branch, and her arrows were flying in precise rhythm - one through the hag’s left eye, another pinning a reaching vine to the tree.

  Each shot was calm, accurate, and deadly.

  Erian, with his heart hammering, started to channel a spell while his companions kept the foe busy.

  The hag shrieked, thrashed, and tried one last desperate lunge.

  “Watch out!” the young mage shouted, and frontliners swiftly jumped away.

  A ball of fire swallowed the Hag in a fiery explosion.

  She collapsed into the shallows, bubbling, half dissolving into foul-smelling foam.

  Silence was broken only by the children’s muffled whimpers.

  Liora knelt and cut their bonds with surprising gentleness.

  “Easy now. You’re safe.”

  One girl - the oldest - threw her arms around her leg.

  “Th-thank you, big elf sister.”

  Thrain gently ruffled a boy’s hair.

  “Next time, don’t chase lights without tellin’ someone.”

  The children nodded, dazed but alive, clinging to their rescuers.

  A moment passed - quiet, warm, almost ordinary.

  Four adventurers and four children, standing by the pond and a dead monster.

  There were no sermons.

  No apocalyptic explosions.

  Then the will-o’-wisps appeared.

  Tiny golden motes drifted up from the water, bobbing innocently, twinkling like stars.

  The children gasped in wonder, reaching out toward them with grubby hands.

  “Look!” the smallest boy cried. “It’s the pretty lights!”

  Gorzod chuckled low. “Let ’em play a bit. It’s safe now.”

  And then the bushes exploded outward.

  Fanática emerged, armor gleaming with maul already raised.

  She saw the scene.

  Her halo started blazing like midday sun.

  “Foul deceivers!” she cried. “Will-o’-wisps! Lures of the wicked! Tempting innocent souls into darkness! O Goddess of Unerring Judgment, scatter these false lights!”

  The children froze.

  The wisps danced once more - innocently.

  Then Faná brought the holy maul down.

  Golden light erupted in a perfect sphere.

  The murky pond boiled.

  Trees cracked and fell outward in a perfect ring.

  The hag corpse vaporized mid-dissolve.

  The wisps popped like soap bubbles.

  A hundred yards of forest simply… ceased to be.

  In its place: a pristine, glowing clearing of soft grass and floating motes of golden light.

  The children stood untouched at the exact center - dazed, hair slightly singed at the tips, eyes enormous.

  Faná lowered her maul, beaming with maternal pride.

  “See?” she said softly. “The Goddess protected you. No more evil lights to tempt you.”

  A nearby farmer, who had come looking for his lost goat, saw the pillar of holy light, the vanishing treeline and the dazed children in the middle of a brand-new holy meadow.

  “IT’S HOLY!” he screamed. “IT’S HOLY!!”

  He turned and fled, his arms windmilling.

  The party stared at the devastation.

  Gorzod slowly sheathed his axes.

  Thrain leaned on his hammer.

  Liora palm ended up on her face.

  Erian opened his mouth, and closed it.

  Finally, Liora looked at Faná - still radiant, still proud - then at the children (who were now tentatively poking the glowing grass), and then back at Faná.

  She sighed the sigh of a woman who had accepted her fate.

  “The children are safe,” Liora said, tired. “And the meadow will never sin again.”

  Faná clasped her hands with joy. “Exactly!”

  Somewhere in the distance, the farmer was still running.