Chapter 104. Metamorphoses
Ritsuka sat opposite Jeanne, watching her intently. After a long pause, he broke the silence:
"Jeanne, I have to ask... When I sent you back to 1994, you were still Jeanne Alter, the Avantgarde of a decaying humanity. But you changed so quickly, barely setting foot on wizard land. What was it connected to?"
Jeanne covered her eyes, diving into her memories. Before her mind's eye flashed those days again - her arrival at the Hollow Cauldron, the stronghold of wizards, the first meeting with the Weasley family...
Pushing through the noisy crowd in the alley, the young Jeanne felt lost. The heart distorted by malice tore from her chest, craving revenge and destruction. When she was summoned here, in 1994, she was full of anger - towards all the wizarding world, towards Ritsuka, who sent her on a mission, towards herself.
"How easy it would be to swing the sword now and destroy all these pitiful little people!" her thoughts boiled with anger as she made her way through the market crowd.
But suddenly something pricked her heart - a distant, but persistent echo of holiness. Jeanne felt as if she had momentarily become that simple village girl again, who listened to heavenly voices. As if a tiny seed of grace had sprouted in her soul.
Fragments of visions flooded to her - the peaceful faces of Ritsuka and Mash, gazing at her with concern, ancient seals of oaths once given by her in her youth... And she froze in place.
"No, I can't blindly seek revenge," she realized with insight. And for the first time in centuries, she listened to the call of ancient faith within her. She remembered the path of the real Jeanne d'Arc - a wise warrior, not a reckless destroyer.
And that's how her fate changed on the day when Jeanne Alter began her long journey to find her true self.
Jeanne opened her eyes, meeting Ritsuka's gaze.
"It was grace, Sir Fujimaru. That gift of holiness that once led me to great accomplishments. It invisibly dwelled within me all these centuries, a dormant seed under Jeanne Alter's bark. And on that day, in 1994, it reminded of itself for the first time."
She bowed her head, analyzing her memories.
"I realized that I couldn't just recklessly seek revenge without first understanding the enemy. Otherwise, I wouldn't save humanity, but only plunge the world into even greater chaos. And then I decided - like the ancient Jeanne - to behave wisely and cunningly. First, to acquire allies, unravel the mysteries of the wizards, devise a strategy. And only then unleash all my wrath upon Voldemort."
Jeanne turned her thoughtful gaze out the window, at the Hogwarts elves.
"That's why I infiltrated the school, participated in your affairs, patiently studied the enemy year after year. It was the first step on my path to enlightenment and return to the roots of the warrior of light. Until Jeanne Alter melted in my soul... And I was reborn - Jeanne d'Arc, enlightened, powerful as never before."
Ritsuka listened attentively, nodding occasionally. When Jeanne fell silent, he asked:
"But did the memories of your old path wake up so easily in you? You went through so much suffering and pain, Jeanne. What pushed you to resist the temptation of immediate revenge?"
Jeanne covered her eyes, diving into her memories. Painful images came alive in her consciousness again - the flames of the stake in Rouen, the horror of betrayal, endless agony... Her face contorted in the grip of anguish.
Jeanne closed her eyes, immersing herself in her memories. Painful images came alive in her mind again — the flames of the stake in Rouen, the horror of betrayal, endless agony... Her face twisted in the throes of torment.
"You are right, Ritsuka... My soul was tormented by mortal agony through the ages. I absorbed all the anger and hatred imaginable. Towards people, towards the Lord, towards myself..."
Her hand clenched into a fist, her nails almost digging into her palm.
"Do you remember the humiliation and pain of my execution in Rouen? That was just the prelude to the hell that was destined for my soul. I was crucified, burned, torn apart... I endured the most unimaginable tortures — over and over again, for eternity."
Jeanne opened her eyes, a barely contained rage flickering in her gaze.
"Any other would have broken and perished in this nightmare long ago. But I... I was too stubborn. Too proud to give in. And I forged my hatred into a weapon — first against my torturers, then against all of humanity. Until I was reborn as Jeanne Alter — the spawn of darkness that you first encountered."
She sighed spastically, as if pushing away those memories.
"So what could have stopped me then? What stirred within me the strength not to seek revenge, but to act rationally? It was simple... I remembered the teachings of the Lord — the ones that guided me in my youth. I remembered my duty as the defender of France and all of Christian civilization."
Her gaze softened, filled with thoughtful sorrow.
"And I realized — if I repeat the mistakes of the past and give in to the impulses of anger, I will save no one, only fall deeper into darkness myself. My path lay not in blind destruction, but in courage, wisdom, and faith. In becoming the beacon of hope for humanity. And it was this great purpose that led me to Hogwarts in the guise of a student. To embark on the path of rebirth, to attain the true power of Jeanne d'Arc."
Jeanne straightened up, her face regaining a noble and resolute expression.
"That's what overcame my suffering, Ritsuka. The realization of my mission — to be not a destroyer, but a protector. To start anew, from the ancient roots, to attain truly invincible power."
Jeanne leaned back in her chair, lost in her thoughts. Her gaze turned inward, to those days when she had just arrived in the world of wizards.
It had only been a few days since her arrival in the Leaky Cauldron, and Jeanne was already seated at the table in the welcoming home of the Weasley family — a simple, yet cozy dwelling filled with warmth.
In her soul at that moment raged the conflicting winds of her feelings. On one hand, she still remained Jeanne Alter — a cruel warrior seduced by darkness, thirsting for vengeance. At the mere sight of this kind-hearted wizarding family, their numerous children, anger boiled in her heart.
"Pitiful little people, and these are wizards? Insignificant beings who think themselves great..." whispered the inner voice sardonically.
But at the same time, a small sprout of grace, stirred by the bustling marketplace in Diagon Alley, refused to wither. On the contrary, it seemed to find new soil, warmed by the emotional warmth of this family. Jeanne found herself occasionally sporting a contented half-smile — an unconscious response to the openness and friendliness of the Weasleys.
And at the moment when the green flames flared in the living room, ushering in new guests, and Harry Potter and his friends emerged one by one from the fireplace, something inexplicable awoke in her.
Jeanne's gaze fixed on the young wizard — a fragile, slender boy with unkempt black hair and remarkable green eyes, filled with a strange determination. In that moment, she glimpsed in him echoes of something ancient, powerful... Something she would likely have to confront in the very near future.
Jeanne froze, petrified with a welcoming smile on her face, unable to speak. Her mind focused on this boy — Potter — noticing every detail. How he nervously changed his posture, embracing his friends, awkwardly greeting the Weasleys. In his movements, there was something decisive, heroic... And at the same time something artless, almost childlike. At that moment, Jeanne felt as if the seed of grace caught a new echo and broke the old fragile ground. Whether the call of great deeds to come resounded deeply in her soul. Whether the idealized image of the boy-hero, the central figure of the events she was preparing for, stirred something deep within her essence.
But from that moment on, Jeanne felt herself breaking free from the embrace of the gloomy realm of Jeanne Alter, and something new, unexplored began to unfold within her.
Jeanne blinked, returning to reality. Her gaze once again settled on Ritsuke.
"You ask why I changed so quickly after my arrival in 1994? I suppose it's all because of that boy, Harry Potter. Although he was unaware, meeting him was the final push that made the seed of grace within me grow to its full strength. It's as if Fate itself reminded me of my true purpose - to be a defender of humanity, not its destroyer."
Jeanne fell silent, collecting her thoughts.
"From that night when I first saw that boy, I embarked on a new path. I didn't reject my power, but tamed it, subjecting it to ancient wisdom and discipline. I began to behave prudently and tactically. And with each passing day, the true Jeanne d'Arc grew stronger within me - an enlightened, resolute and merciful warrior. Until the day when Jeanne Alter remained only as a torn veil, and before everyone stood I - the reborn Maiden Warrior in all her glory."
Jeanne closed her eyes, allowing a new wave of memories to wash over her. Before her mind's eye unfolded the chilling events of that night in the graveyard in Little Hangleton.
Hiding in the thick bushes with Harry and Cedric Diggory, Jeanne couldn't take her eyes off the horrifying blood-red potion bubbling in a giant cauldron in the middle of the cursed clearing. Nearby, an ugly little man - Peter Pettigrew, known as Wormtail, who looked more like a fat, greasy rat than a human, was diligently working.
With each new ingredient he threw into the cauldron, a shiver of fierce disgust ran down Jeanne's spine. Some part of her was deeply offended by such blasphemy - the perverse use of magic for the resurrection of evil. Her knightly honor cried out - to punish this degenerate, to interrupt his vile ritual!
But at the same time, Jeanne felt a strange detachment, as if an invisible force invaded her mind and prevented her from acting recklessly. And as she did not know the source of this force - whether the soul of the ancient Jeanne was raging within her, or Fate itself wanted everything to happen this way.
And Jeanne obeyed, observing without acting, as Wormtail cut his own hand with a shaking knife, whispering strange words:
"Blood... of the enemy... forcibly taken..."
And then enlightenment finally descended upon Jeanne, dispelling her confusion. In that moment, when the spilled blood thickened into a nauseating brew, and the bloody lump suddenly took on a human form... Jeanne realized that before her stood none other than Voldemort himself - the eternal enemy of Harry and the source of darkness that she was meant to eradicate.
And so, what she saw now was the starting point of all the horrors to come. The stone that would serve as the foundation for all future impenetrable darkness. And Jeanne involuntarily froze, absorbing and memorizing every detail of this diabolical ritual. So that when the time came, she could overthrow the very beginning of evil and bury it once again.
Because since the day she witnessed this abhorrent resurrection of Voldemort, something had changed in Jeanne's gaze. She began to keenly observe every detail, to sort everything out - no longer a wrathful madwoman, but a true warrior guided by a clear and ruthless plan. And so, she became one of those who pave the way to unprecedented victories.
For now, she could only clench her fists and radiate icy fury, watching as the repulsive bald infant took on a human form. Because now Jeanne knew for sure - which goal needed to be destroyed before chaos would engulf humanity.
The anguished cry of the resurrected Voldemort at the sight of the bloodied Tail was the final touch to her understanding of the true nature of her enemies. Jeanne opened her eyes, returning to reality. Her pupils were dilated, and her face was filled with a ruthless determination.
"It was there, in that cemetery on the night of darkness triumph, that I took the final step towards enlightenment. I saw the essence of evil itself and the paths I must take to fight it. Yes, the bloody ritual disturbed me to the core... But at the same time, it became a lesson for me in the upcoming battle. Since that night, I carefully planned each step, noted the weaknesses of the enemy, getting closer and closer to him, like a cunning huntress."
Jeanne's gaze dimmed as she delved into her memories.
"And after your battle ended, and I witnessed the futility of Voldemort's actions with my own eyes... I realized that my long journey had come to fruition and the seed of the ancient Jeanne d'Arc had finally blossomed into a mighty tree within me. For I had returned to the same roots as in my youth - becoming the defender of all humanity against the destructive darkness."
In Jeanne's memories, images of that fateful night flickered once again. She seemed to see before her the silent circle of Death Eaters, rejoicing at the sight of the resurrected Dark Lord. And in the center, amidst the ritual symbols - young Harry Potter, facing off against Voldemort himself with a magical wand.
As she recalled that tense confrontation, a fire ignited inside Jeanne. Her fingers clenched spasmodically, yearning for the hilt of an invisible sword. Every nerve, every muscle in her body was tense to the limit that night, as if she were only waiting for the right moment to enter that duel.
Memories flashed like lightning bolts: the enraged Voldemort, screaming at his followers, commanding their mindless worship... The venom-green flashes of deadly curses, the clash of magical wands between Harry and Voldemort... And then - the incredible, blinding brilliance of the Priori Incantatem phenomenon.
Jeanne could feel this light even through the dense thicket of bushes. It struck her eyes, making her eyelashes flutter. But she dared not look away from this sacred act, not wanting to miss a single detail.
With each moment, new ghostly silhouettes emerged from the mouths of the wands - distorted, contorted shadows of Voldemort's past victims. Seeing them took Jeanne's breath away. These blurred figures looked at their killer - a silent, soul-wrenching reminder of spilled blood.
Then came the culmination. The last two shadows emerged from the wands - a man of impeccable beauty with a noble face, surrounded by a glowing halo, as if a holy martyr... And a timid, trembling figure of an old man, gazing at Voldemort with infinite sorrow and disappointment.
Jeanne suddenly felt a physical pain, as if an icy dagger had pierced her heart. She understood - these were the ghosts of Voldemort's last victims, coming to silently accuse their killer. And this sight tore Jeanne apart from the inside.
She was consumed by an intense determination, a powerful urge to avenge these people, that she could barely contain herself from bursting into the circle right now. Every fiber of her being cried out for revenge. Even the echoes of the merciful Jeanne that had awakened in her now only added to her fury with even more overwhelming intensity.
In that moment, Jeanne first realized who Voldemort truly was and what monster she had to destroy. And as these ghostly figures bowed to Harry one by one, guiding him back to life, and then disappeared... Jeanne clenched her fists for the last time, giving herself a silent vow - the next battle against this abomination would be the final one.
For her, there were no more doubts in what she was doing. For only through ruthless, resolute, and uncompromising vengeance could the darkest sins be redeemed.
Jeanne closed her eyes, once again surrendering to the flow of memories. Before her mind's eye flashed the winter of 1995 - she and Harry under the invisibility cloak, sneaking out of the prefects' bathroom with a clue for the second Triwizard Task.
At that time, Jeanne did not yet understand why the name of Barty Crouch, the old auror, was written on the Marauder's Map in Snape's office. It was just a minor detail for her amidst the huge tangle of secrets and intrigues surrounding the Tournament. Besides, her thoughts in those days were occupied by the desire to gain trust, steadily moving towards the unknown goal of her destiny.
But much later, recalling that moment, Jeanne was horrified by her mistake, how blind she had been at that time! Could she have imagined that it was the traitor Barty Crouch Jr. who was laying the groundwork for Voldemort's rebirth without even knowing it?
As if a thread of fate was drawn from that winter at Hogwarts... through the riddles and puzzles of the Tournament... to the glinting Cup, which became more sinister... And finally - to the scene in the eerie graveyard, when the insane Voldemort rose, like a vampire from his grave, rising to a new bloody life.
Remembering those last moments of the battle between Harry and Voldemort, when Potter dashed away for the Cup, Jeanne could barely contain her disgust. Right in front of her eyes, real madness raged!
On one hand, she saw the primitive, animalistic joy Voldemort felt at the thought of getting Harry's blood for his new resurrection. She squinted as she watched him chuckle and jump in place, eager to finish off his victim. And this pathological, unhealthy obsession made Jeanne clench her fists tighter.
That night, she had to exert superhuman effort to not jump out of the bushes and interfere. All her warrior spirit screamed to draw her sword and end this worn-out parody of a human with one swift blow. She almost saw herself striking him with her blade, mercilessly cutting through his inhuman flesh.
At the same time, a detached part of her consciousness pondered completely differently. She considered hundreds of possibilities and scenarios - what if Voldemort rose again after that night? What if he found a way to cheat death? Could he, with all his extraordinary abilities, achieve his goal and find the Grail despite today's setback?
And at the same time, another part of her cried out - such a creature as Voldemort was not even worthy of thoughts about the Grail. For the true path to ultimate power always lies in the struggle with one's corrupt self and the attainment of spiritual enlightenment. Something that Voldemort, in his pride and blindness, was completely devoid of.
These thoughts stormed through Jeanne on that graveyard. Making her contain her rage and recklessness. Taming her past madness and guiding herself with wisdom and calculation. After all, the stakes were too high - the well-being of the entire world!
And in that fateful moment, when Harry and Cedric Diggory fought against the Death Eaters, Jeanne realized that the stakes were now higher than ever. From now on, she could not act as a mindless destroyer or a blind swordswoman. For victory, she needed to become what the young Jeanne d'Arc was - an embodiment of wisdom, cunning, and ruthless calculation! Only then could she surpass herself and earn the precious gift of the Grail.
So, that night became a turning point in Jeanne's destiny. The moment when the holy maiden finally rejected the past and stood on the true path to fulfill her greatest destiny!
Among the frightening images of that fateful night, one held a central place in Jeanne's memory - the sight of a crashing airliner, brought down by Voldemort's accidental spell.
In her memories, everything seemed like it was in slow motion, stretched out into eternity. Voldemort, tired of his unsuccessful attempts to strike Jeanne with a deadly curse and driven to powerless rage. His contorted face from anger as he waved his wand, shouting "Crucio!"
Then — a slender beam of blinding scarlet light, piercing the night sky over the graveyard. Its fierce Crucio beam, Jeanne would distinctly remember, ripped through the wing of an approaching airliner a mile away from their location. Strangely, even from that distance, she made out faint details—the airline's logo on the tail of the fuselage, the windows flashing a final burst of light...
And then the gruesome dance began, in slow motion. The aircraft's aluminum nose suddenly buckled, as if melted by the deadly curse. Then huge chunks of the fuselage and wings began breaking off the airliner, flying apart. A spray of sparks burst from its engines as they gave way. And the entire thing plummeted to the earth, a collapsing mass of metal and flesh.
Jeanne could almost see the frozen faces of the passengers, caught in that final gasp of life, never to leave the ill-fated contraption. Perhaps some still lived, in those horrifying moments as the wreckage thudded and ripped into the ground.
That was Jeanne's first, most blatant introduction to the wanton cruelty and madness of Voldemort, against which she had pledged to fight with all her might. It was a moment that sent a chill to the depths of her being and ignited within her a sense of relentless determination to oppose this madman.
And while for a moment, Voldemort seemed ecstatic at the results of his little stunt, Jeanne felt something else entirely. A steely, uncompromising resolve was born within her for the first time—a determination that would lead to her ultimate victory—to destroy Voldemort, utterly and completely, with every ounce of her mind, will, and strength.
To crush him utterly, to grind him into the dust like that ill-fated airliner, so that never again would anyone have to witness such madness!
In that moment, the righteous warrior Jeanne Alter, driven by wrath and vengeance, finally died. And in her place, the determined Jeanne d'Arc was born, a warrior tempered by the fires of purpose, with her strategy to overcome the forces of evil. The one she was destined to be from the very beginning...
Jeanne's memory painted the rest of that night in a kaleidoscope of images. She watched as Voldemort, backed into a corner, turned his maddened gaze from her to Harry. How he suddenly froze, concentrating, and whispered the dreaded incantation:
"Legilimens!"
Jeanne felt a strange prickle at the back of her skull—the initial tendrils of Voldemort's mind attempting to enter hers. He likely expected to dive into her thoughts, her fears, her weaknesses, and use them against her. Yet Jeanne merely smirked inwardly, letting him delve deeper.
She was a Servant, after all—a supernatural entity far beyond the reach of mere magic spells. Any attempt by Voldemort to dominate her would only make him look the fool.
And sure enough, a moment later, she felt Voldemort's mind brush against her memories. But instead of the horrors and nightmares he might have expected to find, what unfolded before him was an idyllic tableau—tranquil green meadows, peaceful flocks of sheep, a shepherdess's cottage. Jeanne allowed him to witness the depth of her connection to the original Maiden Warrior persona that dwelled within her.
The further Voldemort delved, the more bewildered he became. He saw visions of a simple peasant girl, guided by celestial voices, throwing herself into the inferno of war for a cause she believed in. The purity of her intentions, the determination of her innocent soul.
And then, his consciousness was thrown back to one of the earliest fragments of all—the consecration of the young Jeanne on the battlefield, as Gilles de Rais, her commander, placed a hand on her brow and imprinted upon her memories of the legendary Maid of Orleans.
Jeanne could barely resist a chuckle as she felt Voldemort's consciousness recoil from that revelation. As if repelled by an unseen force, his mind was abruptly ejected back to the waking world, heavy with the weight of an invisible anvil.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, not even suspecting that he was witnessing a great secret. That the essence of the original Joan of Arc, captured in memories and legends, was slowly filling the dark shell of Jeanne Alter, helping to revive a new, mighty soul of the holy virgin.
"This... can't be..." Voldemort barely squeezed out mentally, thinking no one could hear him. His face was completely bloodless, his eyes frantically darting from side to side.
"Give me Potter!" he suddenly roared, turning his gaze to Jeanne. "Or I will destroy you with my own hands!"
Jeanne just laughed in response. It was as if a creaking iron sound echoed from her mouth. She stood up straight, straightening her shoulders, so that the sparkling armor reflected the dancing glow of the ritual fire.
"You? Destroy me?" she said in a low voice, pouring all her contempt into it. "Pathetic vermin, you can't even touch the grace that fills me!"
Her laughter echoed once again over the graveyard, awakening timid echoes of the tombstones.
Voldemort recoiled, retreating. But instead of fear and horror, his twisted face contorted with anger mingled with confusion. He helplessly looked at the frozen Death Eaters, as if expecting support from them. But sensing the strength of the new enemy, they only cowered on the ground, trembling with primal fear.
Jeanne reached out and with a clang, she pulled a sword from the air - a beautiful golden sword shining in the light of the bonfires like a heavenly ray. She raised it ready and suddenly swooshed through the air, stepping forward.
With a dull clink, the blade plunged into Voldemort's chest, piercing his magical cloak and flesh. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, his eyes widening to the maximum.
"How dare you. Touch. The soul. Of the real. Joan of Arc!" each of her words was accompanied by a new strike of the blade, delving deeper and deeper into Voldemort's flesh.
Then she abruptly pulled the sword towards her, ripping it out of the wound with a sharp sound. Jeanne stepped back, squinting at the black blood splattered everywhere, and hissed through her teeth:
"Hear the cry of a soul filled with fury..."
But she didn't have time to finish the spell. Voldemort, like a severed branch, suddenly disintegrated into a misty vapor, evaporating into the air. And in a moment, his whole body took shape again - already twenty paces away from Jeanne, shuddering with unbearable pain and clutching the wound on his chest.
He cast one bewildered glance at the Death Eaters, then also dissolved into the misty haze, dissipating into the night. His followers hesitated for only a moment, but that was enough.
"Cowards! Low unprincipled cowards!" Jeanne roared, furious, raising the sword for a new attack. "How dare you, servants of evil, abandon your master to the mercy of holy fury?!"
But the Death Eaters didn't even listen to her. One by one, they also fell into the smoky semblance of mist, fleeing the graveyard in different directions. Soon Jeanne was left alone amidst the traces of the great battle.
Her heavy breathing escaped with puffs from her mouth. Jeanne looked down at the sword, still clutching it in her bloodied hand. Her chest heaved, but suddenly her body slackened and relaxed.
Slowly, almost reverently, Jeanne raised her left hand and removed her crown from her head, a strange metallic arc - something vaguely resembling a royal crown. Moonlight played on her triumphant face as she tilted her head back towards the heavens, closed her eyes, experiencing indescribable bliss...
Soon after, she discovered Harry and Cedric. And very soon they left this battlefield of past battles together - Jeanne finally understanding the truth of her destiny, Harry stunned and completely broken, and the most serious Cedric, feverishly considering what all this meant.
Jeanne's memories were taking on a more cohesive and meaningful form. Images flashed of her time at Hogwarts - how she gradually became close with the Weasley family and even young Cedric Diggory, who survived the Tournament, became a kind of friend to her, unaware of her past. How in the toughest moments, these simple people gave her understanding and warmth, touching her heart involuntarily.
A memory surfaced of her meeting with Ritsuka in the ruins of Orleans many years ago, when she first came face to face with her future Master. And that battle marked the beginning of her long journey of enlightenment...
Then the memories approached the fateful battle, where Jeanne was literally brought to the lowest point by Ritsuka and his allies. She remembered lying there, immobilized and wounded, surrounded by seven Servants previously created at the peak of their power... And how suddenly those she had expected only deadly blows from reached out a helping hand to her.
Jeanne involuntarily closed her eyes, feeling again that amazing moment when the true care of these Servants - so different, but so close to her in spirit as warriors - touched her heart. For the first time in centuries, she understood what it meant to be loved. And in that moment, the soul of the holy Jeanne, that maiden from ancient times whose memory lived within her, trembled at the touch of this feeling.
And now, after all the trials, humiliations, and sufferings she had endured, Jeanne in turn had found understanding and was ready to respond with the same love. She felt the warmth in her heart, emanating not only from her unwavering desire to be a hero of humanity, but also from her attachment to those she had come to love in this world - Harry, Cedric, the Weasley family, even the bartender from the Leaky Cauldron.
And it was on that fateful night of meeting the child in the ruins of London that all the threads finally came together in a single knot, taking shape and wholeness. The spiritual connection that had involuntarily formed between her and Harry at the moment they met at the Burrow allowed her to glimpse into the depths of this young man's soul. And she understood - he, like herself, aspired to be a hero, a defender of good and justice.
Perhaps in that moment, Jeanne finally touched something eternal and immortal. She gained the ability to rise above her own biased "self" and acquire the bravery of a truly legendary heroine, equal to her youth.
In a low voice, trembling with overflowing emotions, Jeanne finally managed to articulate all the feelings of that day:
"That night I realized that love is not just a blind feeling, but the highest embodiment of valor. And only the eternal striving of the Soul on its great path, with contempt rejecting evil and piercing through darkness with its fire, can resist decay and decay. And I made a vow - to be filled with this light, to acquire this power, and to become the hope for all humanity in our struggle against ancient evil!"