It was a name, a spell, a reckoning.

She met the dimming eyes, unblinking, watching life drain away—her gaze steady, reverent. In less than a minute, the deed was done—and in her wake lay the body of a 12-year-old girl. Holding her bloodied blades before her, their ivory surfaces glistening with crimson, Mars performed a solemn ritual spanning centuries. With ritual calm, she slowly, reverently, crossed them in an X, bowed her head, and whispered a prayer for her fallen prey. “Ee-noch,” she intoned softly—the word both prayer and punctuation, concluding the invocation. It was a name, a spell, a reckoning.