A year without saints.

The Coven Wheel of the Year does not follow any divine calendar.
Nineteen festivals mark the cycle – each of these nights distorts a familiar ritual, desecrates a symbol, breaks a law.
What others celebrate as light, we transform into embers and shadows.
It is not a cycle of the year. It is a cycle of fire, blood, and silence.

WELCOME TO THE ERA OF BLOOD AND SILENCE.

The fourth feast in the Coven Year.

While green is worn outdoors,
Beer flows and legends are smoothed over.
The Kult retells the story.

It is said that Saint Patrick drove away the snakes.
We say: He has lost.

At theSaint Serpent's Day returns,
which was repressed, banished, and demonized.
The snake – not as a temptation,
but as a reminder of
that knowledge is always inconvenient.

This is not a day of purification.
It is a festival of distortion.
Saints become myths,
Myths turned into lies,
and turning lies into tools.

Green is not worn here as a symbol of hope,
but as camouflage.
And those who look closely will notice:
The snakes never went away.

Welcome to Saint Serpent's Day.

It is said that Patrick cleansed the country.
He drove the snakes away,
they were driven into the sea
and leave it tidy.

The bells rang,
the hills became silent,
and for a moment people believed
that purity is something that can be enforced.

But snakes don't disappear.
They are learning.

In the weeks following the victory
The ground began to move again.
Not visible, not open –
only as a subtle trembling under bare feet,
as a soft rustling in the grass,
which was best ignored.

They crawled out of the cracks,
one after the other.
Thin, patient, older than any prayer.
They wore no crown, no cross,
only the knowledge,
that everything repressed will eventually return.

One of them stood upright
and observed the people for a long time.
Not angry.
Not hungry.
Almost amused.

She saw the flags,
the green
the stories that were told,
so as not to have to look more closely.

Then she hissed, quietly enough,
that only those heard it,
who were willing to listen:

"You did not drive us away."
"You just kept us waiting."

Since that night, it has been said,
that any celebration that is too loud,
at some point it will be accompanied by hissing.
That every glass that is raised,
something is being concealed.

And that Saint Patrick won –
But Saint Serpent remained.

Patient.
In the shade.
Ready when laughter grows hollow
and the green is too bright.