The Pyric Coven

As day fades to darkness, so too does our vision, as the Dreamer carries us on weary wings, to a clearing in the nested boughs of Night.
We see Seraphina, watched from the shadows of the wood by Ilvarti, and surrounded by three Pyric Hags, each of which kneels before her. Mother had given her quite the task, to bring these creatures to up to standard...
But no one knew surrender quite like Seraphina.
She twirled the Eshtayiv's flame between her finger, careful not to touch her skin, for it was a fire that could still burn -- even with its master imprisoned. It matched the fire in her husband's eyes, and that of the witches. They had been Void Hags not long ago, creatures of that awful endlessness, and allies of the Horseman of Death. Mother had not been kind when she returned to Night, and found them crawling where they did not belong.
Seraphina: "Again."
Pyric Hags: "We pledge our will to the Lord of Night. The Guardian of the North. A Son of Golden Beast. The Keeper of the Song of Spheres -- the Song of the Cosmos."
Seraphina: "And?"
Pyric Hags: "We pledge our will to the Queen of Night. The Child of Ambrosia. The Spirit of Death Undying. The Master of Ezorod. The Keeper of the Lord's True Name."
Seraphina: "By this pledge you are coven, broken once by death, and reborn in Night."
Pyric Hags: "By this pledge we are coven. The Pyric Coven of Night."
Seraphina nodded in approval, as the magic settled like a lace around them. She could feel their connection to the Fivefold Cauldron renew, somewhere out in those mortal stars... Mother said it was called the Diaspora. It would serve Night, as its coven did.
Seraphina: "Now... Teach me every spell you know."