Shar Badr strode across the rugged, uneven ground, her boots crunching the rocky terrain in step with two companions. In truth, to call them companions was far more than they deserved. They were resources—inadequate as they were. She would have traded them both for a blade half as sharp as the knife buckled to her hip, never dismissed into her Spirit Chain.

Some called it impractical to carry a blade as though one of the bereft—those without the privilege of a Spirit Chain. After all, it took no less time to withdraw it from its sheath than to summon it from the Chain. But haste was not the point. She wore the Remnant as a sign—a forever reminder that she was never unarmed, never unprepared. She would not hesitate to strike down anyone foolish enough to test her resolve.

But there was another reason. She was her lady's blade—always to be drawn against those who dared oppose the Seer's vision.

Ultimately, that was their sin: faithlessness. The wretched heathens she had been tasked with defending were all unforgivably guilty of it.

Their ignorance of the coming apotheosis mattered not. They were blood-offerings—the first of many—whose petty afflictions and fears meant nothing before her lady's grand design. Anything less than unwavering devotion to their destined goddess was an affront.

Disgusting, she thought, tuning out Castro's trivial drone. Indifferent to whether her two attendants kept pace, she flooded her dagger—Vortex Fang—with Harmony, compelling the winds to obey.

With the winds at her back, she leapt into the air, her feet grinding against the jagged, vertical wall of the mountain passage as she slid across it with ease.

If her attendants could keep up, that was their prerogative. She had a job to do and no intention of slowing down to endure more snivelling complaints.

She had heard it all ad nauseam: they were hungry, they were frightened, their loved ones were missing. Being the only survivor to reach the third step of her Servant inheritance did not make her their mother—and what a disappointed mother they would make of her.

In the corner of her eye, Shar caught sight of Castro leaping from the ground. He hurtled through the air, landed with a thud, and repeated the motion in a desperate attempt to keep up. Her second attendant, Sabine, was nowhere in sight. No surprise there—she had likely burrowed below ground. Their party had been chosen for mobility. Where they were going, if seen, they would need to be quick.

The Forest was home to creatures of irresistible malevolence—devils against which one could neither fight nor escape. They could only hope to avoid them.

Shar still remembered the first night they spent in the Forest, after the bands of mercenaries had been scattered. Of the sixty who had entered the Dungeon Cell, only thirty-two managed to regroup. Believing themselves safe from the creatures prowling below, they had taken refuge atop a cluster of colossal mushrooms. Most of the fungi were inert—a safe haven for their weary souls. But one of them...

Shivers crept along her spine as she recalled it. The cap of the mushroom split down the middle, revealing rows of acid-coated teeth and swollen, purple tongues.She had been fortunate, keeping her distance from the larger group atop the shroom. Sliding to the ground just before the attack, she avoided their fate. The others were not so lucky. By the time she had scaled back to the top, all that remained were their corroded bodies, skewered between needle-like teeth.

The mountain passage where the survivors now hid was relatively safe. Occasionally, a Dungeon-Spawn would find its way between the narrow cliff-sides, forcing a party to either dispatch the monster or draw it away. But for the most part, it served as adequate shelter, far removed from the true nightmares of the Forest. If she were among the ignorant, Shar might have been convinced it was a godsend. But she knew better. The gods were dead—that was why they needed a new one.

The passage stretched for miles, carving a scar through the Forest's landscape. In some places, the rocky cliffs loomed overhead, shielding the group from airborne threats. Even so, their circumstances were far from sustainable. Sure, they could hunt for food, and someone or another had a water-generating Remnant, but they were caged—trapped between death and demise.

On one end lay the Forest proper. Out there, they would not survive for long. But on the other side, a demon waited. That is where she was heading.

With her Anchor, her feet clung to any surface as though treading solid ground. Admittedly, it was not the most powerful ability, but it served her well as she sprinted across the cliffside, propelled within a tempestuous tunnel of cyclonic wind. Her task was simple, yet fraught with danger. For weeks, the six-armed giant had stood frozen as stone, its only movement the long shadow it cast—turning like the hand of a clock.

One week prior, everything had changed. Liberated from its petrification, the creature had begun to roam—wielding a towering blade in each of its six hands. More concerning still, with each passing day, it stepped deeper into the passage, drawing ever closer to their camp. For now, it remained at a distance—its approach slow, deliberate, like sand slipping through an hourglass. But inevitably, it would reach the survivors. And when that day came, there would be a slaughter.

The thunderous beat of leathery wings caught Shar's attention. In the distance, she spotted a shape. To the untrained eye, it might have been mistaken for a cloud swelling on the horizon, ready to burst and shower lightning and rain upon the land. But though a storm was coming, it promised no precipitation.

Fuck, she cursed silently, scanning the ground for any sign of Sabine. If she were closer to camp, she might have risked sprinting back to hide beneath the overhang. But out here, in the open, there was no hope against a flock of blightfeather-fiends.

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Despite their name, the vulture-like creatures soared through the domed heavens on rubbery wings. Their beaks—stinking of blood and decay—stretched down to their chests, measuring the height and breadth of a man. It was as if they had been designed for such prey.

Faint as it was, she glimpsed the tell-tale bulge of shifted earth, divulging Sabine's presence. The ravenous flock loomed nearer, eclipsing the night-sun's pale glow. Menacing caws tore through the air, heralding death's approach. The blightfeathers would soon be upon her.

She crouched down on the cliffside, gathering the winds in a swirling vortex around her. With a surge of power, she launched herself like an arrow loosed from a taut bow, hurtling toward the ground, which seemed to part in readiness to receive her.

This is going to hurt!

Her assessment proved accurate. Pain exploded through her as she crashed into the rough, stony side of a shallow crater. The earth began to close, sealing her below, but before it shut completely, a shadow dove into the gap. Castro collided with her, dragging them both deeper into the ground as the opening sealed above.

'Unhand me, you oaf!' Shar grunted, shoving Castro's hulking form aside as she wriggled free from beneath him.

'Sorry, ma'am!' he stammered, quickly shuffling backward to put distance between himself and his commander.

Nobody dared breathe as the ground trembled above, raining worm-laden soil down upon them. With talons and beaks sharp enough to shear through rock as easily as bone, the Dungeon-Spawn were an unstoppable force. Only their limited intelligence kept the group from falling into their clutches. If they decided to dig, there would be no escape—no surviving the flesh-rending slash of their razor-edged claws.

In pitch-black darkness, they waited in silence, the scuttle of feet above punctuating the oppressive stillness. The thump of Shar's heart pounded deafeningly in her ears. Blightfeathers were not known for their sense of sound, relying instead on their keen sight. Even so, she wrestled to control her racing pulse, irrationally fearing it might betray their emplacement.

Time passed, and the overhead scurrying retreated. Still, they remained quiet. Counting silently in her mind, Shar waited three minutes, then deeply sighed. They would need to stay hidden a while longer—should the fiends spot them and return, their trick might not work twice—but the worst of the danger had passed.

'Is… Is it safe, ma'am?' Castro asked, his voice a stammering whisper.

'Sabine,' Shar said, her tone sharp and probing, 'can you widen this space?'

'I should—' Sabine began.

'You either will or you won't. I don't accept indecision or half-measures,' Shar hissed. 'So I'll ask again—will you widen this space?'

'Yes, ma'am!' Sabine barked, her voice wavering slightly.

'Good. We'll camp here a few hours then press forward to our goal,' Shar replied flatly. 'Make sure the tunnel is well-ventilated. Castro, get a fire started and prepare the rations.'

If it could be helped, Shar would not slow her pace. But the most terrifying thing about a flock of blightfeathers was that where there was one, many were sure to follow.

It was bad enough that they appeared in Dungeon-Cells, but Shar's experience with the vile creatures predated this expedition by years. She could still hear her parents screaming as they shoved her to the ground—only to be lifted high above the cityscape, their scarlet viscera raining down upon her.

A world where such tragedies were commonplace—it should not exist. That was why they needed a god. And Annalise alone was worthy of that mantle. Her suffering had not broken her; it had tempered her, like steel forged in fire. Yet she had not let her heart grow cold. No, she emanated compassion—warm, soothing, and all-encompassing.

Those noble bastards from every race could go straight to Hell. They had more than enough power to save her home—it simply did not suit them to do so. Theirs was a border town, just outside the settled floors. The prestigious households and esteemed guilds had guaranteed safety within the Vanguard territories, promising an impenetrable bulwark against the Dungeon's predations. If not for their assurances, her family would never have risked living in such a perilous place.

How quickly their oaths turned to ash. At the first sign of danger, her family had been abandoned—left to fend for themselves as the mighty fled.

Only the Seer can transform this abominable jungle into paradise. And I'd give my very soul to see the world she will create.

'Our meal is ready, ma'am,' Castro said hesitantly, his tone laced with the fear of disturbing his commander.

Shar glanced his way before surveying her surroundings. For irreverent infidels, she could admit they had done well. The underground tunnel had been transformed into a suitable bunker, with rock pillars supporting the structure and discreet gaps dug overhead to allow pale light and fresh air into the space. Within a circle of carefully arranged stones, a fire roared. Beneath it, hot coals sizzled as fat dripped from the meat roasting above.

'The pillars are too far apart, and you've made one too many air holes, but it'll do,' Shar said as she moved toward the fire, taking one of the skewered meats. Its savoury aroma filled her nostrils, making her mouth water.

Sabine's broad smile gleamed in the firelight. She waited for her commander to start eating before retrieving her own skewer.

For a moment, the only sound made was the grind of teeth through tender meat. Then Sabine cleared her throat, staring expectantly at Shar.

'Yes?' Shar asked, glimpsing the trembling girl in the corner of her eye.

Sabine did not speak for a moment, a strained whine escaping her throat as if abandoning half-formed words. But then, scrunching her face, she clapped both palms across her face, deeply exhaling.

'How do you do it?' Sabine asked, her tone sheepish.

'Come again?' Shar replied.

'It's just… We've been through so much, but you're always so—' Sabine began.

'So self-assured,' Castro mumbled, sputtering the words through a mouthful of half-chewed food.

'The rest of us have all but given up. Without you, we would have given up completely,' Sabine said, her words hurried, as though anxious that Shar might turn a deaf ear at any moment.

With a rare chuckle away from her lady's presence, Shar turned to face her subordinates. This was the purpose for which the Seer had placed her over the group. When the time came, the devoted would open the way. But their devotion could not be compelled, nor borne of desperation. Only true belief, sprung forth from the heart, would suffice.

They would not need many—just a few. But their dedication would have to match her own in fervour.

She gazed into Sabine and Castro's eyes in turn and smiled.

'It's because I have faith.'

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