Anton opened his eyes, the golden ray of the day-sun momentarily blinding him as his pupils adjusted to the sharp light of morning. His muscles throbbed with a dull ache, a twinge of discomfort tightening the fibres in his arms, legs, back, and chest as though the night had been spent under ceaseless exertion. Still, it was worth it. Restorative meditation—the secret of rapid Harmony restoration, tightly hoarded by those who needed it least—was enough of a boon to outweigh its raw, thrumming cost.

It must have irked those bastards to teach someone like me, he thought, a smile lifting his expression as birds chirped a gleeful tune.

His serenity did not last. His smile faded, memories crashing through his thoughts like the pounding hooves of a stampede. Not even the tranquil sight of deer, rabbits, and foxes grazing nearby could quell the storm of unease swirling inside him—nor could the salivating fragrance of spit-roasted meat wafting from the cave's entrance.

We never should have come here, he silently bemoaned.

He was never a wealthy man, but neither had he known the abject destitution that plagued so many among their patchwork group of miserable wretches clinging to fragile hopes of survival. As an Inheritor of relative youth, he had lived a comfortable life—a life he desperately yearned to return to.

All he wanted was a better life for his wife and two daughters. A life where they could hold their heads high and want for nothing. Those weak-chinned bastards had promised him that life—but what good were promises to a corpse?

His children would grow up without a father. His wife would be forced under the sheets of another man. And for what?

Greed?

Renown?

The chance to have more than what had already been enough?

He hated Aaron, Lucia, and the Seer for leading him here. He blamed them for everything, but more than anyone, he blamed himself. They made the offer, but no one had forced him to accept it. The peril he now faced, the losses he had sustained, he understood better than anyone—it was his own insatiable ambition that had brought him to the precipice of ruin.

Many of his friends—his brothers and sisters in arms—were already gone, lost to the ceaseless horrors of this godsforsaken place. Even his captain had not survived, skewered by the thorns of a plant like nightmare as he held off the beast for the others to escape.

Now it was down to Anton to lead—to ensure that at least the few survivors from his Guild made it out alive. No one needed to tell him he was unequal to the task. He could barely secure his own survival, much-less that of those who no longer even looked to him for leadership.

Another thing those devils took from me, he thought, scorn deepening his scowl.

Castro and Sabine had been his men once, loyal and steadfast—but that was before the Seer had stolen their hearts and minds. Now, they were blind followers, their lives and deaths clutched in the palm of someone so unworthy. And they were not alone in their beguilement. In truth, of the original group, Anton believed only Franklin remained immune to that she-devil's deceit, and he posed another problem unto himself.

He knows something I don't, he thought, unease bubbling into a simmering boil.

Anton was no fool. He had noticed the change in Franklin's comportment almost immediately. For as long as they had known each other, Franklin had always been a polished-tongue, back-scratching opportunist—eschewing loyalty and honour for gain at every turn. Yet the way he now clung to that over-groomed sop of an employer went beyond mere opportunism. It reeked of certainty—an unsettling conviction that he alone understood where this path would end.

'You should come eat with us, sir,' a voice called from behind. He did not need to turn to recognise the gentle hum of the girl. Sabine—the one he had sworn to protect.

'It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Sabe?' Anton replied, his tone calm and contemplative. He still had his pride—he would not allow his charge to find him in distress. 'I just wanted to enjoy it for a while.'

'Of course, sir,' Sabine said, her gaze briefly falling to the ground, her tone uncomfortably formal for a woman whose hand he had given in marriage only a few years prior.

'Why don't you join me for a spell? I wouldn't mind the company,' Anton said, patting the flat of his palm atop the fungal bedding. The brush of the grass-like shrooms tingled the soft sides of his fingers as he traced small circles over the pliant surface.

Sabine moved to her knees, her head slightly bowed as she faced Anton.

'What did you wish to discuss, sir?' Sabine asked, her voice hesitant but polite.

'It's just the two of us here, Sabe. Relax,' Anton said, his calm tone drawing a sigh from Sabine as the tension visibly rolled from her shoulders.

'It is a beautiful day, Si—Anton,' she said, catching herself mid-address. Leaning back, her hands rested behind her on the soft earth, the day-sun's rays painting her expression with radiance.

Together, they sat in a shared silence, their breaths mingling with the rustling of small woodland creatures scurrying within the fungal underbrush.

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So rarely did Anton find space to relax that he did not want to tarnish the moment. Yet, he knew such fantasies—no matter how stout—could not hold. Reality always seeped through, possessive in its claim over everything.

'I want you to distance yourself from from the nobles, and the Seer. Whatever they have planned, I want both you and Castro by my side when it happens.'

Sabine's eyes flashed wide as she held Anton's gaze, her mouth ajar.

'I don't understand—' she begun, but then faltered as Anton pressed on.

'I don't trust them, Sabe. And I swore to your husband that I would bring you back alive.' He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, his gaze steady. 'Please, don't make me a liar. I couldn't live with myself—not when there's still something I can do to protect you.'

Sabine's expression cycled through concern to sadness, to indignation before settling on resolve.

'I can't do that...' she said, her tone soft yet resolute. 'Not even for you.'

'They can't be trusted!' Anton pleaded, urgency gripping his voice like a lover's hand clutching another as they dangled over the edge of an abyss.

'They can't, but she can!' Sabine shot back, her voice sharp and unwavering, leaving no room for argument. 'This is bigger than us! Bigger than your promises—or even whether we live or die, Anton! You've seen the world—all the suffering, all the dying while the powerful do nothing! She can change all of that! The gods abandoned us, so we need a new one.'

Though the words came from Sabine's mouth, Anton could hear Shar's voice bleeding through them.

I should have stomped out her fanatical proselytizing long before it got this far, Anton thought bitterly, shrinking back as though seeing something grotesque and deformed in the woman he had sworn to protect.

Unwilling to surrender his charge to the Seer's predations, Anton parted his lips, a retort poised on his tongue. But before he could give voice to his unsettled concerns, a motion in the distance drew his attention.

Cloaked in whirling winds, the Seer's acolyte darted along the side of the mountain passage wall, her silhouette growing sharper with every heartbeat. She leapt from the rock, spiralling through a vortex of gales, twisting mid-air before landing with barely a whisper at his feet.

'Come,' Shar said, her tone brisk, forgoing any pretence of pleasantries. 'We need to discuss strategy.'

****

With the group's strategy decided, Shar Badr strode beside her lady, the serene field of bioluminescent fungi fading behind them, replaced by the cold austerity of the gravel-strewn path ahead. The soft glow of the fungi's light surrendered to the harsh gleam of stone underfoot, mirroring the unyielding clarity of their purpose.

They walked far from the pitiless rabble that trailed behind—Shar would not allow their frivolous chatter to taint her lady's presence.

Many within the group had come to share in the Seer's vision, but Shar saw the truth of their faith: it was shallow, brittle. They believed only what comforted them, ignorant of their sacred role in the greater plan. Should they learn the truth of their sacrifice, she doubted their resolve would hold.

To give oneself fully to the ultimate cause was a privilege beyond measure—one no true believer should question. That her lady insisted on secrecy spoke volumes of the group's inadequacy. They were unworthy even of the Seer's concern, let alone her favour.

'The preparations have been made, my lady,' Shar said, her tone clipped and precise, each word chosen to spare the Seer even a moment's unnecessary thought.

'Just wonderful,' Annalise replied, her radiant smile igniting a fervour in Shar's chest. 'And the key?' she asked, her tone as warm as it was expectant.

'The stage is set to lure the Fractal Beast to the altar. The moment the Desmond girl enacts the Sequence, it will bind to them, and you shall have the bow,' Shar answered without a heartbeat's hesitation.

Annalise's expression weighed heavy with rumination. Shar knew what burdened her heart. Though the Seer's resolve was unshakable, her compassion bled beneath the surface. If there were another way to grasp divinity, her lady would have seized it. But there was not.

They had just over three hundred years before the Dungeon Cell would open, and only those who held a key would be permitted entry. Her lady was of the Soldier rank in her Inheritance—powerful, yes, but against the might of the noble classes, against the few who had climbed to a Lord's Inheritance, her strength was a drop in the ocean.

That, of course, would change. She would ascend—she had to. To rise to the pinnacle of power, she must first become a Lord herself.

For that, she needed the key.

It was not the only one in existence, but the others were spoken for. Clutched in the hands of the unworthy, passed down to their progeny like toys to bolster influence over a decaying world.

These Lords—content in their rule—were blind fools. Thinking themselves invulnerable, they had stagnated for centuries, unwilling to risk their lives for greater power. They were relics draped in finery, incapable of daring to grasp what lay further down the path of divine Inheritance.

'Who should we take with us?' Annalise asked, her voice cutting cleanly through Shar's thoughts, causing her to stagger mid-step.

'Myra,' Shar replied instantly, her tone measured, though her mind raced. 'Perhaps… Anton as well. He would need to be subdued—he will not follow our cause—but his bravery is…' Her face tightened as though reaching for an elusive word. A faint stutter bubbled on her lips before she finally managed: '...commendable.'

Only in her lady's presence did she falter so.

Annalise hummed a melodic tune, tapping her forefinger gently against her top lip as if orchestrating her thoughts.

'What about Havoc?' Annalise asked, her voice soft but deliberate. 'He is talented and pragmatic. If he survives this place, I believe he will go on to do great and terrible things. He will be a force of turmoil and change—and this world could use a bit of both, don't you agree?'

Shar hesitated, loath to dissent with her lady's predilection. But the Seer desired devotion, not hollow sycophants. To disgrace the value Annalise held in conviction with honeyed lies spun from a venomous tongue would have been unforgivable.

'The boy's abilities are exemplary, and were he to join us, he would make a powerful ally. But his bond with the Selenarian has grown too strong. He will oppose your design for her, and his grievance would likely hound us long after her bones have crumbled to dust,' Shar advised, her tone weighed with solemnity.

'You have a point…' Annalise hummed, her lips curving into a faint smile. 'Still, when the time comes to take the girl, leave him alive. We'll give him a fighting chance and leave the rest to his own luck and capabilities.'

'By your word, my lady.'

As their boots crunched against the gravelled terrain, drawing them closer to the final Dungeon-Spawn on their path, Shar struggled to contain her anticipation—her marvel—at her lady's unfurling design.

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