The pair of magi followed behind Isha as she led them to the village plaza. Every step there felt like it could shake the earth. In a way, he should have expected things to not turn out the way he expected them to. Since when did fate ever listen to his plans? Even against Rodrick, despite his preparations, his death was still almost carved into the stone ruins. Not that any remains would be left behind—the Dungeon Shroud probably did a good job at cleaning up whatever mess they made.

Now, however, it seems his luck has truly run out. Without Tazzith's advice, Soren was practically clueless of what demands the spirit may make. I should have asked him about this sooner… But then again, how would he have expected the bastard to just disappear? It's been several weeks now, and not a single response was heard back.

Perhaps the elves there already heard of his plans. Judging by how late the Blossom Sword Flower has arrived, the amount of "obstacles" She had to deal with on the way there must have been much higher than any of them had assumed.

"Isha, relax. It's not like you're the one going against Her." Soren chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him, face flush with fear and pity. The second one was probably directed at them, Soren assumed.

"Aren't you afraid?" The puzzlement in her eyes looked comical. Soren glanced at Myrin and poked him on the shoulder, making him flinch as if he had been wounded by a spear.

"Of course I am. I mean, look at this guy—he was ready to jump out of his skin from a mere poke."

Myrin glanced at him with his brows furrowed—Soren couldn't tell if he was irritated or befuddled by the sudden jolt. Not that he could really judge him—the spirit they were going against was practically a myth in elven history. Some even directed their prayers to Her. And yet, not only was he going to challenge Her in the Runic Acquisition Festival, but also through the collusion of someone who was contracted to a Daemon—their arch enemy.

"That wasn't funny, Soren." He said dryly. "But, I kind of needed it." He took a deep breath and looked onward, unbridled resolve settling in his eyes. "Thanks… I guess."

Soren chuckled. "I wish someone could motivate me too, though." He shrugged and followed after him. Isha simply chuckled, though, the tension was still seeping out with every word:

"I've only really known the two of you for a few weeks… A shame it will end so soon." She placed her hands together in prayer and closed her eyes, "Oh Serpent of Untruths, the one who slithers between words… May you deceive them of their own fears."

Soren looked at her funnily, "Is that a prayer you give to those marching into battle?"

"Its a prayer for those marked by death."

"....."

He clicked his tongue, "I said I needed motivation, not acceptance of my own doom."

"Aren't those basically the same thing?"

His lips twitched slightly, unable to say anything back. No wonder her brother finds her irritating…

However, he had to admit one thing. The banter helped calm their nerves… At least enough to confidently put one foot in front of the other. It didn't take them long to finally reach the plaza. The cold winds blasted them from all sides, uncaring for what clothes they were wearing. But in that moment, Soren didn't even have the time to shiver.

What reflected in his eyes made him hold his breath.

[You must be Soren Andersen. The Traveler.]

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The words rang in his mind like chimes and bells. Both loud and subtle. Calm and violent. Soothing yet terrifying… He stared at the floating visage, unable to even process his thoughts carefully.

The Blossom Sword Flower. She was staring at him specifically. Numerous other faces were in the crowded plaza, all looking up at the heavens with the same amazed expressions.

He saw a vibrant rose floating freely in the air. Blooming in excess vitality even when surrounded by the frigid snow. Its vibrant reddish hues all mixed together in a strange pattern, leaving most enchanted by the visage, unable to look away.

His eyes naturally trailed up the petals to the figure wearing the glamorous flower as a dress. It was shimmering with dewdrops and flickering pollen—the scent of which spread across the village uninterrupted by the wind.

To say he wasn't enamored by Her beauty would be an understatement. Soren wasn't exactly the romantic type. Yes, he enjoyed the presence of women as much as any other man. And he has had a few flings here and there back in his old world—all of them ended badly for reasons. Definitely not his fault, nope.

But this was different. This wasn't just the casual feeling of being charmed. Nor was it lust.

It was worship. Her honey-dipped eyes, Her vibrant green hair that flickered gracefully with the frigid wind, Her radiant, marble-like skin… Every feature was woven from the concept of beauty itself. She was not to be touched. He was not worthy…

A part of him wanted to simply drop to his knees and pray. But that feeling was held back, partially due to the fact that his eyes were locked on her figure with no way of looking away… He simply couldn't find it in himself to turn his head even if it was sinful.

Gritting his teeth, Soren pulled out his dagger and stabbed himself in the arm. The sharp pain coursed through his body, breaking the spell.

"Curses…"

He should have expected it. After all, one of the Flower Maiden's domains was beauty itself… Even the Saintesses back in Yadria had to cover themselves behind a veil—the mere visage of them could leave most unable to think properly. And that was what was happening here as well.

With blood dripping from his fingers, Soren looked around him. Both men and women alike were charmed the same. Isha in particular looked rather funny—drool dripped from her bottom lip, as if she was hungering for a meal.

With his thoughts still in disarray, he looked back up at the vibrant figure, this time, with a bit more of his mind intact.

"That's me. The one and only."

It took a moment for his mind to receive another echo of Her words:

[I have traveled long and far to find you… The Harbingers of Chaos waged a magnificent battle to stop me, but all their attempts failed in the end. Performing dealings with such filth… How foolish of you.]

"I am often called a Foolish One for a reason." Soren replied with a nervous chuckle. "I assume you're here for the Heartdrinker Sigil, right?"

[It seems Tazzith has informed you well. Though, I doubt he has much more advice to offer.]

Shit. He had already guessed it, but Her words confirmed for him. Tazzith had most likely been silenced in some way. Whatever hellish punishment they gave Him, Soren wasn't very interested to know. But it had to be drastic.

Communicating with Him happened through His Fairy Ring, the marking left on His soul through the contracting of an Anchor. Because of its nature being tied to [The Faerie Court], the seals he was placed under in the Subterranean Shunning Grounds were unable to block any of their conversations. But that, for whatever reason, has now ceased. Either the power of the seals itself were amplified, or Tazzith himself had no time to respond…

"It's unfortunate, but I cannot give you the amulet. I need it for my future plans." He glanced over at Myrin who has also just broken the spell cast on him. The Elven Songster held his head tightly, trying to numb the pain of hitting himself. He glanced back up at the spirit and announced in an assertive tone:

"Spirits of old and new, bear witness! By the authority of the Blossom Command Sigil, I challenge you—Tritia, the Blossom Sword Flower—under the sacred rites of the Runic Acquisition Festival!"

The entity levitated in the air in cold silence. Her honey colored eyes shifted from one perspective to the next, as if to read their thoughts. Soren held his breath. So did Myrin—but just moments ago, he had spoken with unwavering confidence. The weight of their decision settled over them like a thick mantle, silent and inescapable… Almost to the point of suffocation.

After a while, he heard a rather deep sigh echo in his mind.

[Foolish… So utterly foolish…]

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