Nero lay on a bed in the infirmary of the Red House's medical wing.

He was wrapped head to toe in gauze, so he couldn't move at all.

He felt pain almost everywhere and numb in the places he didn't feel pain. He had not thought much of it, but the fight with the Piece of Corrupted Flesh had really done a number on him. The blood of the creature had been far more terrifying than he had ever imagined.

Some of it had mixed into his own blood and gotten into his system, so the first thing Lyon had done after rescuing him was trying to flush it out as it was dangerous.

For now, he had been reduced to a near vegetative state.

After staying in silence for so long, Nero sighs.

"And I didn't even get any Seals." He mutters to himself.

Besides the Seals he gained from slaying the guardian, Nero realizes that he gained absolutely nothing from killing the Thralls. He doesn't know why that is, so he decides to ask the Oracle.

The Oracle replies:

{The Essence of The Thralls no longer belong to them. Rather, they are a piece of a much larger entity. Nothing more than puppeteered suits of flesh. When the fleshly bodies are killed, the essence returns back to the source}.

After hearing this, Nero frowns and asks:

'What is the source?'

{The Heretic cannot access this information at the moment}.

Nero sighs then decides to ask something else.

'The guardian was called a "Piece of Corrupted Flesh." Not only that, but I also gained Seals of Sin after killing it. Why?'

The Oracle responds immediately:

{Because that creature was birthed from a portion of a god's flesh and infused with a wandering abominable spirit. It is not a puppet like the Thralls}.

Nero grimaces. Then his eyes widen.

'Did you say birthed?'

{Yes. That creature was birthed. Created through sorcerous and blasphemous means. It is also a rather juvenile creation. It could only have been created recently, which is why you did not lose your life while trying to kill it}.

Nero feels that something is off.

All the events of the past day begin lining up in his mind. He can't help but be incredibly suspicious.

Then he shakes his head with a sigh.

'Perhaps I am overthinking it?'

He pauses, frowns, then shakes his head again.

'No. I am not. There are certain things that cannot be chalked up to coincidence. There is something terribly off here.'

The pieces don't quite fit together, but the shape they're forming makes his skin crawl.

Created recently...

That means someone in Liedenstorm has access to fragments of a dead god and the knowledge to shape them into abominations. Someone powerful enough to carve pocket dimensions out of reality itself. Someone who, for whatever reason, had set all of this in motion tonight.

But why? And why had that pale man led him specifically into the trap?

Nero tries to think through the implications, but his exhausted mind keeps sliding away from the conclusions, unable to hold onto the threads long enough to weave them into understanding.

Still, with the amount of information he has, he realizes that he cannot do much more. Especially with the way his body is at the moment.

He tries asking the Oracle a few more questions, but it leads nowhere, so he just gives up and sighs.

Then he chuckles bitterly and says:

"All that, just for me to gain just three meager seals." He laments.

Out of the blue, the Oracle replies:

{No. The Heretic gained something else}.

Nero rolls his eyes and thinks to himself:

'Since when did this damned thing become so optimistic?'

Still, he asks:

"Really now? Do tell what else I got from this terrible ordeal."

Then the Oracle says something that Nero does not expect.

{The Heretic has acquired a Primordial Rune}.

Nero's breath catches in his throat.

'A... what?'

{A Primordial Rune is one of the fundamental symbols that existed before every other rune. A foundatioal building block of magic and mystery. They were created at the inception of thought}.

Nero tries to move his hand, to look at his palm where he remembers the burning sensation, but the gauze prevents any movement. He can only lie there, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing.

'What does it do?'

{That information is currently not available to the Heretic}.

'Of course it is,' Nero thinks bitterly. 'Why would anything ever be simple?'

The Oracle continues,

{However, the Heretic should know that Primordial Runes are completely useless to the Heretic at the moment}.

Nero raised a brow, 'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

{Yes. The Heretic should be relieved to know that there are no potential side effects lurking behind the existence of the primordial rune. For the moment, it is as useful as a tattoo to the Heretic}.

'So what you're saying is that I almost became cursed.'

{Or blessed. The distinction becomes meaningless at certain thresholds of power}.

Nero wanted to laugh, but even that small movement would hurt a bunch. Instead, he simply lay there, wrapped like a corpse prepared for burial.

The infirmary is quiet except for the sound of rain against the windows. Somewhere nearby, he can hear footsteps— people moving through the Red House on whatever business occupies them in the dead of night.

His eyelids are growing heavy despite the pain and questions flitting through his mind. His body demands rest so he may heal.

Sleep comes for him like a dark tide, pulling him down into depths of dreams and nightmares. A truly wonderfully terrible place. One he would have no recollection of when he woke.

In the depths of dreams, there is solace. A fleeting solace, but a peaceful one all the same.

The rain continues to fall on Liedenstorm, washing the streets clean of the blood and tears, erasing the darkness of night's horrors as the new day begins...

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