Scarlett wasn't sure what to expect from this new, unexplored section of Beld Thylelion. She didn't know what to make of the seemingly divine presence saturating its walls, nor of the 'charge' Itris had bestowed upon her. All in all, there was a great deal she was left wondering about.

As ever, it wasn't a pleasant feeling.

But it didn't halt their progress.

Contrary to what they might have feared, there had been no further divine communions or unsettling visions since Scarlett's encounter with Itris' avatar. Nor had they run into the guardians or other constructs that plagued the upper levels. Instead, they advanced chamber by chamber through large, silent halls of stone, each descending slightly deeper, with no real discernible purpose.

It was strange. Not in the same chaotic, haphazard way that defined most of Beld Thylelion's design, but in a colder, sterile fashion. The rest of the complex, however erratic and mismatched, was still functional in some arcane logic. These chambers, though, felt like dead ends. Their only distinction was the divine energy thick in the air, and Scarlett had yet to figure out where that came from.

Still, she supposed the lull offered one small benefit in the form of catching their breath. Scarlett was confident her party could have maintained their earlier combat pace if needed, but the respite was nice to have. Rosa, in particular, needed it. Despite her attempts to appear unaffected, the bard was clearly wearing down.

Her Heartstone really didn't take kindly to this place.

Scarlett wished she could help, but no solution came to mind. And whenever Rosa caught her looking, she would either crack some stupid, ill-fitting joke or insist she was fine — that Scarlett didn't have to worry.

Given Rosa's tendency to claim she was fine when she wasn't, Scarlett felt justified in her skepticism. Even so, she trusted the bard would speak up if things became genuinely unbearable, so for now, she held back.

By the time they passed into what must have been their twelfth empty chamber, emerging into a wide stair-lined corridor so precisely cut it seemed grown rather than carved, Scarlett found herself half-listening to a conversation behind her. Allyssa and Kat were discussing floriography, of all things. How the topic had come up, she couldn't guess, nor did she know whether Kat's knowledge extended beyond the basics. Still, the light conversation kept them sharp enough if trouble arose.

Now and then, Allyssa tried to drag her father and Shin into it, quizzing them about petal colours and symbolism, but neither knew much. Eventually, Allyssa resigned herself to explaining everything herself with an exasperated sort of cheer. Scarlett could respect the girl's enthusiasm — it was genuine and infectious. Kat and Arnaud both seemed to enjoy seeing her light up that way.

Still, Scarlett would've preferred not to be roped into it.

Allyssa had apparently assumed that because Scarlett's estate contained curated gardens and rare blooms, she must know something about floriography. Which, of course, was utterly wrong. Scarlett appreciated how certain flowers looked or smelled, sure, but she only knew the names of the most common varieties back in her world, and she'd certainly never bothered learning more.

Somewhat understandably, Allyssa didn't bother asking Fynn, who had already admitted the only plant he knew was one that grew in the snowy peaks of his tribe's home. As for Rosa, despite her at-times flowery speech, the bard herself showed surprisingly little interest in flowers beyond their appearance.

Shin might have been expected to know something, given his reading habits, but he seemed even more clueless than Scarlett — though Allyssa's nagging tone suggested that might have been by choice.

Just as Allyssa was describing the symbolic use of a particular blossom in the funeral rites of the Followers, they entered another chamber. It was as lifeless and empty as the rest.

After only a few steps, Fynn—leading the way—halted and raised a hand.

Scarlett stopped, narrowing her eyes as the white-haired youth crouched low and sniffed the air. She scanned the chamber and the corridor ahead, shadows deepening there, but saw nothing.

Behind her, the group had gone silent. They didn't need her to tell them to be ready.

Suddenly, Fynn's head snapped towards the far corner of the chamber. A growl escaped his throat.

Scarlett followed his gaze.

There was nothing there—

The [Hartford Garnet Ring] on her finger flared, burning hot against her skin.

In the corner, a thin veil of dark smoke unravelled from the air itself. It twisted into drifting coils, accompanied by a hollow, eerie laughter, like wind passing through bone.

Scarlett's eyes widened. She moved to act, but Arnaud was already standing in front of them all, sword raised and flashing silver.

The chamber erupted.

The smoke surged outward in a violent rush — only to crash against an almost invisible web of hair-thin silver lines, strung across the chamber like a spider's net. A shimmering, unspoken barrier.

A stillness fell. The smoke churned against the wall, seething and restless, refusing to dissipate.

Arnaud stood rigid, cold tension radiating from his stance. Then, finally, he turned to Scarlett.

There was a sharpness in his gaze she hadn't seen even when he'd once threatened her to keep Allyssa and Shin away from her expedition.

"Baroness," he said, quiet but heavy. "Can you remove this smoke?"

She studied him, glancing at the fog.

Up close, it almost looked less like smoke and more like countless black grains of sand suspended in the air. Thick, clinging, spiralling endlessly upon itself.

The sight alone raised the hairs on her neck.

"…Leave it to me."

She raised the [Eternal Flameweaver's Athame]. Wisps of bluish-white fire curled up the blade, blending into flickering tendrils of red flame that she willed forward, threading through Arnaud's barrier into the heart of the smoke.

The fire began to devour. Divine flame chewed greedily through the malignant mist, stripping away its mana in layers. Slowly, the chamber cleared.

It wasn't easy. Itris' flames resisted being called in such volume, and Scarlett burned through a sizeable portion of her reserves. But eventually, the last traces of smoke dissolved. What remained was a sea of black, viscous sand coating the floor like congealed ink.

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In the corner—where there had stood nothing before—sat a small metal cylinder, half-buried and slick with the sand.

Scarlett's eyes locked on it. She unclasped the [Depraved Solitude's Choker] from her neck, passed it to Rosa for refilling the mana, and stepped up beside Arnaud.

She met his eyes. His expression told her he had recognised it.

Just as she had.

This was bad.

Very bad.

"…What was that?" Kat asked at last.

"A trap," Scarlett said.

"Left by…?"

Scarlett's expression hardened.

"…The Undead Council," Arnaud answered in her place.

A sharp gasp sounded from behind. Scarlett ignored it, focusing on the black sand and the device in the corner.

There was no doubt about it. This was the Undead Council's handiwork. Their magic. A snare laid by one of their number to catch someone unaware. Even Fynn had barely sensed it in time. If it had sprung before…

No. That wasn't what mattered most now.

What mattered was what it implied.

The Undead Council was here. Somehow, they had made it deeper into Beld Thylelion than Scarlett and her group.

She had no idea how that was possible. Not even the Hallowed Cabal seemed to have reached this far — yet the Council, a faction she'd barely interacted with in this world, one that had only recently started to stir, had outmanoeuvred her?

It made no sense.

How the hell could they possibly have made it this deep?

"…We have no time to waste," she finally said, facing the others. Her gaze lingered on Rosa, channelling mana into the choker. Hopefully, the woman would have the strength to continue.

Scarlett turned towards the corridor ahead. "From here on, there will be no more distractions. No idle talk. Our only focus is reaching the end of these halls before it is too late."

Arnaud studied her. "And if we do not?"

She looked at him. "You are familiar with the Undead Council, Mister Astrey. Are you not?"

The man had been gone for months on a mission in the Unresting Steppes.

Arnaud gave a short nod. "I am."

"Then you understand their true goal?"

"To an extent. Immortality."

Scarlett shook her head. "No. Not mere immortality. That is only a stepping stone."

The Hallowed Cabal sought the Tribute of Dominion because it was the only means of truly freeing the Anomalous One once its seal broke. Insane by most standards—callous, destructive, and absolutely dangerous—but there was still a sort of vision behind it. With the Anomalous One's ascension, they hoped to reverse and remake the world, to cast down the 'false' gods and laws binding it. Misguided or whatever you might want to call it, there was at least an ambition beyond mere self-interest.

The Undead Council's aims, meanwhile, were far baser.

Arnaud watched her closely. "Then what lies beyond immortality that they would pursue?"

"Godhood," Scarlett said. "They intend to replace the current pantheon."

There was a moment of silence.

The divinarchs had once been something akin to demi-gods. Elevated beings not too far below the actual gods. The Council wanted to achieve the same feat and then take it one step further.

"…Is that even possible?" Allyssa asked.

Scarlett regarded her, then looked back at the black sand coating the floor. "…Perhaps. In theory."

She wasn't certain herself. She'd only done three playthroughs of the game — and she hadn't even finished the third. None of them had involved the Undead Council route, though she knew one existed. To know if their goal could succeed, she would have needed to see that ending. But that was no longer possible.

Regardless, they were a threat.

"Rosa, we will need your charms," Scarlett said. "Do you have the strength?"

The bard stepped forward, holding out the choker. Scarlett blinked, surprised. That was quick. Normally, it took Rosa longer to recharge it.

"I'll be fine, Scarlett." Rosa's eyes held a determined glint. "Focus on what's ahead, and I'll be here to back you up. 'Kay?"

Scarlett paused. In Rosa's gaze, she caught faint streaks of violet-tinged darkness flickering beneath the surface.

She said nothing for a few seconds. Taking the choker, refastened it at her neck, and straightened.

"Then we move." She conjured a narrow stream of water to sweep the chamber clear of sand, parting a path forward. "This is now a race against time."

A bright note rang from Rosa's klert. Energy surged through Scarlett, like a challenge daring her to run.

She hated running — the awkwardness, the lack of composure. But she'd have to suck it up for now.

As one, they pressed forward at full speed, Arnaud and Fynn leading in case of more traps. Rosa and Scarlett fell towards the rear, the least fit of the group. Normally, Scarlett would have been winded within a hundred metres, but Rosa's charms carried her farther, helped along by the minor flames she fed into the [Crown of Flame's Benediction].

It was still exhausting. But as long as she kept her balance and stayed focused, she could keep moving.

They crossed into the next chamber. Then the next. And the one after that.

All empty. No traps. No enemies. Just endless halls of stone, shadows deepening, lit only by Scarlett's flames.

She had no idea how far this descent went, or where it led. But as long as there was even the possibility that someone else might reach the Tribute of Dominion before them, there was no room to slow.

The true problem was not knowing what was waiting for them.

Truthfully, though she had warned the others not to underestimate the Undead Council, she'd nearly done so herself. Given all her knowledge—the advantages it provided her—it had been easy to assume the Council was shackled to the game's original narrative. Rigid where the Cabal had shown the ability to deviate. While dangerous, she'd started believing they were just background villains. Predictable and static, like things should be.

But they had reached this deep first.

Which meant they weren't entirely bound to Fate. They were defying it too.

Scarlett couldn't decide if that was more or less terrifying than if the Cabal had left that trap.

In sheer scale, the Hallowed Cabal remained the greater threat. They were larger, more knowledgeable, backed by forces like the Anomalous One, and filled with heavyweights. By comparison, the Undead Council might seem small. Insular.

With someone like Arnaud on their side, Scarlett would typically feel confident facing any of the Council's agents. The man was just that strong.

But the keyword was typically.

Because while most of the Council couldn't match the strongest the Cabal had to offer, there were exceptions. Or rather, one exception.

As far as Scarlett knew, that figure rarely moved. They hadn't been involved in Beld Thylelion's opening in the game, which might have been reassuring — if not for the laughter that had accompanied the earlier trap.

If luck was against them…that being was already here.

And if so, what awaited could be the most dangerous fight they'd ever faced.

"Stop," Fynn said suddenly.

They froze, weapons drawn, senses sharpened.

Scarlett drew in a slow breath, eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. Fynn didn't need to explain.

They could all feel it.

A thick, malignant presence seeped through the air — slow at first, like the first curling fingers of smoke from a far-off fire, then thickening, pressing closer. The shadows warped at the edges of Scarlett's light. Even the lingering divine energy seemed to recoil in distaste.

Then the pressure surged.

It hit Scarlett like a wave of icy tar, clinging to her skin, dragging at her lungs, pushing in from all sides. It took all her focus to stay upright, and she mustered her will to crush that deep, instinctual part of her that screamed to flee.

Beside her, Allyssa, Kat, and Rosa's faces all went a shade paler. Shin grimaced heavily. Fynn let out a low growl, strands of viridescent wind coiling around him in a defensive spiral.

At the front, Arnaud stood steady, sword ready.

Scarlett had only ever felt a presence like this once before.

Vail. In the Memory of burning Freymeadow.

A dead weight settled over the corridor. Not silence, but absence — like sound had been erased. The shadows beneath her flame stretched longer, reaching unnaturally far.

Then something moved.

At first, it was impossible to tell where the hallway ended and the figure began. Darkness gathered, folding inward, as though night itself had chosen to wear a form.

From that shape stepped a man — or what resembled one. Robes of layered black cloth drifted around him, edges fraying not with time but with a slow, deliberate unravelling, as though the cloth itself rejected his touch. Beneath the folds of his hood, two orbs of black light burned. Dense, focused, like coals of void that drew the eye with unnatural pull.

With each step, the stone beneath his feet blackened. And something followed him. A dark sand-like grit that dragged in thin, snaking trails.

Scarlett's throat tightened.

This was what she had feared.

The figure slowed…then stopped.

He stood at the very edge of the shadows, where her flame flickered weakly, hesitant to reach him. For a long moment, he simply stood.

The others tensed. Arnaud slid a foot forward, blade lifting by a hand's breath.

A faint hum thrummed at the edge of hearing, like whispers filtered through water, mixed with distant laughter. The air thickened further.

The figure tilted his head.

Just slightly.

And then—

He crumpled.

Without a sound, the dreadful silhouette folded in on itself, robes collapsing like an empty sack. A soft thud echoed down the hall.

Everyone stilled.

"…What," Kat said flatly.

Arnaud didn't move, his blade still raised, though his certainty had drained away.

Scarlett blinked.

The drifting sand at the figure's feet wandered aimlessly now, as though it had forgotten why it was there.

"Did he…" Rosa began, her voice uncharacteristically hoarse. "Did he…faint?"

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