That night, Tristessa's insomnia returned with vengeance. Fueled by the unnatural cold within her subconscious, it prevented her from closing her eyes despite the extreme fatigue and exhaustion that weakened her more and more with each passing day.

And then there were Astoria's snores, rattling the windows and sounding like an ursall about to pounce on its prey.

"Damn it, how can she snore so loudly? Is it from all the drinking?" she thought, seeing the silver-haired woman sprawled in the long, black velvet sofa amidst the gloom. "Really, Astoria, at least make yourself comfortable..."

Without removing her armor or black cape, she lay on her back, the smell of rancid beer emanating from her wide-open mouth along with strands of drool. She was still clutching the neck of the fourth bottle she'd drunk until she fell asleep. Some of the liquid had spilled onto the plates and hard-leather pants protecting her right thigh. And the other empty bottles lay on the floor next to the sheathed greatsword, which blocked the way.

That wasn't a problem in itself. No one was going to pass through that small corridor between the armchair and the coffee table. Their surfaces covered with plates stained with grease, bones from some avian-like animal whose name Tristessa couldn't recall, and half-full jugs of water.

The Roundtable Cabaret's Deluxe Suite was serving the unorthodox purpose of a hotel room, when the original purpose of that place was for people to go to chat and enjoy their free time with hostesses. The chandelier lights were off, the weak fire in the fireplace the only source of dim light. There was no point in appreciating the luxurious displays of ancient history scattered across the shelves, the exquisite furniture, or the paintings salvaged from the destruction of the elven lands.

The only productive things to do there were sleep…and get drunk.

"At least she didn't drink the whole bar herself," Tristessa thought, standing by the large window that overlooked a deserted little square, illuminated by the streetlights of the city's red-light district.

Looking away from the noisy woman, the gray-eyed girl saw Severus asleep in the armchair, deliberately placed near the fireplace. He was leaning back, his head resting on his shoulder. His eyes were open but deep in sleep, and he was trembling with fear. The nightmares he hadn't been able to shake since his encounter with Moebius's shadow.

"Mm, ah…Uh…," the blood elf groaned, the torment so profound it contorted his mouth, his lips curling and his teeth clenched. "G-go…ah…"

"Poor Sev. I'd like to take his hand and whisper in his ear that everything will be alright… Without getting electrocuted if he wakes up, of course."

Tristessa's group had decided to spend the night there only to be together. As a precaution, after that meeting in the cornerstone of Entrana's Upper Ward.

Just like when they slept outside Burnt Fort Hexel after the victory against the Dullahan, someone was keeping watch while the others slept, taking turns every two hours. This time, it was Auron's turn to keep watch from the corridor, even though Tristessa had assured them that she could do the job for the rest of the night due—unfortunately—to the insomnia she'd been suffering from for several days.

"And I'm sure that even without insomnia I wouldn't have been able to sleep. After that meeting…" she thought, glancing outside for the umpteenth time, as if she expected to find something other than an empty plaza in a sleeping city. "I'm still alive… We're all alive."

No one had stopped them from leaving the Lord's Castle. No one had tried to stab them in the back on the way back to the commercial district. Jonas Youngblood had kept his word, and luckily, Aurelia hadn't acted on her own to seek revenge; she had ended up as the face of defeat at that meeting.

Isolated, contradicted, her authority denigrated, and her justice called into question, ironic as it may sound. The villain of the evening, cruel and a prisoner of her own uncontrollable emotions.

"Now all that's left is to wait… But for how long? The Mercer-Archeos and the caravan are arriving, with the Coven hot on their heels." Tristessa pressed her hand against the cold glass, feeling countless sharp pains piercing every nerve beneath the skin of her palm. "What if Aurelia continues to obstruct my path? What if the audience wasn't enough to remove her from the chess board…?"

In the midst of her pessimistic reverie, Tristessa heard the creak of the rusty hinges of the door. Neither Astoria nor Severus reacted, alcohol and fear clouding their perception.

"Ah, it's time to shift already, Auro…?"

The dark-haired girl's question trailed off as she saw that the silhouette slipping into the suite, as shadowy and silent as a ghost, wasn't of the gunslinger.

"…!"

The door closed behind the hooded intruder. The faint crackling of the fire revealed to Tristessa the white mask of a Wraith, and in an instant she imagined the worst possible scenario.

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She thought of Auron dead in the hallway, his throat slashed from end to end, his blood staining the floor crimson red.

She thought of Sylas Roy Khan, Aurelia's Hidden Shadow, having found them on his wrathful mistress's orders.

She thought of daggers flying through the air, piercing the two sleepers. One striking the center of her chest, shattering her sternum and filling her insides with deadly poison.

And she thought of blood rotting and decaying as it flowed desperately to her heart, and from there, to the rest of her body...

"Miss Tristessa."

Hearing that guttural yet feminine voice, the girl managed to stifle the scream of terror inside her mouth. The sudden rush of adrenaline would continue to make her heart pound like crazy for a few minutes, but at least she knew there was nothing to fear.

Perhaps.

"Stormcrow… I thought I wouldn't see you for the rest of the night," Tristessa said in a low voice, so as not to disturb her companions. "Or would you prefer I call you Vektra?"

The Imperial assassin walked over the beer bottles and Astoria's sword, the light from the fireplace illuminating her from the side and revealing the black bird from the Stormfall Dominion that betrayed her identity.

"As you wish, I have no preference," she replied, her intention more than evident: to shorten the distance between them as much as possible and bathe in the dense Discord that Tristessa's dark soul unleashed. "As long as you fulfill your duty."

Hearing her say that instilled in Tristessa a fear different from the one Death caused her. Of equal magnitude, equal in making her feel putrefaction spreading through her organs, equal in the natural repulsion. Unwanted, like a disease.

"Y-yes, of course. Come here…"

The west side of the suite overflowed with equal quantities of artifacts from the Age of Kings protected behind glass cases, as well as works of art such as paintings and statues ravaged by time before being rescued for sociocultural purposes.

It was easy to forget that the building that housed that double room was not a museum, but a cabaret. That's why there was a single cubicle in the center of that section, as spacious as it was luxurious, with high-quality fabric upholstered in couches, and a small table with only a crystal ashtray on it.

"Your first," the assassin requested, and Tristessa silently sat down, enveloped in the dark chill that the fireplace failed to dispel from that part of the room. Her body sank deliciously into the cushions and the soft material the couch was made of. "Cozy?"

"It is."

"Let me judge that myself."

The pleasure of that comfortable seat ended when Stormcrow sat beside her. She snuggled up to her so that their legs intertwined, the black leather of their trousers brushing against each other with gentle friction and warmth.

"Ah... Yes." The Wraith sighed with joy, as if she was purging a great amount of stress from her system. All thanks to that toxic, ethereal presence of the Darkness. "All the effort was worth it, in the end."

"I'm glad you like this as a reward for saving us," she said, letting out a nervous giggle that tried to hide the disgust she felt at this intimate interaction. And when Vektra put her arm behind her back and her fingers caressed side, putting pressure over her ribs, Tristessa nearly jumped out of her skin. "K-Kyaa!"

"You're very cute, Tristessa Irandell… Try not to scream so loud, you don't want to wake your companions."

"I'll try…" she whispered, trying not to focus on the darkness offered by the openings of the mask at eye level. Seeing the delicate curves of the nose, the outline of the lips of that closed mouth, and the slight mounds of the cheekbones was better than the dark uncertainty materialized by the curse implicit in the mask. "Tell me, is Auron out there? Did he let you in?"

"He never even realized I was here. Although I preyed on the moment his patrol led him to the end of the corridor, he didn't sense my presence at any point. Nor did he hear the door open," the assassin explained, her heavy, gravelly voice giving away her disappointment. "I expected more from the perception of a former gunslinger."

"Or perhaps your standards are too high, Miss Malak Nergal?"

"Hmm… Yes, I won't deny that I want the very best. Starting with you and your deliciously beautiful dark soul, lass."

Hearing her speak in a playful, seductive way was a traumatic experience for Tristessa. Her sinister voice didn't at all match the lust of a lover. It was toxic, driven by the darkness of her Divinity.

And it triggered in Tristessa a mental regression to that cell in the Lord's Castle, to the last failed loop.

"I want to feel your naked body against mine, feel your Discord embracing my spirit as you and I become one."

Tristessa remembered the feelings of the chains immobilizing her arms. She had felt an insane amount of fear by then, she felt it now, and she was going to felt it forever and ever… But, with a newborn addition of guilt, because the mental image she had of that fantasy, it brought a forbidden warmth inside her.

"You'll make me lose my mind."

And Stormcrow was not going to be the only one to fall into that vortex that spiraled down. Madness was a real consequence of actions and events that the human mind could not tolerate. An unbearable weight, breaking the mind and crushing the soul.

But… In contradiction, that spiral brought back from the precipice a dark memory that was supposed to stay hidden, locked away.

The deranged face of a woman with grey eyes opened wide and filled with malice; a cruel smile and the hunger of a starved beast that drooled nonstop. Tristessa had no idea who she was or why was she so close to her face…but she could feel her hands around her neck. Chocking her, fingers trying to crush her windpipe.

And her desperate voice, tainted with the same madness that had threatened to enslave both Tristessa and Stormcrow within its grasp.

"Tessa… WHY EVERYTHING THAT YOU LOVE DIES?"

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