Throughout the whole journey to Entrana, the carriage was enveloped in a silence worthy of a graveyard. Not a fly stirred; no one coughed, no one sneezed, and no one sighed to release any of the stress that was, without a doubt, gnawing at them from within.
Everyone except Tristessa, Lucahn, and Vergil—the last two of whom had been asleep since leaving the camp—was staring out the window. Lost in the sepia-toned landscape of the sunset that descended upon the Feydra Plains as if they had never seen something of that nature before.
The truth was, no one was truly looking: each was in their own world, immersed in thoughts that were a mystery to Tristessa.
She saw Jin and Tiara holding hands. The child slept against his father's chest, oblivious to the conflict they were traversing. Trembling with fear and growing worse with every fraction of Imperial vista they traversed, drawing ever closer to the city that had rejected them because of their mad daughter.
To the city where they lost their lives in the last loop.
“…”
Tristessa had to bite her lips to hold back the sigh that threatened to escape her mouth. It was triggered by the rapid flashes before her of the decapitated bodies of them three, blood gushing from the edge of the [Twilight of the Terror Hand], and blood dripping ceaselessly from the edge of the execution platform.
“It won’t happen this time…”
She had to repeat that phrase several times within her, amidst frozen pangs of pain, to exorcise those ghosts of a past that no longer existed.
Turning her head slightly to the side, she saw that Auron was perhaps the calmest of those present, at least at first glance. From the beginning of the journey, he had held his pocket watch in his right hand, and he hadn’t checked the time once. He only stroked its polished metal surface with his thumb, unaware that Tristessa knew what lay inside, besides gears and minuscule, clockwork metal parts.
“I wonder what kind of person this Melinda woman is for Auron to go to such lengths for her,” she thought, offering an apologetic smile to the distracted gunslinger. “He mentioned her concert, before dying in the other loop... Oh, Auron...”
Thinking about Death was inevitable, no matter who it was. Every loved one she looked at would remind her of how they died in a loop she had failed through ignorance, stupidity, or incompetence. It was the curse she had to bear, and no one could understand her torment; to embrace her and tell her that everything would be alright.
When it came to Death, she was completely alone.
“We're here.”
Zephyr's voice startled her, and the sudden jolt of the carriage interrupted not only the girl's train of thought, but everyone's. Lucahn awoke and looked around, disoriented, almost as confused as Vergil.
“Daddy, where are we?!”
“It's okay. Everything will be alright.” His reply came with a hug that conveyed all the emotions a father feels for his son. He wanted to take control of his fears and be a protective fortress against the inevitable, condemned to fail and powerless to do anything about it. “We'll go together.”
Tristessa saw that Tiara hadn't let go of him for a moment. No matter how cold and indifferent that woman tried to appear, the fear she felt for her husband and son was more than obvious. She had done what was necessary to prolong her family's survival in exile, just as she had told Tristessa so many days before.
Reaching that precise moment when her fate, and that of Jin and Lucahn, no longer depended on whether she let an unknown person into her home.
“Come on, everyone down.” The indifferent, professional, and cold-hearted one there was the General. He not only showed no emotion for the family of exiles, but he simply gave the order aloud and stood up. “I won’t repeat myself.”
Jin nodded, exchanging glances with his wife, understanding each other. He helped his son out of the carriage and then Tiara, while Tristessa looked out the window and felt her heart begin to race.
The main avenue and square of Entrana’s Upper Ward. Empty, without civilians or military presence. The desolation was so profound that the wind whistling through the narrow alleyways and tightly packed buildings whistled a deafening tune, with no carriages or voices to compete with it.
The Upper Ward, after five hundred years of decline, already lacked residents befitting the social standing that once dominated that part of the city. Now it was a ghost neighborhood; not a soul walked the streets, and there was no traffic beyond that very military carriage that had stopped in the middle of the area.
“The owner of the bloody theater booked the show just for us,” Tristessa heard Auron say, also looking outside next to her. “I hope Silverthorn and Malak Drakan are all right.”
“Do you think they’ve arrived yet?”
“We’ll see. Let’s not keep fate waiting, shall we, lady?”
“Yes…” she murmured, the weight of the avoidable and inevitable twists of that mysterious and universal concept resting on her shoulders. Changeable, the slightest breath capable of charting a course to victory or to the edge of the abyss. And she, with the power to turn back and rewrite it, through Death. “Let’s go.”
Tristessa stepped out of the carriage, parked in front of the gleaming square of hybrid crystal-cobblestone. The last rays of the day filtered through the clouds and fell upon the surface of the square like static waterfalls made of amber. The wind stirred the dust and scattered about the few leaves that had fallen there from the solitary trees that adorned the streets. At the opposite end stood the solitary, dark fortress of the Lord of Entrana, imposing and intimidating like the lair of some final boss in the videogames Tristessa used to play, but that wasn't what caught her attention.
“There he is...”
It was the only person who defied the solitude that reigned in that place. Someone wearing a black robe, with long gray hair and a white porcelain mask that covered his whole face except for his eyes, hidden by supernatural darkness, and with the image of a black ink-painted smiling demon at the height of his right cheekbone.
“Greetings.” With that simple reception, Tristessa felt her soul shudder. The degree of malevolence in that guttural voice was so intense that one couldn't help but feel the need to escape from certain doom. Even Vergil almost hid behind its owner, howling in fear. “I was expecting you all.”
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Tristessa, Auron, and the Mercer-Archeos stood in a single, invisible line. Side by side, with Vergil close to his owner and Zephyr behind them. They had them cornered, giving them no chance to escape down either end of the deserted avenue. They had no choice but to listen to the Wraith whom Tristessa already had the misfortune of meeting.
“I am Sylas Roy Khan. Hidden Shadow of Lady Aurelia Eramisaptor.” The Wraith placed a hand on his chest and bowed with the same cordiality as in the previous loop. “Although I am aware that this is not your first visit to this historic place, I am pleased to welcome each of you to my lady’s castle, acquaintances…and strangers.”
As he spoke those last words, the Imperial Assassin raised his dark gaze, and Tristessa had no doubt that he was looking at her. Aware of who she was, surely having conducted the necessary research after discovering Vektra's trap. Feeling her Discord spread throughout the plaza like an obscured plague, solidifying his suspicions, just as the Sylas of the nonexistent past had done.
“General Malak Nostromos, please go ahead. Lady Eramisaptor wishes to speak with you first,” Sylas requested of the man behind them. “That is her order.”
“Very well.”
Without questioning, without saying anything more, Zephyr passed between Auron and Tristessa, briefly exchanging glances with her as he walked. No animosity or hostility, only obvious curiosity. His footsteps echoed throughout the empty plaza, along with the squeak of the metal parts of his boots. Soon, the darkness of the castle's vestibule engulfed him, going through the base of the towering portcullis like sharp metal teeth that spoke of ancient hunger.
“Before inviting you inside, I’d like to conduct a small test, if it’s you wouldn’t mind,” Sylas said, and from one of the pockets of his robes he pulled out an object that Tristessa recognized: a soul-shard, the twin of the rhombohedral crystal she had left in the dining room of the Mercer-Archeos house. Sylas held the crystal between his fingers, carefully examining its lack of brilliance and vibration. Its inert state made him hum through his hidden nose in disbelief. “How disappointing… I suppose this is no longer necessary.”
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Sylas dropped the crystal to the floor and stepped on it, shattering it and letting the infinitesimal pieces be scattered by the wind.
For Tristessa, it was interesting to see almost the same situation as the previous loop, but with an outcome that felt almost like a victory. Nothing changed the fact that the Mercer-Archeos had disobeyed Aurelia Eramisaptor's verdict, but this time no one managed to prevent a possible external intrusion like Lord Youngblood's, allowing that family to reach the interior of Entrana right under the noses of the Imperial assassins.
A disgrace for them. A failure embodied in the remains of that twinless soul-shard.
“…what happened, Jin Mercer? Did you lose your faith in the Gods and their angels? In your Angel of the Hunt?” Sylas asked, his tone grim and neutral. Hiding any hint of anger, if indeed that masked man was capable of feeling it. “Please, tell me.”
“…”
Faced with the silence of the man who kept his wife and child close like prey defending its pack from the stalking predator, the assassin pondered for a moment. His gaze shifted to new horizons, beyond the family. To the side, where Auron and Tristessa stood.
“Or could it be…? Oh. It was you, girl.” Sylas chuckled, sending a terrible wave of chills through Tristessa's skin. “You're quite an anomaly, Tristessa Irandell. Lady Eramisaptor told me about you.”
“I-I think I made a rather negative impression on her, sir,” she managed to stammer through the nervousness and fear that always lurked there, waiting to explode like dynamite. This made Sylas laugh again, leading Tristessa to think that such sinister voice wasn’t meant to express such disjointed emotions. “And a few other problems. For her and for you.”
“Indeed. Your sudden appearance and the way certain events unfolded have certainly been an…interesting headache. But enough talk. All of you have a meeting to attend with my lady.”
Sylas turned ninety degrees and, with the formality of a guest, invited the five of them to proceed.
“After you.”
There were no other options. Tristessa and Vergil walked past the Wraith, who followed them with that dark gaze, his obscured eyes fixed on the black-haired girl, while Jin and Tiara had to continue, clutching Lucahn to keep him from breaking down in tears, terrified.
As they passed through the dark entrance and entered the atrium, they were greeted by dozens of Imperial Guards defending the area, positioned in front of the pillars supporting the main building's grand structure and the polished stone walls. Clad in black armor and wielding greatshields adorned with the faces of ancient Imperial lords, the soldiers followed them with their eyes hidden behind the visors of their helmets.
Specifically, staring at the Mercer-Archeos.
It was likely that members of several families had fallen victim to the Coven in the Massacre of the Endless Night, or even that very day, at the Unar lookout post. Hatred hung heavy in the air; a noxious and oppressive atmosphere pervaded the hall, leaving only military discipline as the last shackle keeping those hellhounds bound to their posts.
The very same guard that had guided them in the last loop parted from his position next to the desecrated pillar that was carved with the humanoid representation of Vel’Moran. Without saying a thing, he took the same role, slinging his shield over his shoulder and hooking it onto the support provided by his pauldrons and armor mid-back. He was to lead them into the depths of the spider lair, which several of those present already knew, including Tristessa.
“Keep walking, please,” Sylas demanded, behind them a daemonic beast a thousand times worse than the Imperial Guards. He reaffirmed that there was no way out of this situation but to face the danger head-on. “Lady Eramisaptor does not tolerate tardiness.”
“Is that all…?” Tristessa didn't make the mistake of saying it aloud, but that small thought had the peculiar quality of possessing freezing and reverberating properties within her mind. Making her squint as if the worst migraine had been unleashed inside her. “Mngh!”
“What is it, lady?” Auron whispered, walking beside her through the corridors illuminated with pale, ghost light. Distraught, as was the silent aracross that kept staring at its owner as it gaited in the opposite direction. “Are you alright?”
The invasive presence within her mind was becoming torture, an unbearable burden. Like water from a dam that could not be contained, or a storm lashing a calm sky.
“Damn it! N-Not now…!”
Tristessa felt she wouldn’t be able to contain that parasitic influence much longer… Her mind palace enveloped in a bitter blizzard; her soul freezing and its cracks appearing on the surface. There wasn’t much time left.
“Lady?”
“N-no… Don’t worry, Auron. I’m fine.”
She tried to smile and failed spectacularly. It only made the gunslinger do the exact opposite of what she’d asked, his eyebrows curving and his cheekbones rising slightly behind his handkerchief as evidence.
Having once again imprisoned that dark, icy invader within her, requiring a psychological effort beyond titanic, Tristessa followed the Imperial Guard along with her companions. They arrived almost immediately at those double ivory doors which the armored guide opened, the lights from within falling upon him and his shield bearing the engraved face of an ancient imperial lady.
The Hall of the Bereft Throne stretched before them, the rays of the setting sun filtering through the giant windows, lending it an ethereal characteristic, as if the world between the living and the dead met in that very place.
The magnanimous representation of the existential divide that Tristessa felt each time the end of her life drew near. Each time her body was torn apart by sharp teeth, wounded countless times with piercing weapons, burned to ashes, pushed to the extreme that no human could endure…
Each time her soul shattered into a thousand pieces and returned to the past, through the [Golden Chains] of her cruel fate.
The twilight of Life that inexorably gave way to the night of Death. Darkness rising, dominating, and beginning its new reign. Casting endless shadows throughout the hall, Tristessa entered with a determined step, ready to face this final turning point in the loop that branched into two simple paths:
The path to salvation and the future; to truth and the recovery of her memories sunk in darkness.
And the path to damnation and the past; to eternal repetition and soul-crushing despair.
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