In the most important great hall in all of End-World, whereby default there were no seats, it was expected that those present would be standing. As in any meeting, conference, debate, or plea for mercy, everyone was obligated to converse, fight, or whatever else, always standing, unless an authority such as the Lord of the Domain or a higher-ranking official agreed otherwise.

  It was no surprise to Tristessa to see that beautiful woman with long black and blue hair standing in the middle of that chamber which, in times past, had housed a throne. Regal, but without a crown. Imposing in her combat trench coat with dark steel plates. Unarmed, her terrifying glaive, made of metal so black it seemed to absorb all light around it, resting in the four hands of a new demonic statue like the one she had shattered before with her Divinity. And her violet eyes, fixed on the entrance and the new visitors.

  That woman’s presence there was unavoidable. Predictable, as the cycle of day and night. But what surprised Tristessa was when her attention shifted to the others present in the room.

  Starting with the platinum-haired knightess and the blood elf, both under the watchful eye of four Imperial soldiers armed with greatshields and spears.

  “Sev… Tori!” Tristessa called them by their nicknames, without thinking, shocked to see them between the wall with aligned suits of armor, and those guards forming a semicircular barrier with their shields.

  They didn't appear injured or victims of abuse of power, given the normal condition of Astoria's white armor and the neatness of Severus's formal attire. Yet, they were haggard with exhaustion and carried a clear emotional weight on their faces, which the appearance of the dark-haired girl only intensified.

  “Tristessa!” They both exclaimed in unison upon hearing her voice and seeing her enter, but it was Severus who reacted more forcefully, almost shouting, upon seeing who accompanied her. “JIN…! TIARA, LUCCI!”

  “Uncle Severus!”

  That was the cry of the tear-streaked boy that echoed throughout the gargantuan room. He was heartbroken, without his storybook, without his four-legged friend who had perished on the journey to salvation, without his home. And he feared losing what little he had left: his family and those he considered part of it.

  “No, don’t leave my side!” Jin ordered Lucahn, gripping his arm tightly and looking with eyes almost filled with fear at his old friend. “Severus…”

  The emotional chasm and despair that overwhelmed the elf in the presence of the Mercer-Archeos compelled him to go to them. Something the guards prevented right away, raising their spears and aiming them at him. Inches from piercing his eyes and the lower part of his face.

  “Not one step further, pointy ears,” one of the four men warned him.

  “Same to you, Blackguard,” added another, addressing his female colleague, whom they were denigrating because of her surname. “Don’t give us an excuse to send you to the Abyss, like the rest of your damned family.”

  Tristessa’s two allies were powerless. Held back for reasons Tristessa already had a clear idea of, given the Wraith’s comments that prevented them from backing down.

  And speaking of Wraiths…

  On the opposite side of the hall, which was slowly falling into darkness kept at bay only by the magical light of the torches on the walls, there were two people. A female figure almost as dark as the shadows cast around it by the approaching nightfall lay on the floor, pristine as a mirror. Lines of blood trickled from the puncture wounds along her sides, the stealth cloak unable to absorb any more of it.

  And the other person, a man in a suit and tie, knelt beside her, using his thaumaturgical cane to generate non-elemental glyphs. The glintstone at its tip emitted a faint glow of warm light, as did the magical symbols floating around the wounded figure, who wore a white mask with a black stormcrow painted on one side.

  “Vektra!” Tristessa had let her unpredictable emotions take over, causing her to rush toward the fallen Imperial assassin. “…!”

  But a large, quadrupedal creature with many teeth blocked her path: Mystia, Aurelia’s aracross, had its mouth wide open, ready to tear the legs off the girl who embodied the Discord she had learned to hate since her conception.

  “Tristessa!” Auron, Astoria, and Severus’s cries were the first to ring out, followed by a roar that drowned them out.

  “GRAAA!”

  Vergil moved in an instant and positioned himself in front of his owner, unleashing a ferocious growl at Mystia, who responded in kind. Threats spoken between members of the same species, understood only by them. Agreeing on one thing: only the command of the frightened girl or the violet-eyed woman who watched with deadly silence could start the fight.

  “Thank you, Vergil!” Tristessa patted her trusty aracross on the back and continued her short walk toward Stormcrow and Jonas Youngblood. She dodged the flowing blood and crouched beside the man, who was too focused on his thaumaturgy to look her way. Up close, Tristessa could see her secret lover writhing in spasms, letting out hoarse sounds muffled by her mask. “W-why…?”

  “I think you know the answer to that question, Miss Irandell.”

  Tristessa felt a cold, strong-fingered hand rest on her left shoulder. Slowed by fear, her gaze shifted from Stormcrow's porcelain face to that direction. Seeing long, black fingernails grazing the leather surface of her trench coat.

  “There have been failed Wraiths throughout our history, of course. No organization is perfect; recognizing that fact is the first great step toward progress, wouldn't you say, Advisor Youngblood?” Sylas asked, his terrifying figure like a vortex sucking away all the warmth and hope one might have. A perfect entity for his job; the role expected of someone like him, a harbinger of terror in the shadows for the enemies of the Empire. “If I may be so bold as to say so, I suppose you already understand the mistake you made in promoting a girl with such exploitable Divinity to the Imperial Assassin Corps.”

  “…I don't believe that giving such an innate talent as hers the chance to flourish could be a mistake, Roy Khan. Or would you prefer I call you by your code name, Demon of the Fall?” Jonas asked, continuing to conjure healing glyphs. His authority was firm, unwavering, even on his knees. Strong enough to prevent the Wraith from arguing. “Miss Tristessa.”

  Obeying the summons, she gave her full attention to the man, whose red eyes were now fixed on her. Impossible to resist.

  “I told you I would take responsibility for the outcome of the operation, whatever it may be. And I stand by my word,” he said, not a speck of doubt in him. “The consequences of the operation must fall on my conscience, not yours. Just like the punishment Crow received for deceiving Sylas.”

  “B-but…!”

  Suddenly, Vektra seized the hand Tristessa had the closest to her. Her fingers intertwined, staining them with fresh blood.

  “T-Tristessa…,” the assassin managed to call out, her voice heavy with pain. “Go. Face her… Go!”

  Not only did Stormcrow not allow Tristessa to say even a word of encouragement, but Sylas Roy Khan also took matters into his own hands, separating her from her lover. He pulled her back, grabbed her by the shoulder, and lifted her with ease from the ground. Breaking the bond between their hands and making Tristessa feel an unpleasant constriction within her greedy, masochistic heart.

  Along with the Mercer-Archeos, she was taken towards Aurelia Eramisaptor, while the others watched with no chance of intervention: Astoria, Severus, and also Auron, whom two guards led to rejoin his allies, threatened at spearpoint from four directions.

  Everything depended on Tristessa now. The future rested in the hands of this young woman with no memories and far too inconsistent self-confidence to face a problem of such magnitude.

  Every new challenge brought a new array of fears and doubts; it was inevitable that the courage she had cultivated in defeating the daughter of the angels who guarded the In-Between would prove insufficient…

  When she stopped at Sylas's silent command, she released the breath that had been unconsciously holding in, imbued with the convergence of all her fears that were now surfacing.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Before the She-Dragoon of End-World; she who could see between truth and lies, and could undress her with a single glance, revealing the fragility beneath her skin and flesh.

  “All Imperial Guards, get out,” Aurelia declared, her authority unexpectedly asserting itself on both sides. “Right now. Take them with you, Zephyr, and make sure to write down everything you told me about the two Priestesses of the Black Eye. I’ll personally see that the chronicle of your heroic battle against evil reaches all citizens of End-World.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  From the corridor, Zephyr bowed and waited for his subordinates. There was no room for dissent: with swift, obedient steps, all soldiers left the Hall of the Bereft Throne, being the General the one to close the double doors, but not without exchanging quick glances with both Auron and Tristessa. Without giving signs of ill-will against them. Without giving signs of sympathy.

  The doors closed and the blank face of Zephyr disappeared behind them. Leaving the three heroes chosen by her free and with more questions than answers about what that woman, who now devoted her undivided attention to Tristessa, was up to.

  Ironically, the soldiers' absence heightened the girl’s sense of imminent danger, as if the Lady of the Dominion might at any moment step forward, pierce her chest with her bare hands, and rip out her heart.

  Unbridled and brutal violence that, for the moment, did not occur. For now…

  “Let me congratulate you,” Aurelia said her with a calm and tranquil demeanor, followed by a series of sharp claps that echoed throughout the hall. “You are the first and only [Stranger] to enter this place in the Age of the Empire and leave unscathed. Having deceived the Lady of the Dominion almost to perfection, I dare to add.”

  Tristessa felt a pang in her chest upon hearing those words, which carried monumental significance, even though she was fully aware that this was going to happen. It would have been naive to believe that her identity was still a mystery at this point; it was like seeing a sky filled with dark clouds, flashing with fury, with hurricane-force winds, and not expecting a downpour to break out at any moment.

  “You’re not going to ask me how I know you’re a Stranger?”

  “No… I think Sylas did the work he had to do to tie up loose ends, didn’t he?” She managed to say. Her voice clear as water, despite being trapped between Aurelia in front and the Wraith on the back. “It was critical for me that you didn’t have your Hidden Shadow nearby when I first came here.”

  “Indeed. You’re absolutely right.”

  Aurelia nodded before taking a few steps toward the girl. Arms crossed, her advance left behind the sharp, metallic sound of her soles against the floor, sending shivers down the spines of those who had been waiting. These shivers paled in comparison to the terror her figure inspired, beautiful and deadly, closing the distance with a paralyzed and trapped Tristessa.

  “I trusted in the presence of that shit-lover traitorous bitch, and it never crossed my mind that you could be a visitor from another world,” she mentioned, referring to the masked woman bleeding on the floor. “I made a fatal, unforgivable mistake… And because of it, more than a dozen good men and women died in Lord Youngblood’s operation.”

  “I…”

  The moment her mouth opened to say something she hadn’t even thought of, a terrible pain appeared out of nowhere, leaving her breathless, with instant nausea dizziness: Aurelia had punched her in the solar plexus, a swift, sharp blow. So hard that Tristessa’s knees buckled and she fell near her attacker’s feet, hitting her head on the floor.

  “Haa— haa!” With blood and gastric juices pouring from her mouth and no air entering, the wide-eyed, tear-filled girl struggled to breathe as the room turned upside down. Her vision blurred, and her consciousness threatened to slip away.

  “TRISTESSA!”

  “You three stay still, please. There’s no need to shed more blood…yet.”

  Tristessa could only hear the shouts of her allies, Sylas’s warning, and Lucahn’s sobs in the fading distance. Her arms wouldn’t respond to her desperate commands, nor would her legs, and her lungs begged for oxygen…

  “Favalon Koron.” Through the mist before her eyes, a faint crimson light began to flicker, inviting her to reach out and try to grasp it, even though she knew it would never be possible. That light cleared her mind, allowed Tristessa to regain control of her limbs and made breathing possible amidst the sharp, deep pain that pierced her chest from front to back. “I have no aptitude for magic, but at least I can cast a passable first aid spell.”

  Soon, the world stopped spinning and fading. Tristessa saw Aurelia kneeling beside her, one hand outstretched toward her and a blood-elemental healing glyph in between. Her cold, violet gaze was filled with perpetual hatred for her, for being indirectly responsible for the deaths of the soldiers stationed at the Unar lookout; and yet, the girl couldn't help but think that those amethysts, tainted with noxious loathing-filled poison, were quite lovely.

  “Ah…A-Aure…” she tried to call to her both attacker and healer, digging her fingernails into the center of her chest. Above the black leather belt, in a vain attempt to soothe the pain.

  Writhing on the cold floor, she watched Aurelia walk toward the Mercer-Archeos.

  “As for you all, if I weren’t so, so pissed off, I’d give you a round of applause too. For outsmarting my Hidden Shadow and surviving until this very moment,” she told them. “What’s wrong with you, child?”

  Seeing that neither husband nor wife would comment, Aurelia turned her attention to Lucahn, standing between his parents, holding both hands. He was weeping and trembling like a leaf, having stared at Tristessa writhing on the ground until the Lady of the Dominion stood before him, enveloping him in her cold shadow.

  “Are you scared?” With a vile, smug smile as she watched Lucahn sob endlessly, she placed her right hand on the top of his head. Stroking his unkempt, dirty hair, a testament to his days on the run. “I remember you being such a chubby, adorable little baby when I exiled you and your parents…”

  “Get your filthy hands off my son, you fucking bitch.”

  “T-Tiara!”

  Before Jin’s stunned gaze, the pregnant woman grabbed Aurelia’s wrist and strained to pull her away from Lucahn’s head. Radiating abhorrence and gritting her teeth like a wild beast, much like the two Aracross still locked in a fierce struggle at the other end of the room, the larger one preventing the smaller one from rescuing his fallen owner.

  A reaction that amused the She-Dragoon greatly.

  “Ah, Tiara… Tiara, Tiara, Tiara… Where did that coward, timid woman I used to know go? I still remember you, crying and crawling and begging me on your knees for help to find your abducted son. Not asking to be spared for certain death… I guess that’s the love of a mother.” Chuckling, Aurelia not only released the frightened child but also brought her trapped hand to Tiara’s belly, challenging her with a sadistic expression. Caressing the surface, feeling the life within her. “Hmm, it seems you have quite the warrior inside you. Living in the wilds has made you stronger, I see. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, huh? Don’t thank me.”

  “Lady Eramisaptor. P-please… I beg you, my wife, my children…” Jin wanted to plead for mercy, but was senselessly interrupted by Tiara, consumed by her own rampant emotions.

  “Are you enjoying this, you damn sadistic harlot?” She asked, aware that it was impossible to surpass that woman in strength. And doing the only thing she could in such a situation: showing courage in the face of extreme adversity, just as she had done for more than a decade. “Do you enjoy seeing my family suffer?”

  “…”

  With her back to Tristessa, she couldn't see how Aurelia's expression changed. The light flowing from the torches with power crystals, now that night had consolidated its hold both inside and outside the hall, gave the She-Dragoon a phantasmal appearance. As if that imaginary division between the material and spectral worlds that had existed with the last rays of dusk had left Aurelia with a memory of the afterlife. Worthy of a raging soul that knew no rest.

  That outburst of unconscious fury was reflected in the Grace-filled soul that Aurelia Eramisaptor owned, causing her [Divinity of Air Haste] to create an upward gust of wind, reaching the ceiling and stirring the ten banners with violence.

  Her black and blue hair moved in unison of the winds, shimmering with the morbid beauty of Death.

  And her face, brimming with severity, bloodlust, and murderous intent, drew the Mercer-Archeos closer together. Terrified to the bone, especially Tiara, as that hostile hand still rested over her belly, its fingers capable of tearing flesh and going further, to her unborn child…

  “No. I don’t enjoy any of this at all. I feel no pleasure. Only anger, and disappointment… Because you were illustrious citizens of this great city. You received the punishment you deserved for your daughter’s sins, and you chose to disrespect me after I defied the popular clamor that sought to behead you. Something I should have done.”

  The air of fury summoned by her Divinity was like hot blades flying around Aurelia. Almost grazing the Mercer-Archeos, even causing superficial cuts on their hands as they tried to protect themselves.

  “I should have locked you all in the dungeon, squeeze every bit of information out of you of your fucking daughter by any means necessary and butcher you. Perhaps that way I could have done more to hunt her down… It doesn't matter anymore. Past mistakes cannot be undone…” The wind was howling, screaming threats and curses, wanting to carve deeper into that family. Make a mess out of them, chop them into pieces and paint the floor red with their blood. “And yet, anger lingers. This whole situation fills me with inhuman rage, and I’m sure that even after I rip your heads off, I’ll still feel the same.”

  Aurelia freed the pregnant woman from her grasp and surveyed her surroundings, glancing over the corner where Jonas was still tending to Vektra. She looked beyond her Hidden Shadow, toward the three people who had been helping a Stranger, unarmed and facing that masked obstacle that possessed poison-laced daggers beneath his robes.

  Then she turned to focus her attention back on the fallen, injured girl. Projecting all her destructive emotions onto her.

  All the anger that burned in her heart for having been humiliated. All the anger that made her blood rush under pressure, for having her authority thwarted. All the anger that transformed her soul of icy light into a paradoxical, fiery existence, for having been ignored about the dangers that led a dozen Imperial soldiers to their blood-saturated graves.

  All that anger, focused on the main culprit. On Tristessa, a harbinger of misfortune from the very first moment she sought an audience with her.

  “Nothing will appease my rage more than seeing all of you die.”