Sybil sat up with a start. She breathed in a large gasp of air as she gripped at her chest. She then winced and grasped her left arm to her stomach. It felt like it was broken, and indeed, she felt about her forearm and noted that it was swollen and misshapen. The fingers of her hand refused to move. Either there was something wrong with her ligaments and tendons too, or there was so much pain that no other signals were getting through.

Shaking her head, she took a moment to gather her thoughts and she tried to figure out where she was. Her dress was dirty yet dry, and there were splotches of blood and a foul odor coming from them. The room was dimly lit with a set of hanging lanterns. Sybil could barely make out the sounds of people talking past the door.

Was this a basement? There weren’t any windows. She was laying on a table that had strange symbols drawn onto it, and next to her was-

… Barcus.

Her hand clamped over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. He was dead. Or at least his eyes were open, dried out, and glazed over… Quite possibly dead? She didn’t want to accept that he was.

It looked like he had injuries similar to herself, as his body was bent up and broken looking. He was also gagged and had been tied up. She gave him a quick poke, and his body had a fading sense of warmth to it.

Definitely dead, although it hadn’t been that way for long.

Scrambling off the table as quickly as she could. She knocked something off in the process. Sybil looked at the floor and saw that it was a sword in a sheath... But it was her sword. At least, she thought it was the sword that had been stolen from her. The heart.

It’s scabbard hand changed since she last saw it. The leather had been washed clean of dye and the blood iron coin had a different design on it. Sybil quickly scooped it up and used it to help brace her broken arm to herself. She needed to get out of here and get help. However this happened in the first place, she could figure it out later.

Sybil quietly made her way to the door and tried to summon her mist around her. It was difficult, like her magic had been drained... There was no way for her to make it work now. Trying so made her chest feel tight and her heart race in an uncomfortable manner. If she was going to make it through this, she wasn’t going to be able to use her usual tricks.

She used the elbow of the broken arm to pin the scabbard in place, hoping that it would give her enough leverage to pull out the sword, but then she had a thought. She had been in situations like this before, when she wasn’t able to fight back.

Duxton was right. Sybil was useless when she was by herself. Without a person there for her to protect, she wasn’t capable of doing anything. The only person here she could have hoped to protect was Barcus, but it was already too late for him.

Sybil shook her head again. The last thing she needed to think about now was Duxton. For now, the best she could do was figure everything out on her own and do whatever she needed to in order to survive. Fumbling to get the door open, she peeked through and found a staircase leading upward. She could almost make out what the voices above were saying.

“I’ve done everything that was requested of me...” The first voice was male but Sybil couldn’t recognize it. He was speaking in a harsh whisper. “Her condition isn’t improving. We have no choice but to take her to a hospital. They’ll at least have medication and magic needed to stabilize her.”

“She is informing me that the sacrifice was not of good quality.” The second voice was deep and authoritative. “Hence why her arm is still broken.”

“A life is a life,” argued the first man. “Miss Twist is alive. We must keep it that way. I cannot transfer what wounds she has left onto myself without risking the resurrection spell failing. Either help me by using your spells, or move so that I may transport her myself.”

“No healing magic is enough to conquer the trials of an incompatible sacrifice. He will fail unless my sister intervenes.” The second voice paused. “... She is awake. I will distract her until the ritual is complete.”

Ritual? Sacrifice? Wound transfer? Is that what they did to Barcus? Sybil was still having trouble making any sense of this. Maybe… Maybe Barcus went to check to see if Sybil was alive, and somehow a necromancer found both of them… Veximarl might have sought to, but… It couldn’t be him, he wouldn’t call her Miss Twist. If that necromancer wasn’t him, then…

What was happening?

Sybil didn’t want to stick around and find out. She gritted her teeth, tucked in her elbow, and yanked the sword free. Just as it would when she was in danger, a cloud of mist covered the room. The figures that normally haunted her didn’t appear. Instead, it was cold and dark, and the voices above her were only growing louder.

She would not let them go through whatever it was they were planning. Her fate was in her own hands and she was tired of being a pawn. Sybil ran up the stairs, seeking to challenge them head-on. The cold of winter broke into a nearly unbearable heat as she shielded her eyes with her arm against the sudden bright light.

When she lowered it again, she was startled to find herself outside. It was hot enough that it might as well have been summer, but this wasn’t a place she recognized. She was standing alongside a road that wrapped around a grassy field. Before her was a cathedral that must have been made for giants, with a massive staircase leading up to it.

Yet there was an odd sense of familiarity to this place as well. It felt like walking through a dream, not unlike her experience with meeting Tyrtain. But there was no foul-smelling river or overwhelming darkness. This place was bright and vivid, full of flowing wild grass and warmth.

The cathedral door opened up and Sybil stiffened up. She held her sword up defensively as her left arm hung useless at her side. Much to her horror, what came out was not a man, but a minotaur.

He was twice the height she was, with four hooked horns that twisted about into the shape of a crown on his brow, and a snake’s tail that swished behind him. His clothing consisted of a delicately embroidered loincloth and his fur had been painted with white and gold stripes.

“It was time for us to meet in a proper setting.” His voice didn’t boom as much as Tyrtain’s but it certainly rumbled inside her chest. He took a seat on the stairs and gestured for her to lower her weapon. “Do you know who I am?”

It was the man in the wheat field. She had seen him weeks ago, when Bronzescale had just started to search for caves tainted with miasma. An image brought on by tainted mist. He had been covered in war paint and wore nothing but a loincloth... Yet here he was in a different form and somehow she was able to recognize him in an instant.

“... You’re Iath.”

This was the god of summer, of paladins, and of fire. What he was doing in this place, she didn’t know. She had always heard that he was a southern god. Sybil went to put away her sword, but the sheath was suddenly missing. Instead, she held it carefully and did what she could to brace her broken arm.

The minotaur gave a nod. “I’ve been allowed to establish a temporary realm within this territory so that we may speak. The levels of miasma here have made our time limited. Use it wisely.”

“If this place is temporary, does that mean you are unable to purge the taint that is plaguing Carapace?” Sybil was hopeful that he would be able to fix everything much as Tyrtain had.

A smirk appeared on Iath’s features, as well as a smirk could appear on an ox’s head. “You are as singular minded as I have expected you to be... Tria is like that as well. You remind me of her when she was young.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “There are many questions that you should be asking about yourself, but instead you demand that those around you be saved first.”

She frowned as she gathered her thoughts. “Why do you wish to talk to me?”

“Because the heart has taken a liking to you. You should be grateful that we decided that it was best to return it to you. One of my loyal subjects was able to retrieve it after it was stolen. Do not let this opportunity go to waste this time.”

It’s not that she wasn’t appreciative, but she had become tired of people forcing destiny upon her at every given chance. “Then give it to someone else. No one has bothered to even tell what it does in the first place... I don’t care if it gets taken away from me again.”

“It is the responsibility of us, myself and my siblings, to tell the caretaker of the sword of its abilities. I had meant to do this sooner, but I was waiting to see if you were worthy of it. Make no mistake, I have yet to decide if you are, but my sister has stated otherwise. Have a seat.” He patted on the stairs next to him. “It is good to relax when receiving news of any kind.”

Sybil climbed up the stairs until she could look Iath eye to eye, and he went on to explain the history of the falchion. The Heart of Eishur. Crafted by Tria from the purest parts of Eishur’s body, and given to Brayton so he could defeat the old gods and bring on a new age for Iath and his siblings.

In return for his actions, they granted Brayton the title of God Among Men. After his death, the sword chose one of his descendants to assume the title anew, and those were the ones who established the nation of Lustro and took on the Fogbloom name. When their magic vanished, they denounced Tria and her acolytes. Their selfish desires to reclaim power lead the Alcea family to take action. They murdered the Fogblooms and sought to gather their blood iron in hopes of restoring the title.

“But why is the title important in the first place? Rulership of the land should go to those who are capable of it. A sword cannot name someone king. An object or bloodline isn’t enough to establish one’s self.” Sybil furrowed her brows and looked down at the sword. She had it resting on her lap.

“The chosen one seeks to keep these lands pure of miasma. They assist the gods in maintaining their power, and destroy any would-bes that appear,” explained Iath. “If we were to ever abandon our territories, our lands were soon be plagued with beasts that seek to devour magic and sickness.

The God Among Men must also act as our voice. Ever since the title fell, we have struggled with our relationships with man and to keep these lands safe. They worsened all the more when Eatha and Mart gave up on man. The efforts put forward by myself and Tria have failed and war in the north is a result of that.”

Would that be the reason why the current royal family was waiting for her to wake up? And the reason why they were interested in her having the sword? If so, why couldn’t they tell her that? She would have gladly sought to help them somehow if that was the case. It would have saved her so much trouble.

“How do I wake up the sword?”

“I do not know. It merely awakens for it’s proper chosen on its own,” muttered Iath with an annoyed sigh. “I have been told that it is currently an impossibility for you. The heart allows you to use magic that was sealed long ago within your blood, but it is only allowing you a fraction of that power. Once we have completed unsealing your blood, you may find that the sword will be easier for you to wield. At least, perhaps.”

The sword was the root of most of Sybil’s problems. A part of her even had grown to hate it, and that was the part of her that was happy that it had been stolen when she was kidnapped. Now though… Now what should she do? Seek out power? Blame others for her misfortunes.

But in the end, didn’t that make her no different than Barcus? He chose to be a witness to his travesties and blamed others for them rather than fix what was wrong with himself. Hadn’t she been doing the same thing? Her problems started with this sword... What should she do to fix it?

“Wait, wait, perhaps?” Sybil looked up at him. “... You’re not even sure?!”

Iath gave half a shrug. “We aren’t-”

“You’re a god!” Sybil tensed up. “You’re supposed to know these things... In fact, I would think you were the expert on this! More than any other being in the entire universe! Aren’t you the god of war?”

“I am the god of combat, not war,” he muttered. Though he understood that there wasn’t much reason why that would make him any less knowledgeable of weaponry. “... It is for the sake of ending the war in the north that we must make an attempt. We would ask you to bear this burden if it weren’t important.”

“What if I don’t want this sword?” She stood up and shook it at Iath. “I don’t deserve it! I’m not strong enough to fend off people! Let alone those who would seek to take advantage of me!” She still had no idea what the royal family had planned for her if that happened. Even if she was determined to fight for this, she knew her limits and they weren’t enough to save herself.

“Sometimes the best rulers are the ones who would shun the call of power.” He gave her a brief smile as he patted her head with a heavy, fur-covered hand. It hurt her neck when he did that. “It is too late to deny yourself power. The ritual has already started, and soon you will awaken as something new.”

Sybil stood up and took a step back away from the minotaur. “What?!” She looked around again. “Are you distracting me?! This whole conversation taking place all in my head?!” She then looked down at her arm and realized that it didn’t seem as broken as it had been before.

Before she could react, the heat of the air quickly shifted to cold again, and the world grew dark and faded to nothing. She felt herself slip backward, and suddenly she was falling. Everything was twisting about her until she felt the table against her back. Her eyes snapped open and the sword was still in one of her hands, but her legs and arms were restrained.

“Let me go!” She tugged violently against the ropes which led her to let out a loud wheeze of pain. Her body was somehow even more exhausted than it was before, and it felt like she had torn something in her arm.

“Calm yourself...” It was a matronly voice.

Sybil turned her head and saw a woman dressed in black. Her features were strikingly similar to Veximarl’s, down to the white eyes with the horizontal slits and the parrot-like nose… Yet something was off. Semira was somehow transparent, as though she were a shadow wrapped in fog.

Another tug was given to the ropes before Sybil attempted to twist the sword in Semira’s direction. “What are you doing?!”

“You can see me...” Semira seemed momentarily surprised. “A shame. I don’t believe it will last.”

“Stop, please…” Sybil tried to look around. She noticed that Barcus’ body had gone missing. “But, why… Barcus..” Her senses were abandoning her again. “Why did you have to kill… W-why...”