Amidst the assemblage of confused and, in some instances, fearful cries echoing through the camp, Scarlett’s gaze remained fixed on the ominous silhouette of Anguish’s citadel dominating the horizon. While not overwhelming for her, the sheer dread that seemed to emanate from it, like a miasma of despair, felt truly otherworldly.

Finally, she pulled her attention away from the citadel and swung open the carriage door, stepping out next to Fynn. The young man shot her a quizzical look as she signaled for him to follow, and together, they navigated the now-chaotic encampment. The faces of those they passed by were etched with a spectrum of emotions, ranging from bewilderment to outright alarm as the crimson aura radiating from the citadel lent a morbid pallor to their countenances. Even Shin and Allyssa, standing alongside a cluster of wounded guardsmen, seemed caught up in the sudden phenomenon.

Spotting Sir Home amid a small assembly of knights, Scarlett guided her walk towards the knight captain, with Fynn shadowing her footsteps.

“Captain Home,” she addressed the man, her voice cutting through the silence surrounding the knight captain.

Sir Home, his furrowed brow betraying his dark thoughts, turned towards her. “…Baroness,” he began, “do you know what’s—”

“I do not,” she interrupted him, “but the demonic miasma enveloping that structure is unmistakable. It is undoubtedly connected to the demonic presence we came here to investigate.”

The man’s expression hardened, his eyes flickering towards the citadel. For a moment, he seemed uncertain how to respond, but eventually, he gave a curt nod. “You’re right. It’s as though merely looking at it for too long threatens to make my skin crawl off. Such a monstrosity has no place in our realm. It’s an affront to His Majesty and Ittar himself.”

“That it is.” Scarlett followed his gaze, her attention lingering on the obsidian spires, which did seem to mock the heavens.

Despite the overwhelming dread the citadel was exuding, however, what she found annoyed her most was the fact that it was attempting to manipulate her emotions.

…She had issues.

But if she had any say in it, Anguish would be the one paying for at least some of them.

She swept her eyes across Sir Home’s assembled men. Five of them were knights who had accompanied them in their battle with the Vilewyrm, while the rest appeared to be officers in charge of the guardsmen and mages who had joined from Bridgespell. Though these people were probably seasoned soldiers, even they seemed to struggle against the citadel’s oppressive aura. Sir Home would need to exert his authority soon if he wanted to maintain morale around the camp.

Shifting her attention to Crowcairn, the village shrouded by the Sanctum’s grey barrier, Scarlett spoke once again. “This development could prove to be a significant disruption to our plans.”

Sir Home nodded in agreement, turning to study the settlement as well. “I agree,” he replied in a somber tone.

“That is why I have a proposition,” Scarlett said.

“A proposition?”

“Yes. Given my experience in dealing with demonic entities, I propose that I investigate this new structure. We cannot afford to abandon the siege entirely as long as the Tribe of Sin remains entrenched within the village. Furthermore, we have no way of knowing when reinforcements will arrive to assist us. Therefore, it is only logical for me to take the initiative.”

Sir Home pointed towards Anguish’s citadel. “You want to approach that thing?”

“I do not want to, no, but circumstances demand it. Ignoring its presence would be unwise.”

The knight wore a pensive expression, seemingly wrestling with her proposal. “In truth, I think something of this magnitude should be left to groups like the Dawnbreakers and Solar Knights. But you’re correct in that we don’t know when or if they’ll arrive to address this.” His eyes stayed on the citadel for a few seconds. “And there’s something about that…that abomination that weighs upon my very soul, even from this distance. I shudder to think what impending catastrophe its presence could herald. Entrusting this matter to an outsider, however… I hope you understand, Baroness, but that leaves me uneasy as well.”

“Do you consider yourself better suited for the task?” Scarlett asked.

A pause hung in the air, Sir Home’s mouth forming a tight line. His gaze fell upon his men, then he released a resigned sigh. “I’m not confident in saying so, no.” He shook his head. “Blazes swallow the Tribe and its members. Their disregard for all that is virtuous truly knows no bounds.” Meeting Scarlett’s eyes, he continued in a heavy tone. “By the authority bestowed upon me by His Grace Duke Valentino, I grant you permission to investigate what is happening here. I’ll dispatch some of my men with you, but I ask that you exercise caution. If there’s no other recourse, simply retreat and we’ll wait for reinforcements.”

“Your men will not be necessary, Captain. I have faith in the capabilities of my own people.”

“While I may no longer hold any doubts about your competence, Baroness, I’m afraid I can’t accept that. Please take a few of these knights with you, at least.” He gestured to the knights who had joined them in slaying the Vilewyrm.

Scarlett considered them briefly. “…Very well.”

Ideally, she would have preferred to handle this matter alone, but under the current circumstances, this was probably as good as things would get. At least these knights could prove useful in their own way.

“We shall depart without delay,” she declared, turning around and scanning their surroundings. Her eyes landed on a cluster of horses tethered to a couple of wagons. “I presume your men will not be requiring their steeds for the time being, Captain. May we borrow them?”

The carriage could transport them part of the way, but the terrain might not be as accommodating the whole way. While she lacked experience riding a horse herself, and it was unclear if the original Scarlett had any, this seemed like the most practical solution. In the worst-case scenario, she could ride with one of the knights.

“Take as many as you need. If you require anything else, simply say the word. In fact, it might be wise to bring along some of the mages as well.”

Scarlett shook her head. “No, that will not be necessary. They are already exhausted and stretched thin as it is. The knights will suffice.”

Her gaze drifted back towards Crowcairn, her brows knitting in thought. The way things were developing from here still gnawed at her, but what happened to a bunch of Tribe members really shouldn’t be her primary concern right now. For the time being, things were moving in her favor. The ultimate outcome of the village and its inhabitants would have to be left to fate, or perhaps its inverse, given how things worked in this world.

Either way, her role and involvement here were over for now. Whether they would become relevant again later she couldn’t tell.

With a resolute stride, she began moving towards the carriage, sending off Fynn to retrieve Allyssa and Shin while the knights assigned to her moved to get their horses. Meanwhile, Sir Home issued orders to his men and seemed to brace himself for whatever this new development would bring.

From this point onward, things would begin in earnest.

“Ah, well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events,” Raimond remarked with a casual air of brevity that maybe, possibly, ever-so-slightly, did not quite fit the gravity of the situation. “The duke’s men appear to have resumed their assault against the barrier, but the situation is starting to look rather dire. I do believe the citadel is growing closer to manifesting as we speak. I am beginning to reconsider my being here.”

His gaze was fixed on the behemoth of a structure that spanned the horizon. Its impossibly black walls and spires, ensconced in an ever-consuming crimson aura, were clearly visible even through the grey barrier of the Phantom Sanctum that severed the fabric of reality before him.

“Can you identify which Vile it might belong to?” Deacon Solnate’s steely voice emerged from the golden sphere in Raimond’s right hand as a silvery glow emanated from its core.

“Unfortunately, I cannot,” Raimond replied. “I’m afraid I am far from the right person to answer that question. If that was what you sought, perhaps it would have been better to send Deacon Townsend on this task instead.”

“Not everyone can shirk their responsibilities as you do, Deacon Abram,” the deacon in question’s voice echoed from the artifact.

Raimond smiled to himself. “Nonsense! You simply need to be more resourceful. Heed my word; spend a week in my company, and I’ll have you bothering with but half your duties while doubling your results! It’s all about delegation!”

“Stay focused, Deacon Abram,” Deacon Solnate interjected. “How fares the situation with Duke Valentino’s forces? Do you have any specifics regarding their reaction to the citadel’s appearance?”

Raimond averted his gaze from the looming structure in the distance and traced the edge of the Sanctum’s barrier. To the west, a few hundred or so meters away, he could see signs of an encampment through the grey and hazy boundary.

“From this side of the barrier, it’s difficult to discern details with any accuracy,” he said, observing the small group of villagers that stood near the outskirts of Crowcairn, keeping a vigilant eye on the soldiers outside through the barrier. While Raimond could keep himself hidden, he did not like his chances of doing so while the people were actively searching for any threats. “It appears the duke’s men are persistent in their attempts to breach the Sanctum. Earlier, I witnessed the villagers launching a raid against the camp, presumably because they felt threatened by the mages, but its outcome remains unclear.”

“So the duke’s forces aren’t pushing for the citadel, at least?” Deacon Solnate asked.

“For now, it would seem the majority are holding their ground.”

Truthfully, Raimond’s assessment of the barrier’s effectiveness in obstructing his view might have been a tad exaggerated. Luminous Gaze and his other surveillance invocations had revealed more than he let on, including a lone carriage with a few riders that had left the encampment in the direction of the citadel a few minutes prior. The barrier did obscure some details, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he recognized this carriage in particular.

Of course, it was possible his mind was playing tricks on him. Mirages were a phenomenon that even the most discerning and perceptive of minds could fall prey to. He was certain that there was some adage about the perils of relying solely on one’s senses, and since he was nothing if not a perfectionist, he felt compelled to first verify his information before sharing it with his fellows. His hands were tied.

It wouldn’t do to give possibly incorrect information to members of the Quorum, after all.

He cleared his throat, coughing into his fist for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

“That’s reassuring,” Deacon Solnate replied, though the inflection in her voice suggested she might not be as pleased as her words made it appear. “Our forces have mobilized in Bridgespell, and the Dawnbreakers have been readying themselves since we received the Augur’s revelation. Those available are en route as we speak and should arrive within a few hours. We can only hope it’s enough time to intervene before matters escalate.”

“Hope alone may not suffice in this situation,” a grumpy voice cut in. Deacon Gresham was seldom one to bother concealing his displeasure during Quorum meetings. “We could very well be witnessing the partial manifestation of one of the Blazes in the Material Realm. An event on this scale hasn’t occurred since the Desolation Calamity. I said we should have acted swiftly as soon as we received the revelation.”

“We lacked sufficient information to make such a decision,” the calm, if weathered, voice of Deacon Davenport countered. “If we had acted too soon, we could instead have invited a repeat of the Quickwallow incident.”

As ever, Deacon Gresham sounded unconvinced. “And that would have been preferable to this.”

“You would not have spoken such reckless words if you had been there to witness the aftermath.”

Raimond maintained the most stoic of silences as the two deacons engaged in their argument. During his tenure as a deacon of the Quorum, he had learned the wisdom of remaining silent when Deacon Gresham’s temper flared. Admittedly, he didn’t always adhere to that lesson, especially in situations like this where Raimond had been one of the most vocal advocates against premature action, but there were times when even he knew to keep his lips closed.

Brief as they were.

“Then the next time we face such a situation,” Deacon Gresham said with a few hints of annoyance, “I suggest leaving it to me instead of allowing some pompous idler to handle it.”

Deacon Solnate, voice firm and authoritative, spoke up. “Enough of this bickering. We can revisit these discussions at a more appropriate time. For now, focus on the pressing matters at hand. Deacon Abram, provide us an update on the Tribe of Sin.”

“Hmph, yes, I suppose we must address that as well,” Deacon Gresham muttered.

“To think that there would be a Tribe enclave there,” another voice emerged from the artifact in Raimond’s hand. Deacon Alston was not one to easily get caught up in the moods of others.

“Do you think that the Sanctum they erected will withstand the assault from Duke Valentino’s forces, Deacon Abram?” Deacon Solnate asked.

“Hmm, you are throwing quite a few challenging questions my way today.” Raimond crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I will say that the barrier doesn’t appear particularly sturdy compared to the tales of Sanctums past. However, the duke’s men only boast a handful of mages. While they may ultimately breach the barrier, I cannot speak for whether they’ll do so in time. The villagers are already preparing to flee. Although their Sanctumbrum does not seem to be especially powerful, it should eventually gather sufficient energy to open a gate.”

At the moment, it felt like it was entirely up to chance to determine which side would succeed in their goal first.

“Are you aware of what involvement the Tribe members in that village had in the citadel’s appearance?” Deacon Alston asked.

“Not much, it would seem,” Raimond replied. “That is, if I were to judge by the shocked and horrified expressions on the faces of the villagers and children when it first manifested. But who knows what dark teachings they’ve instilled in their offspring? Perhaps it is all a part of a dastardly plot orchestrated by the toddlers. It is suspicious how impervious they were to my superlative wit and charm.”

“Enough theatrics,” Deacon Gresham grumbled. “I am already all too familiar with your opinion on this topic, but we aren’t asking what your bleeding heart thinks of those who’ve supposedly been ‘living’ in that village. We are asking what you know of their involvement in what is happening now, Abram. You don’t truly expect us to believe it’s merely a coincidence that this event occurred so close to one of the Tribe’s enclaves?”

“No, but it doesn’t seem they are directly involved, either. I have overheard some villagers make mentions of a third party who could be, however. An individual they’ve had dealings with and have reason to suspect. The village head appears to be of the opinion she is the reason Duke Valentino’s forces are currently besieging them. A form of diversion, if you will.”

“And who is this person?”

“They referred to her as ‘Malachi’.”

“Malachi?” Deacon Townsend’s voice suddenly rang out, sharp and serious.

“You recognize the name?” Raimond asked.

“…I do, unfortunately.” From the other end of the communication artifact, the man appeared to issue an order to one of his subordinates before returning his attention to the channel. “The woman known as ‘Malachi’ used to be a member of our order, and someone I knew personally. However, her history turned out to contain problematic elements, and she displayed an excessive interest in demons and the Blazes, conducting research far outside what was allowed by the scriptures. There isn’t time for details now, but she was excommunicated and continued her research independently, and she has been a persistent thorn in my side for years. Not only is she exceedingly dangerous, she is also highly skilled at concealing her presence. To hear she’s involved in this… It doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well, she sounds like a delightful individual, judging by the way the villagers described her,” Raimond said.

His eyes wandered to the imposing structure in the distance, indicating that a Vile was forcing its existence into the Material Realm and was more successful in doing so than any other such attempts for several generations. The specifics of how this happened remained scarce, but many questions burned in Raimond’s mind. Particularly regarding the connection between this Malachi person and a certain bard he had arrived together with in this village just a couple of days prior.

“If that is who we’re dealing with, then it should be of no surprise she would collaborate with the Tribe of Sin,” Deacon Whiteley’s bright voice entered the conversation, speaking for the first time since the communication channel had been established.

“If the Tribe members cooperated with this woman, then they may still possess valuable information,” Deacon Gresham said. “If they manage to escape without us gleaning anything, it could exacerbate an already dire situation.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Deacon Alston asked. “As Deacon Solnate mentioned, our forces won’t arrive for a few more hours.”

“But we have our own Deacon Abram there, at this very moment. It would seem he is in the ideal position to take action. The Tribe members have yet to detect his presence, if I am to understand things correctly. If he gains unobstructed access to their Sanctumbrum, he could potentially dismantle the Phantom Sanctum and cooperate with Duke Valentino’s men to address those hiding in the village.”

Raimond furrowed his brows.

“Your proposal is unreasonable at best,” Deacon Solnate said, leaving Raimond with a lingering regret for missing the opportunity to witness the scowl that no doubt must have creased Old Gresham’s wrinkled face.

Her words sometimes told a different tale, but Raimond always felt he could trust Ava to offer him support when he was in need.

Sometimes.

“Sanctumbrums are Zuver make,” his dear colleague continued, “and they have consistently proven resistant to interference. Furthermore, they remain a mystery to operate for anyone outside of the Cabal and Tribe. Deacon Abram would not be able to bring down the Sanctum by himself, even if he is within its barrier.

“Hmph,” Gresham let out a dissatisfied noise. “Then what else is he good for?”

“Why, am I not affording you a vividly detailed account of the unfolding events?” Raimond declared. “I daresay none can rival me in that regard, albeit because I am undoubtedly one of very few in possession of a limitless communication artifact within the citadel’s vicinity.”

“Ray,” Deacon Solnate said, her tone laced with exasperation. “This is not the time for your antics.”

“There is no point in telling him. He never knows when the proper time for anything is.”

“Your complaint, Deacon Gresham, has been duly noted,” Raimond responded with newfound solemnity. “Henceforth, I shall endeavour to always carry with me a watch, as to ensure I do not repeat such an offense.”

More than a couple of sighs escaped his communication artifact as his colleagues chose not to offer their opinions on his pledge.

Rude, indubitably, but perhaps not entirely unwarranted.

“To steer the discussion back to the matter at hand,” Deacon Whiteley began, “only half of the Dawnbreakers could answer the call to Bridgespell on such short notice, but I believe that, along with—”

Raimond allowed the ensuing conversation to fade into the recesses of his mind, stashing the words away in a mental drawer as he contemplated the infernal citadel on the horizon.

Fortune’s favor and Ittar’s light had certainly shined down upon them that the Augur’s revelation arrived when it did. The prospect of such a cataclysmic event occurring without the slightest preparation left him uneasy. Even armed with the information they had, what was to come remained uncertain. The others believed—or hoped, as Ava had said—that the Dawnbreakers would be able to arrive in time to prevent whatever might transpire.

Raimond wasn’t quite as confident in that view.

He extended his hand, brushing against the peculiar surface of the Phantom’s Sanctum. As his fingers touched the half-translucent barrier, an unsettling sensation coursed through his skin, as if the world itself was denying his passage. It told him that there was no space there for him to pass through, and as such, he was trapped.

Maintaining a firm grasp on the invaluable communication artifact in his right hand, his left hand reached into his white robes, retrieving an unassuming seashell. Its mundane, serrated surface would likely elude notice from most, possibly only fated to be tossed into the nearest lake by any casual passerby.

As he ran his thumb over it, he gazed into the distance.

A once-in-a-decade treasure in exchange for the slim chance of averting a once-in-a-century catastrophe. That was a reasonable enough exchange, he supposed.

Turning his head, he glanced over his shoulder back towards Crowcairn, where he observed villagers moving about the outskirts of the village, unaware of his presence. Departing under the current circumstances did little to kindle his enthusiasm, yet occasions did arise when prioritization was necessary.

Though the admission of that left him feeling more a failure than anything else these last few months.

“Deacon Abram.”

Ava’s voice caught his attention, snapping him back to the ongoing conversation among his fellow Quorum members.

“Can you continue to monitor the situation while we await our forces?”

Raimond smiled despite himself. “Alas, dear Ava, that won’t be possible.”

“Of course that is what he says,” Gresham complained, perhaps—but probably not—echoing the sentiments of some other deacons.

“…And why is that?” Deacon Solnate asked, with a tone that suggested she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear.

She knew him all too well.

Raimond tossed the seashell into the air, catching it casually. “Deacon Solnate, do you perhaps recall that time when the Sirens of the Deep and the Charybdis Heralds conflicts washed up on the isles of Fayrun, and you dispatched yours truly to parley with one of the Sirens’ high priests?”

“I do,” the woman replied, though her voice was now suspicious.

“And do you recall how I was supposed to turn in any artifacts and relics I might have managed to receive after successfully convincing the high priest to accept our aid in handling the Heralds’ tides?”

“…Yes.”

“Yes, well, I might have forgotten to return one artifact in particular on that day. It was left in my other robes, you see.”

“Deacon Abram, what are you intending to do?”

Raimond held up the seashell in front of him. “Well, I believe the answer to that is rather obvious, is it not? An abode of malevolence and anarchy has materialized from the very heart of the Blazes themselves, poised to unleash untold havoc upon this idyllic realm we call home. As a dutiful citizen of the empire, a faithful servant of Ittar, and a devoted deacon of our estimable Quorum, I cannot, in good conscience, stand idly by, can I?”

“Raimond, don’t do anything foolis—”

“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” he said. “I eagerly anticipate enduring your stern reprimands and punishments in the future. But until then, I bid you all adieu.”

Pressing his thumb against the seashell’s rough surface, he aimed it directly at the Sanctum’s barrier blocking his path, towards the ominous structure beyond. A strand of his mana was channeled into the artifact.

In response, a blinding cascade of light engulfed him, accompanied by what he was certain were nothing but joyous proclamations of admiration from his colleagues, wishing him the best of luck.

Surely.