Eighty-six: Inastasia Vysileaf

Octagram temple

Astralis City, Auroria Kingdom

Sol continent, Terra

Gaea solar system. Milky Way galaxy

Luminary star system

25th Astralis cycle,

Solaris Prime, 572,413

The vehicle came to a smooth halt before a towering, emerald-green structure that dominated the surrounding cityscape. The building was exquisite, its polished crystalline surface gleaming under the shifting sunlight. Suspended above the main entrance was a massive emblem—an eight-pointed star encased within a perfect circle. The symbol glimmered faintly, catching the eye of anyone who approached.

People clad in flowing, monkish robes of green moved gracefully in and out of the building. Their movements were deliberate, their faces calm, as if carrying the weight of centuries-old wisdom. Ritualistic patterns were stitched along their sleeves in golden thread, and the faint hum of chanting echoed from somewhere deep within.

Sam's eyes were drawn to the emblem. She recognized it immediately. The eight-pointed star of the Octagram Society. It was more than a symbol; it was a piece of her past. The society her mother had once belonged to, an order veiled in mystique and secrecy. Seeing it here, etched so prominently into the architecture, made her chest tighten with a strange blend of nostalgia and unease.

When the vehicle stopped, the door on Sam's side slid open. Gil stepped out first, his golden armor glinting in the light. With a smooth, practiced motion, he turned back to the door and extended his hand toward her.

"Here," he said warmly, a smile spreading across his face. It was a smile that carried a quiet charm, a serene confidence that could disarm even the most guarded of hearts.

For a moment, Sam hesitated. But that smile—a blend of divine grace and boyish charm—made her pause, caught off guard. She reached out and accepted his hand, stepping out onto the stone pathway with a touch of uncertainty.

Behind her, Henry exited the vehicle, his expression tight and unmistakably sour. He glanced at Gil, then at Sam, his gaze sharp and his jaw set. It was clear the entire situation had him on edge, his discomfort palpable even without a single word spoken.

"You should get going," Gil said, his tone light but teasing. "You don't want those old crones wearing you down with their endless complaints." He gave her a faint smile before turning to step back toward the vehicle.

Sam blinked, surprised. "You're not coming inside?" she asked.

Gil paused at the door, glancing back at her. "As much as I'd love to spend more time with you, Ina, I need to file a report about what happened at the city gates," he said. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "An Aberrant showing up that close to Astralis is no small matter. This needs to be handled carefully."

He took a step closer to her and, before she could react, leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek. The gesture was swift, casual even, but it left Sam momentarily stunned. Before she could respond, he slid back into the vehicle.

"See you soon, Ina," he said, his voice laced with easy confidence. The vehicle's door slid shut, and with a soft hum, it sped away down the street.

"Just as cocky as Leon," Henry muttered, his arms crossed as he stared after the departing vehicle. He turned to Sam, who remained frozen, still processing what had just happened. She blinked, cleared her throat, and shifted her focus back to the emerald temple ahead.

"Don't tell me we're actually going inside," Henry said, his tone edged with frustration.

Sam straightened her posture, her jaw tightening with quiet determination. "We have to," she replied. She nodded toward the gleaming building, the light reflecting off its crystalline surface. "There might be information in there—something that will help us find the Crown."

As Sam and Henry entered the temple's vast foyer, the energy of the place was almost palpable. The space was immense, its high crystalline ceilings casting faint, prismatic reflections across the polished floor. Faintly glowing pillars lined the walls, etched with intricate runes that pulsed gently, harmonizing with the soft hum of the building itself. The air carried a faint scent of something floral and sweet, mingled with the subtle charge of mana energy.

Sam noticed the people first—the monks, the attendants, the guardians—all of them wearing varying shades of the Octagram society's green robes. The moment they saw her, their movements stilled, their conversations quieted. One by one, they turned and bowed deeply, some lowering their gazes entirely.

"Keeper," one of the attendants murmured, their voice laced with awe. "It is an honor."

Sam glanced sideways at Henry, who gave her a bewildered look. She forced herself to keep walking, her posture as steady as she could manage. The respect, the reverence—they mirrored what she had seen in Laurel and his kin. It was unnerving, and though she tried not to let it show, her steps faltered slightly as the bows continued.

At that moment, a servant emerged from one of the adjacent halls—a young woman dressed in robes of deep green trimmed with intricate golden thread. Her movements were swift but measured, her posture straight and composed. She approached with graceful urgency, stopping just a few paces from Sam before bowing low.

"Lady Inastasia," she said, her tone warm yet formal. "I've been searching everywhere for you. The Grand Matron has requested—"

"Can you show me to my chamber?" Sam interrupted, her voice calm but firm. If everyone here thought she was this Lady Inastasia, then playing along seemed her safest option.

The servant, a tall, red-haired woman with a pale, snow-white complexion, blinked in surprise at the question. For a moment, hesitation flickered across her face, but then she nodded quickly.

"Of course, my lady," she said. "This way."

Henry, standing just behind Sam, muttered under his breath, "Inastasia? Did she just say—"

Sam silenced him with a slight shake of her head, the movement quick and deliberate. Without another word, she followed the servant, her steps echoing lightly off the crystalline floor.

They made their way through a series of long, open halls adorned with carvings and murals that seemed to glow softly in the light. Each mural told a story, depicting moments that felt ancient, otherworldly. Massive statues of robed figures holding orbs of light lined the walls, their stone faces calm, almost watchful. The air was cool and faintly fragrant, carrying a hint of something floral and soothing.

After weaving through the grand halls, they arrived at a set of ornate double doors. Flanked by two silent, armor-clad sentinels, the entrance seemed to pulse faintly with contained energy. The servant opened the doors with a single fluid motion and gestured for them to step inside.

The chamber beyond was expansive and lavishly appointed. The walls were draped with shimmering tapestries woven from mana-infused thread, each one radiating a gentle glow that filled the room with a warm, golden light. An intricate chandelier of suspended, glowing crystals hung from the high ceiling, its soft illumination dancing across the smooth floor.

In one corner, a circular training mat lay in the open space, and it was there that Sam's gaze fell on two familiar figures. Trini and Callum were locked in a sparring drill, their movements sharper and more precise than Sam had ever seen. Callum's strikes were controlled yet powerful, while Trini moved with a fluidity that radiated confidence.

Their presence was striking—the faint glow of newfound power surrounded them. Sam recognized it instantly: they had awakened.

Henry stepped closer, his voice low, disbelieving. "You… you both…"

Trini was the first to notice them. She paused mid-strike, lowering her weapon, and fixed Sam with a characteristic scowl—her usual mix of exasperation and smugness.

"Finally! Where have you been?" Trini asked sharply, her tone laced with annoyance. Sam could tell her distaste for her hadn't diminished in the slightest.

Callum gave a short, polite nod, his expression more reserved. "Sam. Henry." His voice carried a hint of pride, though he didn't show it as overtly as Trini. "As you can see, we've awakened."

Before Sam could respond, the servant who had led them there cleared her throat softly. "I shall leave you now, my lady. Your chambers are fully prepared." She bowed again and exited quietly, the doors sliding shut behind her.

Sam looked at her two companions. "You've awakened," she said, her voice tinged with surprise.

"Yes," Callum replied, stepping away from the training mat. "Lady Emanu wasn't wrong—our cores were nearing awakening. The environment here must have pushed us over the threshold." His eyes moved to Henry, noting his still-dormant aura, though he said nothing.

"How?" Henry asked, his confusion evident.

"When we first arrived," Trini explained, "we ended up outside the city gates. There, well… I guess you could say you were waiting for us, Sam. You brought us inside, brought us here to this temple, and that's where they guided us through the awakening process."

Henry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean by 'you'?"

"I mean you," Trini said with a shrug, though her expression suggested she wasn't entirely sure herself.

Before the tension in the room could thicken, a faint sound broke through the stillness. A soft, deliberate step emerged from the shadows of the inner chamber, the slight click of a heel on the floor echoing in the quiet.

Sam turned quickly, her heart pounding. Out of the adjacent room stepped a figure who made her breath catch.

It was a woman who looked exactly like her.

The resemblance was uncanny—the same facial features, the same build, the same green-flecked eyes that reflected light like flecks of emerald. But this woman carried herself with an elegance that felt foreign to Sam. Her movements were smooth, deliberate, almost regal. She wore flowing robes in rich shades of green and gold, and her hair was styled intricately, as though she had just stepped out of a royal portrait.

The woman's gaze met Sam's, and she smiled faintly.

"Welcome, Inastasia Vysileaf," she said, her voice calm yet laden with authority. "Or perhaps… Sam?"

****

Outside the Echo field

Hidden World, Terra

Gaea Solar system

Milky way galaxy

Neutral Free Zone

April 2019

As soon as the Elemental sealing array dissipated, Emily's senses surged with the return of her connection to the elements. The stifling void that had smothered her arcane link vanished, replaced by the familiar, pulsing rhythm of the natural world. The air around her seemed alive again, humming faintly with potential.

Her objective was clear: destroy the Nexus node before it could fully activate. She moved quickly, her dagger at her side, her focus locked on the circular gateway at the far end of the chamber. The arcane machinery around it hummed with growing intensity, strands of luminous energy stretching outward as the gateway edged closer to stabilization.

But as she approached, a sudden flicker of movement caught her attention. From the shadows, a dark, twisting blade of energy shot toward her, its trajectory silent and precise.

Emily's Internal senses reacted before her mind had time to fully register the attack. Her body moved instinctively, her dagger flashing upward to meet the incoming strike. The clash sent a sharp, rippling shockwave through the air, the dark energy recoiling from the enchanted steel.

From the darkness stepped a figure—a man clad in blackened armor, his presence exuding menace. He wore a goat-like mask, the jagged horns curving upward and glinting faintly in the dim light. His aura was heavy, oppressive, each step radiating an eerie, predatory confidence.

Nabu.

Emily recognized him immediately. The mask was unmistakable, as was the cold, unsettling air that surrounded him. Nabu was no ordinary opponent. His every movement was calculated and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to dismantle her.

Emily dropped into a low stance, her body aligned in perfect balance, one dagger held forward, the other angled at her side. The stance of the Dancing Twilight radiated lethal intent, her posture a seamless blend of poise and fluidity.

"You," she hissed, her voice cold and clipped. Memories rushed through her—Stella's lifeless body, the torment Leon had endured—all of it tied back to him. Nabu. The masked bastard who had murdered Sam's aunt and placed the insidious curse on Leon, leaving him weakened and unable to recover. The curse that Emily knew she could lift—if only she could take Nabu's life.

Her fingers tightened on the hilts of her daggers, her focus narrowing until the world around her faded. It was only him now. Him and the unrelenting fury that surged in her chest.

Nabu seemed unphased by the murderous intent rolling off her in waves. The horns of his goat-like mask gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his stance was as controlled as ever, the dark spear in his hands pulsing with shadowy energy.

Emily sprang forward without hesitation, her movements sharp and precise. She was a blur of speed and grace, her daggers spinning through the air, meeting the spear's blackened edge in a burst of sparks and ringing steel.

Their first clash was a whirlwind of motion—dagger against spear, shadow against light. Emily's strikes were relentless, her feet moving in perfect alignment with her flowing blades. She twisted, sidestepped, feinted, and struck, her combat art giving her an edge of deadly unpredictability.

Nabu countered, his spear a dark, shifting blur that seemed to lengthen and twist as it moved. The air crackled around them, charged with energy from their colliding powers. Each time Emily's dagger met his weapon, it sent a shiver up her arm, a reminder of the sheer force behind his strikes.

But she didn't waver. She pressed harder, her movements more precise with each exchange. Her daggers became extensions of herself, every slash and thrust honed to pierce his defenses. She was no longer just reacting—she was hunting.

Nabu pressed his advantage, driving forward with calculated strikes. His sheer strength forced Emily back at first, her steps nimble but defensive. His dark spear arced through the air, a weapon of lethal precision, and every movement radiated cold efficiency. Yet, despite the edge his physical prowess granted him, the battle was far from one-sided.

Emily's movements defied expectation. She didn't follow the conventional rhythms of combat. Instead, her footwork and attacks shifted unpredictably, her daggers slicing through the air in arcs that seemed almost impossible to predict. At times, it was as if she became a shadow, slipping just out of reach, only to reappear from an unexpected angle, her blades seeking openings with relentless intensity.

The two combatants circled each other, their clashes creating sharp bursts of energy in the dim light. Emily's erratic, formless technique left Nabu searching for a pattern that wasn't there. The more she moved, the harder it became for him to anticipate her attacks. Her style was a dance—a deadly, shifting rhythm that seemed to exist outside the rules of ordinary combat.

But Nabu wasn't entirely unprepared.

Recognizing the need to adapt, his spear strikes grew more fluid, more precise. The dark energy that surrounded his weapon coiled tightly, reinforcing his reach. He moved with the grace of a practiced duelist, his long sweeps turning into short, efficient parries that just barely turned aside Emily's daggers. Each clash sent sparks of energy flickering through the air, and the sound of metal scraping against dark energy resonated like a harsh melody.

Emily shifted her weight, spun low, and struck upward, her blade flashing like a streak of light. Nabu twisted the spear in a subtle spiral, deflecting her strike with a deft flick of his weapon. Yet, even as he parried, she was already moving, her next strike cutting toward his flank.

The fight intensified, neither combatant giving ground. Emily's movements became more fluid, more elusive. Each step, each twist of her wrist was calculated chaos. Nabu's spear danced in return, its longer reach allowing him to just keep up with her unpredictable swings. His focus sharpened, his strikes more concise, as he sought to match her growing momentum. But Emily's relentless, formless dance forced him to stay on edge, adjusting again and again, until the line between predator and prey blurred.

As the clash between Emily and Nabu raged on in the distance, the other side of the facility reverberated with chaos. Screams rang out—sharp, frantic cries of panic that echoed through the corridors and hallways. The commotion was deafening, a symphony of desperation.

Inside his ship, Delacroix sat in restless silence, his eyes fixed on the console that displayed the countdown to launch. The hum of the vessel's engines was drowned out by the distant sounds of combat and the unsettling cries that grew louder by the second. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, his gaze flickering toward the door as he tried to maintain his composure.

Meanwhile, amid the fray, Rex moved like a force of nature. The guards stationed along the path to Delacroix's ship barely had time to react. They raised their weapons, but their strikes never reached their target. Rex wielded a long Seeriphium blade, its surface glowing faintly with celestial energy. The blade shone with an almost holy brilliance, the faintly etched runes along its length pulsing with power.

With every swing, the blade tore through flesh and steel alike, its edge cutting effortlessly. Guards in heavy combat armor crumbled before him, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. Even shields infused with protective arrays failed under the sheer strength of Rex's strikes. The air itself seemed to part as he moved, his strength so overwhelming that the guards might as well have been made of paper.

Rex didn't slow down, his cold, determined expression never faltering. The Seeriphium blade gleamed brighter with each cut, leaving arcs of light in its wake. Blood spattered across the walls, the floor, and the now-abandoned security stations, but Rex's pace remained steady, his footsteps echoing through the halls. The guards tried to rally, to form a defensive line, but it was futile. Rex was a relentless force, unstoppable in his advance.

As Delacroix reclined in his ship's control chair, the distant cacophony of battle ebbed, the panicked cries of his guards fading one by one. The quiet that followed wasn't comforting—it was the kind of silence that pressed down heavy, like a warning before a storm.

He turned his attention to his Head of Guard, a towering Pleiadian with striking green hair and a physique that seemed carved from stone. The mercenary had been a costly acquisition, his reputation bolstered by countless brutal campaigns. The man's enormous frame, clad in reinforced combat armor, was imposing even to someone as calm as Delacroix.

Delacroix's gaze hardened. "It's time."

The Pleiadian nodded once, his expression grim but resolute. Without a word, he grabbed his weapon of choice—a massive, rune-etched great axe. The gleaming surface of the blade caught the light of the nearby consoles, its edges shimmering faintly with the glow of celestial energy. With a low grunt, the mercenary hefted the weapon and strode toward the exit, his heavy steps echoing through the ship's corridors.

Outside, Rex moved through the carnage with a measured calm, his own blade still glinting with the residual glow of its last victims. As he approached the landing zone, he paused. Something shifted. The air seemed to vibrate faintly, and then—a sudden burst of green light.

The ground quaked as the Pleiadian landed with a thunderous impact, his massive form rising from the shockwave. He loomed taller than Rex, his frame impossibly broad. The axes in his hands glowed fiercely, their surfaces engraved with shimmering runes. Each axe was a masterpiece of destruction, forged from Seriphium and infused with Gratia, the pure white energy of celestial power. They radiated a blinding brilliance that was both beautiful and terrifying.

The Pleiadian's green hair flared slightly as he settled into a fighting stance. His presence alone was overwhelming, like a mountain coming to life. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to still as he squared off against Rex. The mercenary's voice rumbled low. "You will go no further."

Rex, however, seemed entirely unperturbed. A small, amused smile tugged at his lips. "That's a big axe you've got there." His tone was mocking, almost dismissive, as he raised his own blade.

In the blink of an eye, Rex was in motion. He blurred forward, his sword trailing light in a swift, cutting arc. The Pleiadian barely had time to react; his massive body turned slightly, his axes beginning to rise in defense—but he was too slow. Far too slow.

The moment was over before it could even register. Rex's blade sliced cleanly through the air—and through flesh. The mercenary's green eyes widened briefly in shock. In that instant, his head separated from his shoulders.

Blood erupted in a vivid crimson arc, cascading to the ground as the Pleiadian's massive form crumpled in on itself. His once-imposing body hit the floor with a heavy thud, the twin axes clattering uselessly beside him. The light in the weapons dimmed, their power fading now that their wielder was no more.

Rex didn't break his stride. His blade gleamed faintly in the light of the ship's engines as he stepped past the fallen mercenary. His smile lingered, cold and confident, as though the encounter had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

As the ship's engines roared to life, the sound reverberated through the facility. The floor trembled faintly as the ceiling above began to shift and part, massive mechanical panels sliding away to clear a path for the vessel's departure. Gleaming thrusters flared bright blue, casting sharp shadows across the hangar's interior. The ship began its ascent, the hum of its engine building into a deep, resonant thrum.

Rex stood firm on the ground below, his gaze locked onto the ascending vessel. He raised his arms with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes narrowing as his ability factor ignited. A wave of crimson energy surged outward, distorting the air around him. The psionic force grew rapidly, coalescing into a shimmering aura that enveloped the ship. The hull vibrated under the sudden pressure, and the mighty craft, once rising steadily, now shuddered mid-air.

"Not so fast," Rex muttered, his voice steady, laced with quiet determination. With a single motion, the crimson energy solidified into an invisible grip, latching onto the ship with unyielding force. His telekinetic grasp held it fast, and then, with a sharp downward gesture, he began to pull.

The entire vessel groaned under the strain. Metal creaked, the engines sputtered, and the blue thrusters flickered erratically. Inside the cockpit, alarms blared, and red warning lights illuminated Delacroix's face.

The ship lurched, dragged downward by a force that defied its power. Delacroix clutched the armrests of his seat as the ship's instruments scrambled to interpret the inexplicable pull. His chest tightened, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"What's happening?" Delacroix snapped, turning to his pilot, who could only shake his head in panicked confusion. "It's him," the pilot stammered. "He's… he's pulling us back!"

Delacroix's panic surged as he grabbed the comms panel. "Where the hell are my agents?" he barked, his voice shaking. "Where's the protection Mallus promised me?"

Static crackled back at him for a moment before Hekate's cool voice cut through the chaos. "They're coming. Stay calm."

"Stay calm?" Delacroix snarled. "This isn't what I signed up for! He's going to rip this ship apart!"

Despite his own cultivation level—strong enough to make him a Master Realm expert—Delacroix could feel the suffocating disparity in power. Rex wasn't just stronger; he was far beyond Delacroix's ability to handle. No amount of training or resources could make up for the sheer dominance Rex exhibited as he yanked the massive ship back toward the hangar with terrifying precision.

Delacroix gritted his teeth, sweat gathering on his brow as the ship's trembling grew more violent. "Damn it," he muttered, clutching the console as the horizon tilted and the walls of the facility loomed closer. "I'm not going down like this."

Agent Hydor worked the control panel with practiced efficiency, her long fingers dancing across the glowing runes. Before her, the Nexus node thrummed to life. An amethyst glow pulsed from the machinery, rippling out like heatwaves and opening a rift of swirling, luminous energy. The dimensional currents shifted, forming a jagged, tear-like opening in the fabric of space. Hydor glanced over her shoulder to Hekate, who had just finished her terse communication with Delacroix.

"You said agents were on their way to protect Delacroix," Hydor said, her voice tinged with suspicion. "But you've called most of them here. What's the plan, exactly?"

Hekate folded her arms, her expression as cold and unwavering as the rift's glow. "Delacroix has outlived his usefulness to the Divine Federation," she said bluntly. "It's better for all of us if he doesn't survive. The last thing we need is for the Jaeger Corporation to get their hands on him."

Hydor frowned, the amethyst light from the rift highlighting the lines of the mask on her face. "So, you've just… abandoned him?"

Hekate's lips curled into a faint, almost dismissive smile. "He'll be taken care of. I've placed a bomb aboard the facility. Once we're through the portal, it will detonate and clean up the mess. Now, enough questions. Let's move."

The amethyst rift flared, its edges solidifying into a shimmering, stable gateway. A dull hum filled the air, rising in intensity as the portal fully formed. Hekate gestured sharply, her voice commanding. "Agents, through the portal now. No delays."

Among the figures stepping toward the rift was Orion, her dark eyes flicking toward Emily and Rex, who were still locked in their respective battles. Orion's gaze lingered on Emily as the fiery mage pressed closer and closer to the Nexus node. The fight between Emily and Nabu had moved dangerously near the portal.

Emily's steps faltered as she saw the rift solidify. A chill ran down her spine—the node was active. If they passed through now, they could spread this madness far beyond Terra. Her jaw tightened. She couldn't let that happen.

Her daggers glinted, arcs of light trailing behind them as she advanced on Nabu. This time, there was no hesitation. Her blades shimmered with contained energy, and as she lunged, streams of ionized plasma erupted outward, striking in violent, curling streaks toward her enemy. The tier-five spell, Plasma Cascade, came to life in her hands, its charged particles splitting the air with a crackling roar.

Nabu countered with chilling precision. His ability factor ignited—dark brownish runes formed in the air around him like a protective cocoon. The spell Emily had unleashed began to unravel before it reached him, the plasma dissipating as his runes sapped its potency.

"Capricorn's Ability Factor," Emily realized. "So, it can neutralize magical effects at their core."

She adjusted immediately. With a flick of her wrist, her blades began to spin, weaving together a combination of powerful tier-five spells. Thunderstorm, Frostbound Icicle, Eruption Genesis—each one was a destructive force in its own right, capable of reshaping the battlefield. The air around her crackled with power, energy building with the fury of a storm. Emily planned to end this in one decisive strike, taking both Nabu and the gate out in a single devastating blow.

But Nabu wasn't the only one prepared. Hekate landed in front of him, her presence immediately shifting the dynamic of the fight. Dark purple light flared from her palm, twisting like a living void. The rift in her hand seemed to devour everything it touched, consuming Emily's unleashed spells before they could detonate. The energy vanished into the void, leaving nothing but faint trails of dissipating light.

Hekate turned to Nabu, her voice sharp and commanding. "Take the team through the portal. Now."

Without hesitation, Nabu nodded, turning to carry out her orders. Emily's lips pressed into a thin line as she watched him retreat toward the gate. Her blades shimmered, the edge of her determination cutting through her doubts.

"Not yet," she muttered, casting a dimensional spell.

In a blink, Emily was above the portal. A flash of light marked her arrival as she unleashed a special technique. The air around her vibrated, golden-orange energy gathering at the tips of her blades. The light spread outward like a dawn breaking over a dark horizon.

"Dancing Twilight—Falling Sunrise," she whispered.

A brilliant pulse of radiance erupted, flowing outward in a rippling wave. It wasn't just light; it was energy infused with soul-deep power, cutting through both the physical and ethereal realms. The crescent arc it formed swept toward the Nexus node, its brightness illuminating every corner of the chamber.

But then Hekate appeared once more, her movements perfectly timed. Following the faint spatial traces of Emily's spell, she reemerged in the path of Falling Sunrise. With another gesture, she opened a rift of dark purple light, and the technique vanished into the void. The two women hovered above the gate, their eyes locked in a brief, tense silence.

Below, Nabu and the Sector Zero agents were already slipping through the portal.

"Emily Legens," Hekate said, her voice smooth but heavy with disdain. "Aren't you tired of being dragged into Haravok's messes?"

Emily's expression didn't waver. "What do you care?"

Hekate's tone grew more cutting. "You're not from a Named family, nor do you have noble blood. You don't share the privileges that Pendragon and Haravok take for granted, betraying the Divine Federation without consequence. You're grasping at straws, believing this will lift your banishment. It won't. But if you join us—if you help us achieve the Divine Emperor's will—Mallus will see to it that your sins are erased."

Emily's face remained unreadable. Her orange-flecked eyes flicked briefly to the pendant she wore, a small, unassuming symbol of her devotion to Irkalla. "I follow Irkalla," she said simply. "Not the Divine Emperor."

The weight of her words hung between them. Emily's voice was steady, her resolve unshaken. The religion of Irkalla was not as mainstream, not as widely embraced as the Divine Emperor's faith. But it was hers, and it anchored her against the storm of Hekate's manipulations.

Before Hekate could reply, Emily made her move. With a faint shimmer, she activated Warp Dash, her dimensional spell, combining it with the acceleration of Rapid Step. She blurred forward, attempting to push past Hekate toward the portal, toward her target. But Hekate was ready. Her spell flared to life—Chrono Deceleration. The air around Emily seemed to thicken, time slowing, her movements weighed down as though she were running through syrup. Emily clenched her teeth, already preparing a counterspell, when the blast hit.

An explosion ripped through the chamber, the shockwave slamming into both women and sending them tumbling into the open gateway. The light of the portal swallowed them whole.