On the way to Eris’ suite…


    It’s eerily quiet out here. Or maybe I’m just noticing it now… walking past these damn mirrors with only Anna’s silence and the biting cold of the Memory Crystal in her grasp.


    I’m holding her hand, guiding her forward. It’s stiff, ice-cold… trembling. Each step towards the suite feels like a battle she’s barely winning. The accursed thing is weakening her, as it did Lady Mezalune.


    Worry gnaws at me, twisting knots in my stomach. But deep down, I…


    “Are you sure she can handle this? You’re stronger than her – it should be you, Hero.”


    No. She’s the one meant for this… right? Like I said before – Anna knows emptiness better than anyone. When Lady Claire recused her from that dark Dungeon and brought her into the Order of Selene all those years ago, she had no memories of who she was before. She knows how much that sense of emptiness hurts, not knowing.


    “I understand now, Arisa.”


    Anna’s voice comes suddenly, quiet but raw. She stops in her tracks, her eyes staring into some distant, unseen place a thousand yards away. Tears roll freely down her cheeks.


    “I know why Eris chose to forget.”


    I look at her, my heart sinking. By holding the Memory Crystal, she’s experiencing Eris’ past first-hand… reliving it as if it were her own. From the way she’s shaking, it must be something truly unbearable.


    “Anna…”


    My gaze drifts to the Memory Crystal in her hands, its dark tendrils writhing like living shadows. A cold presence coils around me, and as the darkness stirs… I find myself peering into its secrets… alongside her.


    <hr>


    Months ago, in the Convocation of Aria…


    Murals of divine Rinnah had been defiled with unholy sigils carved in jagged strokes of dried blood. Stone walls wept with the weight of their own corruption, casting grotesque shadows in the flickering torchlight. Marble floors, fractured and riddled with black, writhing vines… pulsed as if something vile slumbered beneath them.


    Eris Aintree slumped against one of those wretched, vandalised walls, her breath thin and laboured. Each breath sent splinters of pain through her chest, like shards of glass stabbing into her ribs. The air here was thick, not just with rot and damp, but with a presence – an oppressive, malevolent force that seemed to coil around her like a ravenous serpent.


    It was as if the walls themselves watched her… waiting for her to break.


    She wanted to flee – desperately so – but any movement was impossible. Iron shackles clamped around her wrists and ankles, bolted deep into the corrupted stone. Her fingers, slick with blood, twitched uselessly where her nails had been torn away. But the dull, pulsing pain from the ruined nail beds was almost soothing compared to the raw agony of her throat… encircled by a cruel metal collar. The accursed thing had been fastened too tightly, digging into her flesh… forcing swollen skin to bulge over its edges. With every shallow breath, it bit into her further, a constant, unyielding reminder of her captivity… and the fate that awaited her.


    She had learned stillness. It was the only way to lessen her suffering. Yet, even in silence, the collar punished her – its rough edges scraping with the rise and fall of every breath. Above, from somewhere beyond the ceiling, came the relentless drone of ritualistic chanting. The syllables were foreign, wrong, their cadence warping the air around her. Then, inevitably, came the screams – raw, piercing… echoing like the wails of the damned.


    And she recognised some of those voices. That was what kept her awake. That was what filled her belly with leaden dread… keeping her heart hammering against her ribs long after exhaustion should have taken her.


    But why them? Why not her? She was the one they wanted, was she not? This, she wondered. They had left her here like this for what felt like an eternity. Days? Weeks? Months? Time was a meaningless thing in this hellhole. But now… something was different.


    There was no more chanting – yet silence did not follow.


    Instead, there were new sounds – shouting, the clash of steel… and the blazing roar of fire. The torches outside her cell flickered violently as if recoiling from whatever force had begun to breach the halls of the damned.


    Hope flickered in her chest, faint and fragile. Was someone finally coming to help?


    Even so… this was not how her journey south was meant to end.


    Going to Nevermore, the City of Dreams, was her first time venturing beyond the safety of the Holy City. Her Studio had sent her there with a grand performance promised for her Undead fans. It was meant to be a historic milestone – a gesture of unity bridging the rift between humans, elves, and the living dead that had existed for centuries.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    But it had been a lie.


    The desert sands had swallowed her hopes the moment green fields faded behind them. When the attack came, she thought them mere bandits seeking ransom.


    Surrender had seemed the wiser choice. Ransom could be paid. Rescue could be arranged. But the Demon Cult had no need for gold. They had plans and intentions far fouler.


    She was what they wanted, what they paid for.


    Eris turned her head slightly, her gaze falling upon the motionless form beside her.


    His name was Roland Evenstar – ‘Mister Roland’, as she had always called him, teasingly, sweetly… just to watch his face flush with embarrassment.


    But he wasn’t blushing now.


    His broad chest, once so full of warmth and laughter, barely stirred. The filth-caked chains that bound him rattled softly in the damp air, his body a ruin of blood and torn flesh. They had tortured him in front of her… to break her.


    They had gone too far. She had pleaded with them. Screamed for them to stop. But they had only laughed, taking their time… dragging their ritual blades through his flesh with deliberate, artistic cruelty. And now… he had not moved for hours.


    She had called his name until her throat was raw, but he never answered.


    Tears tracked down her face, carving clean paths through the grime. The collar bit into her neck as her shoulders trembled with each sob, but it was nothing compared to the agony of her heart.


    Above, the battle intensified. The screams of the cultists rang out – some in rage, some in agony.


    And then, closer to her cell – she could hear some of the cultists speaking. Arguing.


    “Execute the prisoners,” a female Cultist commanded, her voice cold and authoritative with an edge of finality. “Especially her.”


    “What?! Are you mad!?” a male Cultist protested, his tone desperate and incredulous, rising in panic. “We should use them for leverage! The dogs of the False Oracle will breach our defences soon, and they’ll…”


    His words were abruptly stopped by the sound of a blade sinking into flesh, followed by a gurgling cry. And then… a body hitting the floor.


    “We cannot let them have her!” the same female Cultist declared, her voice ironclad. “If her fate is not to serve our Lord faithfully… then she must die in its hallowed name. This is our final act of service. Go!”


    Eris clenched her fists, bloody fingers digging into her raw palms. The screams of her fellow captives rose, each one like a jagged dagger to her heart. Some voices were familiar, others were not, yet she ached for them all – their suffering was no different from hers. Either way, their voices gurgled into silence, blood spilling onto the cursed stone and poisoned earth.


    And her turn would come soon.


    A woman approached – a Cultist, wild-eyed and grinning, her matted black hair caked in filth and blood. The dagger in her hand gleamed wetly… as if it had already feasted and longed for more. And from that deranged glint in her eyes, her every move…


    Eris swallowed, her breath hitching. It was the same Cultist who had slain her subordinate for daring to protest her mad plan. And now… she had come to finish off the Demon Cult’s most valuable prisoner herself.


    “Please…”


    The word was a whisper, a useless plea. It did little more than make the Cultist’s smile wider as she knelt before Eris, raising the blade… ready to carve out her final breath.


    She was going to die. Death, such as it was… at long last, after all that she had endured. But then…


    A blur of movement.


    Roland Evenstar, with the last shreds of his strength… lunged.


    The Cultist barely had time to gasp before the full force of his weight bore her down, pinning her to the stone floor.


    She shrieked in rage, her ritual dagger plunging into his side again and again. His body convulsed with each strike, blood spilling like a ruptured dam. But he did not let go.


    He would not let go.


    “Mister Roland…”


    His breath was ragged. His hands trembled, yet they held her down, crushing her struggling form beneath him.


    “Eris…”


    His voice was a broken whisper. “Live. Survive. For everyone’s sake.”


    Blood bubbled at his lips. He smiled weakly, fondly… painfully.


    “I love you. I…”


    His body slumped as his final breath left him. The Cultist beneath him was still shrieking, still flailing, still stabbing – until a silver-clad Warrior severed her head with a single stroke of his longsword.


    Eris barely registered it.


    The warriors – knights in shining, bloodied armour – stormed the chamber, cutting down what remained of the Demon Cult. But it did not matter.


    Nothing mattered anymore.


    <hr>


    Back in the Hall of the Lightsworn…


    The memories fade before my eyes, and reality comes rushing back. My senses return, but the unease lingers – heavy… and suffocating.


    I feel… upset. No, far more than that. I’m furious. Pissed off at the Demon Cult!


    But what good is anger now? What’s done is done.


    I turn to Anna. She meets my gaze, silent yet knowing… the sorrow in her tear-filled eyes mirroring my own.


    “So that’s what happened to her,” I murmur, bowing my head. “Fuck.”


    “That’s why she wanted to forget, Arisa…” Anna states, her voice trembling as tears trace slowly down her cheeks. “You saw it too.”


    “I did. Anna…”


    I don’t hesitate. I pull her into an embrace, holding her tightly. She’s cold – deathly cold, her body as pale as a spectre’s. Her touch stings… but I don’t let go.


    “But even in that darkness… in that hell… there was light,” Anna says, her voice gaining strength. She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, determination burning in hers. “Her Manager… he gave his life to save her in that final moment.”


    I nod, the weight of her words sinking in.


    “If she remembers his sacrifice…” Anna adds softly, her voice tinged with bittersweetness, like the lingering notes of a mournful melody. “His love…”


    “She’ll be able to accept her lost memories,” I finish, my voice steadier now. “And in doing so… reclaim the part of herself she lost.”


    Anna wipes at her tears, though they keep falling. “Yes. It’s her past, for better or worse. If she doesn’t face it… the void in her heart will never heal. And if she remembers Mister Roland…”


    “She’ll pull through,” I say with a smile that quickly fades into a thin line. “That said… she won’t take it well initially. You remember what Lady Mezalune said?”


    “Yes. We’ll make sure she doesn’t do something she’ll regret,” Anna says resolutely. “We’ll be there for her in her time of need! We’ll help her through this. Together.”


    A slow grin tugs at my lips. “Hell yeah.”


    Anna sniffles, a weak smile flickering across her face. “Let’s go, Arisa. No more delays. We have to… ahh…”


    “Hold still. One pair of steady shoulders coming right up!”


    I crouch beside her, carefully slipping her arm over my shoulder. She glances at me, and for a moment, we exchange tired but genuine smiles.


    Then, without another word, we press forward – towards Eris’ suite… towards whatever comes next.