Tien walked through the desolate, decadent halls in search of the others. Donning her usual clothes after a brief change, one brought upon by the fact that the festivities had long ceased and that heels did not make mortal battle very comfortable, she passed through a great deal of doors that seemed endless, leading nowhere in particular.

  One thing led her on regardless: a trail of rainwater droplets that never seemed to evaporate. Many ideas formed in her mind as she followed them. Is this a message from Sato? Are they in danger? She might be keeping the water here as a breadcrumb trail.

  Her hypotheses seemed correct as the snaking liquid came to an abrupt dead end. Warped architecture and mangled furniture blocked her way all of a sudden, and the bodies of a few illum of the Eternal Procession were laid to rest amongst the chaos, bloody and obviously cut by blades matching those her allies used.

  It was then that she heard a mighty, ravenous scream. Knowing better than to stand in the way of an oncoming storm, she hid amongst the jumbled mess and played dead as best she could in case the rampaging monster managed to find her.

  A torpedo of razor-sharp blood drilled through the air and through the endless halls, heralded by the fiend’s mad voice.

  Tien held her breath, determined to avoid the threat.

  “Blood… must drink… must feast…! What better time is there than this grand festival of abundance!? A sanguine cornucopia… ripe for the taking…!” Insane murmurings left the blood-drunk Count’s lips as he passed her by, countless roseate droplets dripping from both his mantle and spear alike. They seemed like hundreds of falling rose petals, each dotting the glossy floor as a painter presses red paint to an empty canvas. Eventually, with no luck in fetching more prey for his insatiable thirst, the vampire left the desecrated corridor and continued on in his unending search.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, leaving her hiding place. She let her eyes get lost in the swirling colors. The roseate petals had mixed with Sato’s rainswept tracks, creating a conflux of watery teal and rich vermilion. “If the Count’s thirst could be sated somehow,” she thought aloud, “could he regain his sanity?” Her knowledge of vampires and their odd biology was scarce, hardly helping her come to any firm solution. But the thought alone was important. If it was possible, this horrendous masquerade could end, and they could finally depart with their object of desire.

  The Roseblood Heart.

  The Writer had spoken little of what the artifact truly was, but he had described in some short amount its extraordinary properties. Only to Tien via the telepaper, of course. He had warned her that it was strictly confidential until fully realized.

  “Then,” she pondered, “has it already begun?”

  Her soft voice echoed to nothing. Only the faint screams of the madman that had just left the area barely rang in her ears.

  “Talking to yourself?”

  She spun around, her overcoat gliding through the air in a semicircle.

  The Witch of Warmth came into view, scarlet dress and all. Fiery wisps danced in tiny motions around her form. Her chest heaved and faint, exasperated breaths left her mouth as if she had just been sprinting down the hall.

  “Not exactly,” Tien replied calmly. She couldn’t trust the witch before her. She’d spent much of the time after Ilzif’s massacre speaking with her directly. There was no telling whether she was working with an opposing party or acting alone.

  Camelia smiled. “Relax. I won’t harm you. I’m looking for something, same as you. Maybe we can help each other?”

  Tien gripped the handle of her suitcase, her face scrunched up in even greater thought than before. A fight with any of those of the upper echelon, vampire or witch, would only result in her joining the corpses surrounding them. She had to choose her words carefully. “Yeah? How’s that?”

  “Because I believe we’re searching for the same thing, just for different reasons.”

  “I’m not allowed to disclose any information about our company’s goals nor am I able to deviate from them.”

  Camelia giggled with a hand to her chest. “That’s fine. Just let it be known that I’m looking for the Reliquary Room, and Ma’at to be precise. If you desire to follow me to whatever end, do as you will.”

  Disbelief warped Tien’s expression, furrowing her brow. “You know Ma’at?”

  “Yes. She is an old friend of mine. Someone whom I owe an apology. And… I have a feeling-” She stopped herself, then elaborated. “No, I know that I must see her now, or something terrible may happen. Something irreversible.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Our mutual friend told me. You know whom I speak of. The girl with dead eyes.”

  “Beatrice…” Tien mumbled.

  “Have I piqued your interest now?” She giggled softly. “Will you help me? If you do, I shall help you in turn. It’s a witch’s promise.” Her sky blue eyes seemed to mirror Tien’s. They were quite similar in shade, both bright and trustful despite what machinations may be lurking beneath the surface.

  “I may not be a witch,” Tien said, “but I know of a certain kind of magic that can bind one another by promises made. …Seeing as how I can’t trust you fully, why don’t we make one?”

  “Binding magic, you say? If that’s what it will take, then alright. I don’t see why not.” Rolling up her silky sleeve, Camelia thrust her open hand forward as if offering a handshake.

  Doing the same, Tien clasped her hand in turn. White and red spirals danced from forged crests manifesting across their joined arms, culminating in a soft, resonant chime as the marks vanished just as quickly as they had come into being.

  “Is that it?”

  “Simple as that,” Camelia intoned. “If either of us strays from our promised path, the markings will reappear and will us to return to it. Though, I have to say, for a workshop magus, your knowledge of the forgotten arcane is surprising indeed. Did you tutor under an archmage perhaps? Or did you attend an academy of sorts?”

  “Nice try,” the suitcase-wielding mage replied sternly. “I didn’t say I’d tell you anything about myself.”

  “I was just curious. Don’t you think we should know more about one another in order to work together?”

  “That wasn’t part of the promise.”

  Camelia cackled vibrantly, her wisps burning brighter with the laughter’s rhythm. “I see. Well, at least tell me your name. I don’t believe I heard it before during the tournament.”

  “It’s Tien.”

  “Okay, Tien. What do you think happened here?” The witch turned her gaze to the shattered debris and corpses littering the ground.

  “I’m sure my coworkers passed through here, so we’re on the right track. The problem is…”

  “Yes?”

  “The tracks end here, and there’s no sight of them. Going by the destruction, they obviously fought the illum and something else. The Eternal Procession definitely didn’t cause this much devastation.”

  “Then the answer most likely lies within the rubble,” the witch said. “Stand back.”

  Tien did as she said, taking a few steps backward and standing behind Camelia with both hands firmly gripping her beloved case.

  Making a claw with her hand, serene light conjured atop the witch’s palm for a few seconds. The blazing flame created shadows over her closed eyes. She was deeply focused. Finally, after enough energy had been accumulated, she crushed it in her hand, then extended her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger. Opening her eyes, ready to cast, she snapped her fingers.

  BOOM!

  A violent explosion blasted away the wall of jagged flooring, doors and fixtures. After the smoke and ash dispersed, a clear path was left in its wake. They could now enter the warped hallway with no issue.

  Tien wiped a thin layer of dust off her face and coughed. “...For someone so polite, you don’t hold back at all.”

  “Haha! Better to be kind in personality and ruthless in action. That’s what my mentor always said.”

  “Mm. Kind in personality and ruthless in action, huh? Sound advice. Your mentor must have been an interesting person.”

  “Yes, very interesting indeed.”

  The two, now allied, strode through the wreckage and entered the hall. The walls turned and spiraled down to the corridor’s end, leading to a single ominous door. It was like an optical illusion at a funhouse. The more they walked and ran down it, the farther the door seemed, until finally, after what felt like an hour of endurance, the entrance appeared before them and the illusion faded.

  Tien’s hand hovered over the knob. Hesitation and doubt filled her mind, but she knew such feelings were worthless in the face of the mission. She had to open the door and face whatever trial awaited them. She turned the knob and walked inside, Camelia following right behind.

  A voice boomed behind them as they stepped into the enigmatic place. A torrent of blood and violence. The Count had found them, likely by the loud noise they had made, but it was too late. The two women entered the room, and the vampire lord followed closely behind. They were all enveloped in a dull, autumnal light.

  Flickering flame was the first thing that broke through the void. Tien blinked twice. The world came back to her in an instant. Though, the world itself felt far away.

  They found themselves in a beautifully ornate room. It had mountains of books, bookshelves atop bookshelves on the bottom floor and a top floor at the end of a spiral staircase. A whirling astrolabe sat on one of many wooden tables at the far end, along with countless dusty globes laced with cobwebs.

  The wisps floating around them both burned brightly as they noticed the figure standing near the tables.

  It was a woman with dark skin holding an azure orb. Countless colors swirled around in the shining ball as if it were a snowglobe. Her back was to them.

  “Ma’at?” Tien called.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  No reply. The woman simply stood stock still, entranced by the object’s luminosity.

  “Ma’at?” Camelia tried calling her. “It’s me. Camelia.”

  “Camelia…?” She spoke sluggishly as if her mouth was full of sand, parched and dry. Still, she did not look back. Her eyes remained in place, enraptured by the object of all objects.

  “Yes. It’s really me. Turn around so we can speak, face to face. And give me the orb.”

  “Give…? No!” she screamed. “You’re another fake! Another trick! Don’t talk to me! Be quiet!”

  “Ma’at? What-”

  Tien raised her left palm to silence the witch. “It’s no use. Something’s wrong.”

  “She’s… staring into the Aspect,” Camelia said, fear creeping into her heart.

  “Camelia… I’m sorry. In the end, I was too weak. You had to save me.”

  The witch’s eyes burned fiercely. “Ma’at… what did I tell you? The duty of the strong is to protect the weak, to defend them so that they may grow to protect themselves and others in turn. You have nothing to apologize for.” She took a few steps toward the Sirithisian cautiously.

  “Camelia… I’m sorry. In the end, I left and dragged you into the war on a side you didn’t want to fight from.”

  “There was no end to the war,” Camelia replied. She took a few more steps forward, the Aspect becoming a blinding barrier pushing her away. “We had to make a choice. I was too slow to come up with anything better. It’s okay.”

  “Camelia… I’m sorry. In the end, we couldn’t change anything. Sirithis vanished, and we lost everything.”

  “I told you. There’s still hope yet. And if the city is truly gone, then we must live on regardless. War was inevitable. There was no altering its tides. We were two tiny pieces of a monstrous puzzle.” More steps. The boards beneath them creaked, and that same faint light seeped through the cracks.

  “Camelia… I’m sorry. In the end, it was my fault we were imprisoned. It was my fault we were stigmatized. It was my fault I said those horrible things… those terrible things… and left you to figure out a solution alone. In the end, I gave up. I gave up on Sirithis… and gave up on you.”

  Camelia opened her mouth to speak, but a foreign substance painted her tongue and made her cough and hack. Countless jagged particles began to swirl around the Reliquary Room.

  “What is this!?” Tien cried. She could barely open her eyes. Whatever it was, it stung their skin and clogged their pores. She felt the tiny things between her fingers. “It’s… sand!?”

  “Not just any sand,” the witch replied coarsely.

  Ma’at turned around, and as she did, mounds of sand, mountains of sand swirled around her form and flooded the room, transforming their surroundings in the blink of an eye. A grand blue sky unfolded over their heads, quickly shifting shades until turning dark and starless. A lonesome night. An ocean of shifting sand and desolate dunes swathed below, and before they knew it, an entire desert had manifested around them.

  “The Aspect… opened the door to her Paracosm!” Tien cried over the raging sandstorm.

  “Ma’at!” Camelia screamed, unbothered by the sudden magical phenomena.

  But the Sirithisian once again did not reply.

  The Aspect pulsed, and with it, a great unseen force pushed the witch away from her old friend.

  “There’s nothing to say. I am a prisoner. I deserved to stay in Ironside for the rest of my life. What have I even accomplished since then…? Nothing. Nothing at all.” She hunched over, clasping the fallen star with both hands, then melded into herself, the star melting into her form. A horrifying cry left her mouth, and another great transformation occurred. Her form buckled and mutated, ebbed and flowed into a beast of dark shadow, as dark as the night sky above. It resembled a jackal with its limbs broken and shackled.

  Great, reverberating fragments manifested around her. They were echoes of the past, forged into towering blades of fractured energy. Four towering weapons, each serving as a reminder of her sins. Spiked chains coiled around their jagged hilts, then sprung outward, flailing all about the desert land.

  Tien and Camelia evaded them barely, ducking into a small dune.

  The chains flew all about the desert, then began wrapping around the creature in the middle, shackling it too, before finally locking it into place. The beast groaned in response, and as it did, the echoing blades floated upward out of their places lodged in the whirling sand.

  I’m nothing but a prisoner let loose without a road to take.

  Without a goal in mind, lost to the wastes.

  A blade soared across the desert plain at an angle, cutting the dune the duo were hiding behind into specks of floating dust.

  But they had already moved from that position. Camelia sent darts of flame into the beast while Tien stood in front of the gliding blade. Deftly, before it could cut her in half, she opened her case.

  “Marchosias!” she ordered.

  The demon immediately lunged out from the case, a terrifying mass of unspeakable flesh, mouths and appendages. It caught the blade without issue, the Enigma’s weapon stuck in place, gripped by the demon’s tentacles.

  “You are not a prisoner!” Camelia screamed again, toward the glimmering heart within the beast’s outer shell. The magic of the Aspect was fueling her transformation.

  One of the other three blades descended upon the witch without hesitation. Blasting the ground with flame, she dodged it, but another came down just as quickly. It was too fast for her to redirect herself.

  “Damn…!”

  A flash of shimmering fluid entered her vision, coating the desert night in an aquamarine tide. A rain-drenched slash ripped through the Inner World and clashed against the descending shard, sending the weaponized memory flying backward.

  Camelia and her savior fell back to the ground, gazing upon each other, then at Ma’at.

  “That’s a lie!” Sato screamed. “You haven’t done nothing! You saved me! You helped so many in Reville! If you hadn’t been there, I…!”

  A garbled, distorted voice came from the creature. It was different from the lies interjecting through the Paracosm. It was the voice of the human within the creature, within the monster’s core.

  “Ma’at! It’s me, Sato!”

  Anguished cries and pleas came from the creature’s core, but still they couldn’t be heard nor understood.

  “I don’t think she can hear us, Sato. She’s already Enigmatized.”

  “Then… we have to save her! We have to bring her back to reality!”

  Reality? This is reality.

  I am nothing but a weak animal fated to be punished and shackled.

  A murderer condemned to an eternity of repetition.

  The shard endlessly replaying the memory of Camelia saving her from Isfet’s beatings slashed at the three women relentlessly.

  Sato conjured up a torrent of rainwater, then unleashed it at the blade and knocked it down to where they could damage it.

  The Witch of Warmth jumped up onto the blade’s edge, its sharpness cutting into her hands, and held on for dear life.

  The blade and chain alike flew across the arid desert in order to buck the witch off of its side, throwing her into the ground, but she shifted herself around in order to avoid being eviscerated. Finally, once she could hold on with one hand, she put her other palm onto the shimmering image, the hazy memory. A serene warmth generated there, spreading through the weapon like a virus spreading through one’s bloodstream.

  “You only have your perspective!” Camelia cried, flame surging forth from her hand into the fragment. “Before I met you, I was utterly alone. Everyone hated me because I wasn’t a true Sirithisian. But not you. You accepted me immediately. You didn’t care about who my family was or where I came from. You only cared about who I was. You saw me for who I am. I’d save you again and again forever if it meant I could meet you every time. If it meant I could feel accepted like that for the first time again.”

  Scarlet flame exploded outward from her hand, and the witch fell to the ground hard in a plume of drifting sand. The blade had exploded and shattered, pieces of the memory sticking into the ground all over. What was left of it weakly floated upward, then turned its edge toward its master. The chain clinked. The jagged, broken, heated memory impaled the shadowy jackal. Another resonant cry rang out. Only three fragments remained.

  A kinslayer is needed by no one.

  I killed my own out of a selfish need for resolution.

  Who would love such a burden?

  Who would seek out a betrayer?

  “You are not a burden!” Sato cried, tears dripping down her pale cheeks.

  Another blade swung at the Maiden, this time mirroring the memory of Ma’at fighting for Altruin during the Relic War.

  She side-stepped its descent, the weapon crashing into the ground beside her. Countless grains of sand were sent upward and dotted the air. She jumped up, opened her umbrella’s canopy, and used it to pin the retreating memory to the earth. Rainwater conjured, flooding the blade and drowning it in Sato’s sorrowful yet cathartic memories. “I haven’t known you as long, but I know you’d never hurt us on purpose, Ma’at. Sometimes, fate pulls us into awkward situations. I was brought back to life at the cost of my mother’s soul by no choice of my own. The same fate that bound me to this responsibility must be the same that pushed you into fighting on the frontlines… even against your own kin. Fate wanted you to live another day. It wanted to save you from an eternity spent in a dead city forever, at any cost. Why? No one knows. To figure that out, we have to live another day! We have to live on! Remember what I said? Whether you like it or not, this Maiden of the Rain isn’t leaving your side! We’ll walk forward, together, just like you said! I won’t let you give up!”

  The cold blue and teal of Sato’s magic infused with the repeating memory, drowning it in warm rain. Its rough, serrated edge melted into a softer substance and pieces began breaking off of it one by one until it too directed its malice toward its creator. Two fragments remained.

  Yes, fate is omnipotent. All-powerful.

  Sirithis was fated to be erased that day.

  Why continue to strive and suffer if nothing can be changed?

  “Great change requires a powerful catalyst,” Tien responded to the echoing voice. “It’s not surprising that you two couldn’t sway the tide of war when even generals and their armies struggle to do so. You should be happy with the attempt, no matter its real-world impact.”

  Yet another blade swung at Tien, but with Sato’s help, they were able to deflect it and tear it to the ground with Marchosias’s might. Its shimmering image depicted the city of Sirithis vanishing from existence just before the war’s end.

  Another cry rang out, one of relenting misery. The broken blade levitated upward just like the others and impaled the creature for the third time. Only one blade remained.

  How can I be truly happy in a world that only reflects my past mistakes?

  I cast away my only anchor… my only guide… and wandered without purpose.

  “Open your eyes!” Camelia’s voice emanated from her hunched form. She was slowly getting back to her feet after falling from such a dangerous height. “Stop obsessing over the past… and realize what you’ve created. The new friends you’ve made. The new life you’ve led. These lies… have no basis in reality. You of all people should be able to detect that.”

  “Mhm,” Tien agreed, her hands calmly inserted into her overcoat’s pockets. “You are the detective, after all. And there are always new cases to tackle. New puzzles to solve. More Enigmas to analyze. We need you, Ma’at.”

  “We need the detective to solve this case!” Sato added. “We need to find the Heart, remember? And we need to set everything right.”

  The last blade did not even attack. It simply hesitated in the air, dangling like a guillotine over the jackal’s hunched, defeated umbra. The Aspect’s glow could still be seen from within its shadowy depths.

  “Besides,” Camelia continued. “I’m right here. After all this time, I’ve come back. I’ve come back to apologize to you, Ma’at.”

  This time, the blade immortalizing the memory of Ma’at and Camelia’s eventual falling out came down swiftly. Not over the creature’s head, instead coming straight for Camelia’s.

  “Don’t believe me, hm? Fine. I’ll make you see.” Leaving Sato and Tien to deal with the blade, the witch created another scarlet explosion at her feet and launched toward the weeping jackal. Calling all of her fiery wisps to her side, her stored magical energy, she launched them like a hundred bottle rockets toward her friend.

  They tore through the shadows, burning it apart until the being within could barely be seen, her hazel eyes still locked onto the shining orb. But they were dull and losing their luster. They twitched and spasmed as if eager to look upon something new. To look upon the world again. To give it another try.

  Reaching through the mess of fireworks and creeping shadow, Camelia put her hands on Ma’at’s and stared into her eyes.

  The Sirithisian finally showed life. She looked up from the star and into Camelia’s face.

  And the witch smiled… then removed her mask at last.

  “Camelia…? It’s… really you?” Before she could utter another word, the blade left Sato and Tien and once again hung over the kinslayer. Sparing no time, the weak levitation holding it in place faded and it plunged deep into the beast’s torso. The shadows enveloped Ma’at and Camelia together, another scream echoing across the lonely desert.

  Wondrous is the flame conjured between a star grasped by two reunited under miraculous circumstances.

  And through the fading desert, through the lonely facade, a black spear engraved with crimson filigree came to impale the burning beast.

  Before it could tear through the sparkling fire, it was deflected by a blade of blood that materialized then dematerialized as soon as its job was done. The Count’s spear left his hands and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

  “That is quite enough, Father. Your part to play is over. The Scarlet Masquerade stageplay has finally reached its conclusion.”