Azaros inhaled deeply, forcing that fear to the edge of her mind, pushing it out, drawing instead from the courage rooted deep within her.
There was no room for hesitation now.
Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, as if she were trying to regulate herself, to draw strength from the calm beat of her heart amid the storm raging inside her.
Then, in a voice like a blade unsheathing from its scabbard, she spoke: "You've talked enough."
Not a single tremor laced her words.
They came out as if forged from iron.
The wicked eye on her palm gleamed with mocking light, and a voice oozing disdain replied: "Oh? And what are you going to do, little girl?"
Azaros clenched her jaw and began to walk—slow, heavy steps across the cold stone floor.
The sound of her boots echoed through the chamber, like a march toward battle, as if she were defying an unseen chain trying to tighten its grip around her.
She stopped at the wall, her gaze locked on her palm, where those vile features sneered back at her as if daring her.
"What do you intend to do?" The cursed hand asked, its tone dripping with mockery, as though scorning even the thought of resistance.
Without warning, Azaros raised her hand and struck the wall with all her strength.
The impact resounded like thunder, a shattering boom that rippled across the chamber.
She didn't stop.
Another blow.
Then another.
And another.
Her hand struck the wall like a hammer from hell, as though she were trying to shatter the chains that had begun to coil around her soul.
The deformed palm screamed, a shrill, piercing cry that echoed through the chamber.
Blood began to seep from its nose and mouth, staining its twisted features.
The voice that moments ago had brimmed with confidence now cracked into torn, pain-soaked screams.
"You fool!" it shouted, but the words came out distorted, trembling from agony.
"I'm a part of you! You can't get rid of me that easily!"
Azaros paused, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.
She looked at the cursed face still glaring up at her, defiant despite the bleeding.
In a low voice—quiet but heavy with colossal fury—she whispered: "I'll sever my arm if I have to."
The hand blinked for a moment as if it hadn't expected this level of madness.
Then, slowly, a strange smile curved over its bloodied lips, as though it had just understood something new.
"I see now..." it murmured, speaking more to itself than to Azaros.
"It's the same madness... the same I once lived."
But the smile did not last.
Suddenly, the disfigured hand began to twist, writhing upon itself as if burning from within.
There was no longer that haughty expression, no trace of defiance remained.
Instead, its face contorted into raw, unfiltered agony.
A shriek burst from it, a cry like the death-wail of a dying beast, piercing Azaros's ears, nearly ripping through her soul.
The sound ricocheted off the stone walls, as if it came from every corner of the chamber.
"Stop! Stop!" it cried, its voice fractured, trembling, and drenched in a pride-less plea.
"I didn't mean to hurt you! Please!"
But Azaros didn't stop.
She raised her hand, ready for another blow, yet halted halfway.
Something in the hand's voice gave her pause.
Did it sound... genuine?
For a heartbeat, the raging fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a strange mix of confusion and doubt.
"I feel it..." the hand gasped, each word barely escaping.
"It's inside you... something burning me from within... a hell that devours my very existence."
Azaros frowned, curiosity suddenly igniting within her.
"What are you talking about?" she asked sharply.
The hand groaned, as if the very words were blades slicing through it.
"You..." It paused for a moment, then continued in a voice barely audible:
"What's inside you... it's changing me. The curse that binds me... it's weakening. I can feel it collapsing."
Azaros narrowed her eyes, growing more cautious by the second.
She didn't trust its words, not for a heartbeat.
"Do you think I'm that foolish?" she said sharply, her words cutting through its cries like light through the depths of night.
The disfigured face twisted further, agony carved into every feature.
Then, it whispered, barely a breath: "Please."
This time, it was different.
No mockery.
No defiance.
Only... fear.
"I don't want to hurt you," it hesitated, then continued, voice trembling: "I can help... I can be more than a curse."
Its blood-smeared eye lifted toward Azaros, clinging to whatever hope it could find: "Let me prove it to you... maybe I could be an ally... maybe even... a friend."
Azaros stared at it as if she had just heard the worst joke ever told.
Then she burst into a cold, bitter laugh—dripping with scorn.
"A friend? After all this?"
She raised an eyebrow in pure, slicing sarcasm.
"You're nothing but a parasite."
She tilted her head slightly, studying its decay with a calm, deadly gaze.
"Why should I believe anything's changed in you?"
The hand nearly collapsed from exhaustion, its voice weak, but in it, there was a kind of pitiful honesty.
"I have no choice..." it muttered, barely a whisper.
"What's inside you... it's too strong. I can't fight it."
Azaros's lips curled into a cold smile, her gaze steady, devoid of pity.
"Then... maybe you deserve this fate."
A heavy silence fell.
Only the hand's ragged breaths filled the space, like the remnants of a soul teetering on the edge of oblivion.
The face, once oozing with malice and pride, now stared at her like she was something else,
a being both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
Then the hand whispered, as though touching upon a terrifying and beautiful secret all at once: "Your blood..."
The voice stopped, as if trying to comprehend the truth: "Your blood... it's not like any other."
It murmured, barely able to form the words: "It carries the echo of the Lords."
It drew in a shaky breath, unable to say it aloud until now: "Who are you?"
Azaros didn't answer immediately.
Her gaze hardened, her mocking smile returned, but this time, it carried something deeper beneath its surface.
In a voice colder than steel, she said: "Nothing."
Then tilted her head slightly, watching the face tremble upon her palm. Her voice dropped, thick with disdain: "I'm just... me. Accept it, or don't."
But the hand wouldn't accept it.
"No... you're not just anyone."
Its voice had changed. It wasn't pleading anymore, it was revelation.
"You are something else. Something greater. In your veins runs the blood of the Lords... Whether you know it or not... Enki chose you himself. This isn't just prophecy, it's fact."
Azaros exhaled a long breath, closer to a sigh than a reply.
"Oh, of course... the prophecy."
She let out a short, bitter laugh, then continued, her words dripping with sarcasm: "How... original."
The face contorted slightly.
"Then... you knew?"
"Yes, I knew."
Her words came slow, deliberate, heavy with something unseen.
Then silence.
Her eyes drifted into emptiness for a moment, as if recalling a distant memory, a ghost from a past that refused to be forgotten.
Finally, in a voice that sounded as though it came from the depths of her being, she said: "Nothing brought me into this world but the prophecy."
She sighed, as though bearing the weight of ages, and continued: "And you're right. I wasn't always... like this."
Her voice sharpened: "I was greater. Stronger. More than your mind could ever grasp."
The twisted face on her hand remained silent, still watching her, beckoning her to go on.
"Everything was taken from me."
Her words were like blades—sharp and composed.
"A spell. A curse. Cast by someone... someone who knew he had no other choice. He wasn't trying to hurt me."
Her gaze trembled for a moment, as if recalling a shadow of the past, before she murmured:
"He was saving me."
Her breathing grew heavier, but she continued:
"Saving me from something ancient... something worse."
Then, she fell silent.
The hand did not reply.
It only waited.
At last, she went on: "Something that wanted to destroy me. To erase me from existence."
The hand whispered: "And this person... trapped you in this body?"
A bitter smile curled her lips, as if savoring the irony of fate.
"Not trapped," she corrected, her voice cold.
"Hidden... he hid me in this human body to shield my true essence from the eyes of my enemies."
She continued, each word like turning an old blade in an open wound: "But at the cost of stripping me of my power—of all I was."
She lowered her gaze, her voice deepening, darker: "It wasn't an easy decision for him. But he knew that if I remained as I was... I would be dead by now."
The twisted face on her palm kept staring, an intense look as if trying to pierce through something larger than words.
Then, it whispered slowly: "But the power is still there... buried, but alive... your blood knows it."
A faint smile touched Azaros's lips, a mix of sarcasm and reluctant acknowledgment: "At least... my blood didn't forget everything."
But her expression froze.
The smirk faded, replaced by a stern stillness.
Thoughts screamed in her mind, but she chose silence.
"Let me look," the hand whispered, its voice steady, sure.
"Let me find the curse that binds you."
Azaros hesitated.
Her instincts warned her.
But in the end, she nodded slowly and closed her eyes, surrendering to the hand's will.
Silence fell.
But it was no ordinary silence. It was heavy. Alive.
As if the air itself slowed... as if time bowed under the weight of something unseen.
Azaros felt an intangible pressure settle over her, sinking into her depths, probing corners of her soul no hand had ever touched.
Time crawled unbearably.
Moments turned into heavy breaths, and breaths stretched into what felt like ages.
Then, through the hush, came a voice—faint, but steeped in revelation: "There is indeed a powerful spell," it said slowly: "A curse binding you... suppressing your strength, burying it deep within your body, preventing it from rising to the surface."
Azaros's heartbeat quickened.
She opened her eyes suddenly—hope flickering within them, her fists tightening.
"Can you break it?" she asked eagerly.
For the first time, a flame of hope pierced the darkness.
But it was a fragile flame—burning more than it illuminated.
A long silence followed.
Then, finally, the reply came, but not the one she had wanted.
"It's a complex spell... layers upon layers of potent magic. And in my current state... as weak as I am... I can't break it."
A tightness clenched in Azaros's chest.
The flame wavered... but it didn't die.
She stood tall, spine straightened—her frustration visible, but not defeating her.
"Then how?" she pressed, her words hard, rejecting any answer that didn't hold a path forward.
"If not now, then when?"
The hand closed its eye, as if carefully choosing its words.
Then, in a soft voice, one that carried more than just words,
it said: "We will find a way... but not now... not as I am now."
And then... silence returned.
But this time, it wasn't empty.
It filled the space between doubt and hope, between the curse... and the dream.
Azaros stared at her hand. Her lips pressed into a firm line, her features solemn.
"I am Azaros," she said.
Then, with a sharper voice: "But... who are you?"
The etched face on her palm moved slowly, as if this question had been waiting for eons.
When she spoke, her voice was calm… but carried the weight of pain, pride laced with buried regret.
"My name is Nintu," the words came slowly, as though being pulled from the depths of memory.
She paused, her gaze glowing with memories that did not belong to this age, a flicker of lost light in a vast darkness.
She whispered, her voice filled with both pride and disappointment:
"I once ruled this world... the hand that held the balance of power."
She fell silent for a breath, as if trying to summon her former confidence.
"Enki placed his trust in me to preserve order, and my name meant more than just a title... It was a symbol of justice, and fear."
Azaros narrowed her eyes, doubt thickening in them.
She didn't believe… or perhaps refused to.
"A ruler?" she asked slowly, her voice dipped in suspicion.
"And you ended up… here?"
Nintu looked at her steadily, then whispered, her voice soft, but heavy with the weight of ages: "Betrayal."
There was no anger in the word. No sorrow.
Only truth—undeniable, inevitable truth.
"Not an ordinary betrayal."
Azaros listened in silence, her gaze brimming with curiosity and caution alike.
Nintu continued, her voice low but soaked in ancient heaviness: "Those I trusted... those who shared the oath of order I protected... they turned on me."
"They aligned with dark forces, forces from beyond this world, lured by promises of absolute power."
"Those forces gave them what they wanted, great power, power to rival mine."
She stopped, as if the words themselves weighed more than they should.
"They came together, united for the first time... but not to save the world, to destroy me."
Azaros ran her tongue along the edge of her lips, as if tasting the weight of these words.
Then she asked, her tone calm, yet tense with anticipation: "And what happened after that?"
Nintu didn't answer immediately.
Silence preceded her words, not hesitation, but an invisible weight.
"I ran."
There was no shame in her voice, but it carried the echo of an old pain, like a wound never fully closed.
"I came to this place," Her gaze drifted into the distance,
as if she were seeing the ruins of the moment that changed everything.
"I severed my arm."
She paused, as if feeling it again, the memory of the pain returning to life.
"And I sealed a part of my essence inside it."
"I had no other choice," her voice grew quieter, more broken:
"Except to wait… wait for the right moment."
Azaros stared at her, then raised an eyebrow and asked, a blend of sarcasm and sincerity in her tone: "And you think I'm that moment?"
Nintu's expression shifted, as if weighing her words carefully.
When she spoke, there was unwavering conviction in her voice: "Fate isn't random.
Everything you've endured has led you here. It wasn't a coincidence."
Azaros laughed, but it was short, dry, laced with a buried fury.
"Fate?"
She tilted her head slightly: "Sounds like another word for control. A game of the powerful, meant to keep people like me in their place."
Nintu looked at her steadily, as if seeing a part of herself in that rebellion.
Then, in a quiet voice, she admitted: "Perhaps I was like that once... I believed control was the answer."
Azaros fell silent, her eyes locked on the void, as if trying to glimpse something that could not be seen.
Then she whispered: "So what am I to you, then? Just another piece on your board? Another tool in your game?"
"No," came the reply, swift, firm, yet laced with a hidden sorrow.
"You are the key... the only one capable of changing this world and freeing it from the evil that grips it... because you carry something no one else can see, something that still sleeps inside you."
Azaros gazed at her palm, as if trying to decipher the fate that had brought her here.
Then she whispered, her tone quiet, yet filled with something deeper: "Seems we're both broken... aren't we?"
She continued, her eyes reflecting a strange mix of hope and caution: "But maybe... maybe together, we can fix what's been shattered."
For the first time, a calm expression softened Nintu's face, as if Azaros's confession had returned a spark of hope once thought long dead.
"Yes... together."
But as though unwilling to allow herself too much hope, Nintu added in a low voice: "But the path ahead won't be easy.
First, we must face what awaits us."
It wasn't a warning, it was a harsh truth.
Azaros didn't answer immediately.
She simply looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
Then she whispered, in a quiet voice tinged with deep thought: "If you're only a part of what you were... do you believe your true self is still out there, somewhere? I mean... the real Nintu."
Nintu's expression darkened, as if old memories pulled her under.
She whispered, her voice bleeding from an old wound:
"I don't know... But I can feel her... like a distant echo whispering in the winds. She exists... but far from my reach."
Azaros stared into the surrounding shadows, then asked, her tone sharper now, as if testing the last thread of hope: "Do you think... she's still alive?"
Nintu was silent for a moment.
Then she slowly shook her head, her voice barely audible: "I don't know..."
Azaros let out a short laugh.
"Wonderful."
She sighed, then added with dry sarcasm: "So my mission is even more complicated than I thought. First, we defeat the evil choking this world... then we go looking for you."
She added slowly, as if mocking the absurdity of fate: "And who knows... how long that will take?"
She exhaled sharply, a gust that carried with it a hint of buried frustration.
Then she muttered, bitterly: "Looks like I'll be trapped in this body... longer than I expected."
The battle had already begun.
But it wasn't just a fight for her own freedom. It was for Nintu. And for the balance that teetered on the edge of the abyss.
With a voice full of resolve: "So be it."
Her gaze sharpened—more defiant, more focused.
Then she continued,
in a quiet tone that carried a vow unbreakable: "I accept the challenge."
She fell silent for a moment.
Then her eyes were drawn to the black ring on her finger.
It seemed to absorb the faint light of the cave, a mysterious object holding something that should never be released.
Its surface was smooth, unmarked.
She raised her hand slowly, inspecting it up close, and said with a voice thick with curiosity and caution: "What is this?"
Nintu answered with a firm tone, her voice carrying an authority that couldn't be ignored: "Remove the ring."
Azaros didn't hesitate.
With a swift motion, she slid the ring off her finger.
And the world exploded.
A raw, untamed force surged from her body. It tore through her veins like fire, devouring her limbs, rising like a storm through her chest, her heart, her mind.
For a moment, Azaros was no longer Azaros. She was something more.
But she couldn't contain it... not yet.
And the cave responded.
The stones trembled, ancient carvings—long dormant—began to pulse, as if awakening from an age-old slumber. Dancing lights swirled in the dark corners, as though trapped souls from eternity were finally seeking release.
Azaros felt it.
It wasn't just power. It was something else...
Something overwhelming. Something more than it should be.
Her body was cracking under the pressure, limbs trembling, bones screaming.
This wasn't just a surge of mana.
It was something else.
Her eyes widened in astonishment.
She felt the power. It was immense, overwhelming, yet strangely familiar.
Her lips curled into a smile, full of challenge.
"It's incredible power," she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and admiration.
"But it's... faint. Like an echo of what it once was.
I suppose what I received is just a shard of your power, Nintu."
"That's correct," came the reply, soft, yet filled with an ancient majesty.
"That power was sealed within the severed arm... It's merely a shadow of what I once possessed."
Azaros's smile widened.
"And can I use it?"
Nintu answered: "As much as your body can currently withstand. Now... put the ring back on your finger."
Slowly, Azaros returned the ring to its place.
The moment the metal touched her skin, the power vanished.
The cave fell still.
The tremors ceased.
The dancing lights receded, as if they had never existed.
The ancient walls steadied again, though they had never awakened.
Azaros stood motionless, her breathing heavy, sweat pouring down her brow.
But it wasn't from exhaustion, it was from the sensation that still echoed inside her.
In a quiet voice, watching her fingers as though testing whether the energy had truly left her, she whispered: "That was… astonishing."
She paused, then added in a tone filled with resolve, but also something else… something she hadn't felt in a long time: "But there's something stirring inside me... a hope I thought I'd lost."
Nintu watched her in silence. Her gaze was not that of a teacher, but of someone witnessing a spark reignite.
She smiled gently and said: "This ring was designed to keep my energy from exploding within you."
Azaros furrowed her brow, her voice laced with suspicion: "Exploding? Are you saying that without this thing, your power would kill me?"
"Not exactly... but yes, almost," Nintu replied, weighing each word: "At least, until your body adjusts to it."
Azaros closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again—sharp and focused.
"So the ring will help me control the flow of the power?"
Nintu nodded.
"Yes. You'll be able to manage the mana within you, increase it, decrease it as you choose."
Then she added, her voice calm, yet heavy with meaning: "You'll need time to learn how to command it. This isn't about showing off strength. It's an art—one not easily mastered."
Azaros didn't respond at once.
But her blue eyes ignited with unwavering determination.
She whispered, with quiet confidence: "Give me time."
She closed her eyes slowly, drawing a deep breath, as though plunging into the depths of a storming sea within.
She let silence wrap around her like a heavy cloak, pierced only by the soft rhythm of her breathing.
There, in the depths of her soul, she felt it, a faint glimmer, a spark dancing in the darkness.
With deliberate focus, she began to summon that ancient power coursing through her veins, a current of fire, endless and alive.
The heat rose gradually, filling her body like a tide reclaiming an abandoned shore.
Every heartbeat pulsed with force. Every particle of her being began to melt into that mysterious power.
Then, Nintu's voice cut through the silence, tinged with a barely concealed excitement: "You summoned it!" she said, a mix of wonder and admiration in her tone, as if witnessing the birth of something new.
"I didn't expect you to control it so quickly."
Azaros opened her eyes, her features calm, but it was not the calm of surrender… it was the calm of certainty.
She spoke firmly, her words slicing the air like a blade: "Then we have a chance."
Her gaze didn't leave Nintu, and her voice carried unwavering resolve: "With this power, we'll face whatever comes our way."
But something shifted in Nintu's expression, as if a thought heavier than mountains had crossed her mind, as if an old memory had resurfaced.
She spoke in a low voice, heavy with unignorable warning: "There's something you must understand."
Azaros tilted her head slightly: "What is it?"
Nintu drew a deep breath, as though weighing each word carefully: "This ring wasn't made just to contain my power."
She paused, then added, her voice heavier: "It's a shield. A cage. A barrier that hides us from the eyes of those who seek our destruction. As long as you wear it, they won't sense us."
Azaros's expression didn't change, but something glinted deep in her eyes: defiance.
Nintu continued, her voice now deeper, as if trying to make her grasp a terrifying truth: "Those who sought my downfall... they may come after me again and now, after you."
But Azaros didn't flinch at the thought.
She smiled, confidently, and said with a tone that dripped with challenge: "Good. That makes it more exciting."
Nintu flared in anger.
"Azaros, stop!" she said sternly, a choked-out command: "This isn't a normal challenge. The ones I speak of… their power is not human. Even I feared them. Do you understand what that means?"
Azaros didn't respond.
But something in her silence made Nintu continue, her tone sharper, darker: "If they get their hands on you, they won't leave anything behind. No soul, no memory... They will erase you entirely."
The room went still.
The damp air grew heavier, as if Nintu's last words weren't just a warning... but a dark prophecy.
Nintu inhaled slowly, then continued in a voice tinged with sorrow she couldn't hide: "Don't mistake this for some bold adventure to prove yourself. These enemies… they are not to be defeated. If you fall, we both fall."
Azaros raised her head, her voice steady, though a small flicker of hesitation tried to hide beneath it: "But running won't change anything, Nintu. If they're that dangerous… then when do we face them? Wouldn't it be better if we struck first?"
Nintu's eyes darkened, filled with memories she hadn't yet shared. Then she snapped, her anger flaring for a moment: "This isn't about bravery or initiative!"
She lowered her voice suddenly, as if speaking to an old wound buried deep inside: "It's about survival."
She paused, then continued, her voice heavier than before: "I lost everything once… because of my pride. I won't let you repeat my mistake."
And as if realizing that nothing could stop Azaros except a promise clearly spoken, she added in a firm voice, her words heavy as iron: "Swear to me, Azaros... don't be reckless. I want you to listen to every word I tell you... There's no room for error."
Azaros remained silent. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I swear. I'll listen to you… but"
She raised her eyes, the spark of defiance still alive within them: "if the time comes when we must fight… I won't run."
For a moment, it seemed Nintu was watching her, assessing her all over again.
Then, she smiled with faint approval, though it wasn't a smile of complete relief: "That's all I ask... When the time comes to fight... we'll know whether we're truly ready. But until then, we must tread carefully. Every misstep could cost us our lives… or worse."
Azaros nodded, this time with clear confidence: "Understood. You're the one leading now, Nintu. I'll follow your guidance."
Her eyes roamed around the chamber.
She took a deep breath, trying to overcome the suffocating weight of the damp air pressing down on her chest.
At last, she spoke, her voice steady, but laced with a deep yearning for release: "Are we ready to leave this place?"
But Nintu didn't answer.
Her features began to fade slowly from Azaros's palm.
Azaros frowned, a trace of unease in her voice: "Where are you going?"
The reply came gently: "Don't worry… I haven't vanished. I'm here now—inside you."
Yet despite the reassurance, Azaros couldn't fully feel at ease.
The thought of another mind sharing space with hers... was strange.
Unsettling, in a way that defied explanation.
She drifted into thought for a moment, then muttered with a wry smile, staring at her palm: "Well, I guess... no more privacy, huh?"
Nintu chuckled, a sound like a soft breeze: "Don't worry, little one. I can't intrude on your thoughts or memories, even if I wanted to. Your mind repels me… protected by a fortress you built yourself."
Azaros tilted her head slightly, a half-skeptical smile curving her lips: "So you're saying that just because I didn't want anyone messing with my thoughts… my mind built a wall?"
Nintu responded, tone filled with certainty: "Not just a wall... A fortress. Your will summoned it. Impenetrable. Unshakable. That kind of strength… is rare."
Azaros raised a brow, her voice dripping with sarcasm: "Great! So I accidentally crafted a mental anti-invasion shield? Sounds perfect."
Silence followed, as if Nintu was considering the jest with a slight sense of amusement.
Then she replied with her usual solemn grace:
"It's not coincidence, Azaros. Your will is like a blade, sharper than most humans ever know. But like any blade... it cuts both ways."
Azaros folded her arms across her chest, her expression firm with resolve: "Fine. But this blade stays pointed outward. No one touches my mind... unless I say so."
Nintu answered: "As you wish. Your memories and thoughts remain untouched.
But remember this, walls built to protect... can also become prisons. One day, you may have to lower them."
Azaros's lips twitched with a sarcastic smile—brief, then gone. Her face returned to its steely composure.
"We'll see."
She cast one final glance around the walls that surrounded her.
She had spent too much time in this darkness, in the company of cold stone and suffocating silence.
It was time to move forward.