The radio officer burst into the Warden's office on the upper levels and found chaos in miniature: a tiny man—his height a punishable subject—flailing in the lap of Azrith, a six-foot goddess whose presence alone explained why half the staff had volunteered for this assignment.
A living barrier of sapphire-blue flame rose between the officer and the Warden, shifting as though it breathed.
"Got a death wish, Panno?" it hissed.
"S-sorry," Panno blurted, bowing quickly—not to the flames but to the one who commanded them.
Azrith and Virith Vhere: The Twin Enforcers of Warden Solgrave's will.
They moved like phantoms of fire and silk, their six-foot frames radiating lethal grace. Opposed in aura, matched in danger.
They named Virith Vhere the Blue Inferno: The fire that never dies. She was passion incarnate, wrapped in sapphire flames that writhed like living serpents around her head. Legend held that every strand of her hair had closed an age in heaven, burning away any soul foolish enough to dream beyond what she allowed.
Her deep ocean-blue eyes danced between teasing amusement and devouring hunger. Her form was a study in contradiction: honed muscle wrapped in elegance, a wildfire that knew how to move, and restrained only by will.
Forged from the same flame but cast upon the opposite edge of the eternal fire stood Azrith Vhere, the Emerald Phantom.
Where Virith incinerated, Azrith haunted. She was the calm before ruin learned its name.
Her serpent hair glimmered with ghostly shades, her skin pale as moonlight, her presence little more than a whisper that stayed too long. Emerald eyes read secrets as easily as sins, and she moved like a dream; unheard, inevitable, irresistible, lethal.
Together, they were beauty weaponized: fire and shadow, desire and death. And caught between them, nothing endured.
Virith's flames carried no warmth, but Panno was drenched in sweat when her gaze found his. He sank to his knees and confessed all he knew of the chaos spreading below.
The unthinkable had repeated itself, as it always did.
"He couldn't fend off a Specter?" Solgrave cut in, his sneer intact as he passed through the fire.
The fire clung to him like silk; an overcoat meant to shield rather than burn.
The sisters restrained their auras within the seventh layer; unleashed, their true forms would scorch the world. Yet within Solgrave's domain, they could breathe and burn to their heart's desire.
At first glance, Solgrave was a paradox; present only by consent: there, and not, both present and absent. A being noticed only when he chose to be. His footsteps rang sharp, his horned cap cast a long silhouette, yet the eye refused him—until he took his place beside the twins.
In that instant, the illusion shattered: He was seen. Despised. Marked. Targetted.
Hatred clung to him like a curse. The ambitious saw not a ruler, but a thief. A boy who had taken power they could never claim, and lives they could never touch. They did not wish to surpass him. They wished to unmake him. Yet despite every desire given shape, Solgrave remained standing… for now.
The origins of their union were lost to time. What remained was certainty, for history remembered only the outcome: the strongest triad the Soul Realm had ever produced; powerful enough to become the Pillars upon which Soul Prison was raised.
A prison built not for souls—
But to confine Omnipotence.
———<>||<>——— End of Interlude. ———<>||<>———