The alcove was a cramped, cold wound in the rock of the Slag Crown foothills. Before the dawn, the air was thin and sharp, smelling of stone and altitude. The only light came from the prize unfurled in Veridia's hands, a faint, sickly glow that painted her face in shades of triumph and madness.
It wasn't a map, not in any mortal sense. It was a sheet of shifting, obsidian-like material, cool and slick to the touch like polished bone. Its surface swirled with captured nebulae, miniature galaxies churning in a silent, cosmic dance. Her fingers trembled, not from the cold, but from the raw, vindictive glee of a perfect heist. She had done it. Before the first official step of the Patrons' "Rivalry Finale," she had already outmaneuvered her insufferable sister.
*A straightforward victory is for brutes like Grummash,* she thought, a feral grin twisting her lips. *This… this is art.* To win was one thing. To win through superior cunning, to architect a humiliation so complete that Seraphine was defeated before she even realized the game had begun—that was the only victory worthy of a Vex.
She focused her will, pouring a sliver of her desperate energy into the artifact. In response, glowing runic text surfaced from the swirling darkness, floating like smoke just above the map's surface.
*The Rivalry Finale: Retrieve the Heart of the Shadowfen from the Altar of Whispers.*
More text bloomed, the elegant script a death sentence to her gloating. Veridia's giddy triumph curdled into a knot of cold urgency.
*Limitation: The Altar's portal is unstable. Access granted only for the duration of one turning of the moon's shadow at dawn.*
Dawn. She glanced at the sliver of bruised purple that was beginning to stain the eastern horizon, a spreading infection against the dark. She had hours. At most.
Her mind, sharpened by months of desperate survival, became a cold calculator. The foothills, then the wastes, then the northern edge of the Shadowfen Marshes. It was a near-impossible distance to cover on foot. A desperate, frantic race against the sun itself. The dilemma was stark: fail, and be found by Seraphine, map in hand, a failed cheat. Succeed, and deliver a humiliation that would be sung about in the Court for cycles.
But the reward… oh, the reward was intoxicating. The image of Seraphine's perfect, illusory face, broadcast across the entire Network, contorting in a mask of pure, impotent fury when she realized she'd been cheated. That was a vintage of despair worth any price.
The giddy energy vanished, replaced by the cold focus of a predator. With a final, contemptuous glance in the direction of her sister's camp, Veridia gathered her meager supplies. She secured the map inside her rags, its secret a cold, thrilling weight against her skin. She slipped out of the alcove and into the grey twilight, a ghost moving towards a desperate, glorious dawn.
***
The world changed at the border of the Shadowfen Marshes. The dry, cracked earth of the foothills gave way to sucking, black mud that pulled at her boots with a greedy, gurgling thirst. The air, once thin and crisp, became a heavy, wet blanket that smelled of rot, stagnant water, and things long dead. Skeletal trees, draped in greasy, beard-like moss, clawed at a sky hidden by an oppressive, clinging mist. The sounds of the open plains died, replaced by the maddening, high-pitched drone of a million unseen insects and the unsettling, thick gulp of the bog.
Veridia pressed forward, the journey immediately perilous. Her boots sank deep into the murky ground, and each step was a battle against the mire's grip. She navigated around iridescent pools that hissed softly, their surfaces bubbling with corrosive acid that could strip flesh from bone. Hidden just beneath the brown water, grasping roots covered in hooked thorns lay in wait, tearing at her legs like spiteful claws.
For a single, terrifying moment, the sheer, crushing difficulty of the task caused a flicker of doubt. This was a fool's errand. A desperate gamble that could end with her drowning in this foul water, her corpse dissolving into nothing. She could almost hear Seraphine's voice in her head, the same mocking tone from the goblin encounter. *"Oh dear, tripped over a root? How tragically clumsy. The Patrons are weeping with laughter, sister."* Failure meant not just losing the challenge, but being caught by Seraphine in this disgusting, pathetic state—a final, inescapable humiliation.
Her pride, the monstrous, unkillable core of her being, roared back to life. The vision of her victory, of Seraphine's public unmaking, was a fire in her gut that burned away the cold touch of fear. She gritted her teeth, the sound a sharp crack in the oppressive quiet. This wasn't just a race. It was a statement. Her pace quickened, each painful, sucking step a beat in a drum-chant of pure, unadulterated spite.
***
Seraphine Vex awoke as the first true rays of dawn filtered through the trees. Her intangible form shimmered into existence, a perfect picture of smug satisfaction. She allowed herself a small, cruel smile, picturing the day ahead. A 'fair' competition. A race. She'd already scripted the commentary in her head, a delightful sequence of feigned encouragement followed by witty mockery as Veridia inevitably stumbled. The ratings would be spectacular.
She turned to the ornate, ethereal case where her copy of the map was kept, a shimmering construct of light and condescension she had manifested for the broadcast.
It was empty.
The case flickered, then dissolved into harmless static.
A beat of silent, perfect incomprehension. Seraphine stared at the empty air, her mind refusing to process the void. Then, the truth hit her like a physical blow, a shard of ice to the soul. Her carefully constructed expression of detached amusement shattered, replaced by a mask of cold, disbelieving fury.
Veridia hadn't just gotten a head start. She had cheated. She had stolen the one tool meant to make this a fair contest, a spectacle of equal footing. She had made a mockery of the rules before the game had even begun.
Seraphine's perfect, illusory form flickered violently, the edges of her silhouette blurring as her composure cracked and broke. She no longer needed the map. The location of the Altar was seared into her memory. She knew exactly where her sister was going.
The pretense of a rivalry, of a game, was over. This was no longer a race for a prize. This was a hunt.
A silent, furious scream tore through her, distorting the very air around her form. Her voice, no longer the silken mockery of a host but a low, venomous promise broadcast to the Patrons and the entire Infernal Court, echoed in the sudden quiet of the morning.
*"You want to play dirty, little sister? I will drag you back from that portal by your hair and make you watch as I burn this entire swamp to the ground."*