It was hard to tell how long she'd been trapped here.
Could've been days. Could've been weeks. Time in the shrine didn't pass—it hovered. The sky never changed. The air never warmed. There was no morning or night, just that heavy stillness of a midnight that never ended.
Serah floated at the edge of the shrine steps, staring up at the ceiling like it would peel open and give her a hint. Dante had come and gone again, leaving her with the same words.
"Not ready yet."
He always said it with that same grave finality, like he was trying to convince himself more than her. She didn't believe it anymore.
He's not preparing me. He's keeping me here.
Serah pushed off the steps and moved through the dark courtyard. The grass didn't rustle beneath her feet. The trees never moved. Even the wind had forgotten how to whisper here. Eventually, she stood before the chamber again—the stone structure with no doors, no seams, no entrances—and placed her hand against it.
"I'm back," she said aloud.
For a second, nothing. Then the voice replied, smooth as flowing ink.
"Didn't expect to see you so soon. Guess I don't need to ask why."
Serah folded her arms. "What should I call you, anyway?"
"What do you mean?"
"I've been calling you 'the voice.' Or 'mysterious prisoner.' Or sometimes just 'that annoying cryptic guy.' But I figure it's time for an upgrade."
A pause.
"Let's go with Thrice."
"Thrice?" the voice echoed, amused.
"Yeah. Has a ring to it. Like… ominous but cool. Makes you sound like a warlock with a tragic backstory."
For the first time, the voice—Thrice—actually laughed. "You're far more interesting than I expected. Fine. Thrice it is."
Serah smiled faintly. "So. Are we doing this or what?"
"Doing what, exactly?"
"You said if I helped free you, you'd help me escape this place."
"Yes. That bargain still stands."
"But if you're bound here, then freeing you must be a really bad idea."
"It is," Thrice admitted without hesitation. "But since you've entertained me enough, I'll offer you a promise. If you free me, I'll never cross you or anyone tied to you. And if you ever call me in a time of need—I'll answer. Once. No strings. No sides."
Serah's eyebrow twitched. "That's awfully noble-sounding for a guy sealed inside a rock."
"I'm from an era where honor was a leash strong enough to keep monsters from biting gods. Not like your age… where men use logic as a mask to excuse their hunger."
"Okay, damn," she muttered. "That was poetic."
"So. Do we have an agreement?"
She hesitated. The deal was simple. The consequences? Anything but. "This all sounds too good to be true," she muttered. "You're selling it too hard."
"Because I don't need to deceive you. I need you to decide. Alone."
Serah smirked. "You sound like one of those ancient types. You know, from the time when gods walked the Earth."
"No one walked in our time."
Something about the way he said it gave her chills. Serah tried to laugh. "Well, these days it feels like no god is walking either."
Silence. Then Thrice whispered, almost fondly, "You are a strange flame, Serah."
Before she could answer, the air shifted.
"He's earlier than usual," Thrice murmured. "Go. We'll speak later."
She turned and saw Dante already descending the steps into the shrine. His eyes looked haunted.
"I had to help two souls cross over," he said softly, not even looking at her. "They lived regret-free lives."
"And that's bad?" she asked, confused.
"No. But they were erased. Gone. No echoes. No trace left to guide. Not even ashes to whisper with."
Serah's stomach twisted. "Erased? How?"
Dante looked up. "It's them. They've learned how to devour souls completely."
Serah couldn't speak. Just stared. "This job," she finally managed, "sounds like hell."
Dante didn't answer right away. Then, like pulling words through tar, he said, "I don't do this because I want to. I do this because I have no choice."
Then, without another word, he left again—called away to more death.
And Serah was alone once more. But she wasn't idle.
She waited until Dante was long gone, his footsteps barely echoed into silence before she was already moving—straight back to the chamber. Straight to Thrice.
She stood before the seamless stone structure. "I'm ready," she said, more to herself than anyone.
"Already? You must be desperate."
"I'm tired of waiting," Serah snapped. "If I'm truly some powerful ghostly whatever, then I need to start acting like it."
"Careful. Arrogance is the first step to oblivion."
"I'm past caring. Teach me."
There was a pause, then Thrice's voice shifted—more formal, older.
"Listen carefully. You will channel your spiritual energy directly into this seal. Not around it. Not through it. Into it. That means no hesitation. No second chances."
She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You cannot 'build up' to full strength. You either reach your maximum output now… or you never will again. That's the price."
Serah sighed. "Thanks for the extra pressure."
"You're welcome."
She stepped forward, placing both hands on the cold stone surface. Her breath slowed. Her focus sharpened.
Channel. Push. Unleash.
Something inside her stirred—the same force she had used when she exploded in rage outside the church, when she lost control and shook the spiritual realm itself. But this time she wasn't angry. She was intentional.
She let the power rise, swell inside her chest, her limbs, her fingers—then drove it into the stone.
The reaction was instant.
A blinding, radiant pulse exploded outward, knocking her backward. The ground cracked beneath the chamber. The trees around the shrine trembled, as if the world itself had gasped. The seal shimmered.
For a split second—just one—she heard a heartbeat from inside the stone.
Then darkness.
Serah collapsed, fell into black.
She wasn't sure how long she drifted in nothingness. It was like floating in ink, like being blind inside your own dream. She blinked.
She could see again.
She sat up. Same place. Same shrine. Same unchanging sky.
"Did I fail?" she whispered.
But something was off. Not the usual eerie stillness—this was tense silence, the kind before something breaks.
Then she heard it. A sound. A gasp.
She turned around—and froze.
Dante was there, but not like before. He wasn't standing. He wasn't calm. He was being lifted off the ground by the neck, held in the air by something.
No. Someone.
A figure cloaked in smoke. A man with no eyes, no shadow. Power crackled off him in waves of distortion.
Dante's body was glowing. Too much. Blinding.
And then he shattered.
Like glass under pressure, he broke apart. No scream. No struggle. Just gone.
Erased.
Serah couldn't even breathe. Her legs refused to move. Her thoughts refused to form. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.
"Dante…?"
No answer.
The man—whoever, whatever he was—turned slowly to look at her. And though she couldn't see his eyes, she felt them, staring straight into her soul.
Then he was gone.
Nothing left but the echo of her own heartbeat.
Serah knelt in the middle of the shrine, alone again—no longer imprisoned, no longer protected, and no longer sure… of anything.