The chamber was sealed away from time. Pillars rose into darkness, their markings worn smooth by ages no one remembered clearly anymore. A circular table sat at the center, surrounded by robed figures and their faces hidden, presence unmistakable.
No one spoke.
Then a woman broke the silence. "Now that he's gone," she said, "shouldn't things be easier?"
A murmur followed, uneasy and controlled.
"Easier?" another voice replied, older than the rest. "The rulers won't sit still since their watchdog is dead."
"He wasn't the only one they had," the woman said. "They always keep more dogs."
A third figure leaned forward. "What about Limbo? If one pillar fell, there has to be a way in. Someone could…"
"There are still two," another cut in. "Holding it together."
The room fell quiet.
"The only reason we even knew Dante was one of them," the voice continued, slower now, "is because of what he did."
No one pressed further. That story was old—old enough to be remembered only by those who still felt a shiver when they thought of that day, when the afterlife itself had nearly torn.
A new voice spoke, light with mockery. "So," it said, turning slightly, "what about the vessel you've been chasing all this time? Why wait? Awaken her."
Several figures shifted.
All eyes turned to the man seated apart from the rest.
Jeuydas.
He did not answer.
The silence stretched until he finally spoke. "It's not time."
A soft laugh followed. "That's vague. Sounds like you're hiding something."
Jeuydas turned his head. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't move. The man who had spoken went still, breath catching as Jeuydas' gaze settled on him. No one else breathed.
A woman broke the tension. "There was a disturbance earlier. A ripple. It came from your territory."
"One of ours lost control," Jeuydas said. "It's handled."
He stood. "If that's all," he added, "I'm leaving."
As he passed the man who had laughed, he stopped. A decayed hand settled on the man's shoulder. The smell hit first—rot, old flesh, something eerie. The man stiffened as Jeuydas leaned closer.
"Know your place," he said quietly.
He let go and walked on. No one spoke after he left.
◆ Scene Cut: Cult's Base ◆
The church above had been abandoned for decades. Below it, the cult's halls felt thinner than usual.
Jeuydas descended the steps, eyes narrowing as he took in the empty corridors. Fewer voices. Fewer presences.
"Why?" he asked.
Kevin stepped forward quickly. "We moved since the old man's gone. That changes things."
Jeuydas turned to him as Kevin continued, "Madame has been interfering. Her people keep asking around. Looking for the girl. I sent vessels. Souls. Enough to finish them."
A pause followed. "She needed to be reminded of her place."
Jeuydas looked at him. "Did I ask you to?"
Kevin hesitated. "No. But I thought—"
Jeuydas vanished.
One moment he was there and the next, his hand was already on Kevin's face. Kevin's body jerked violently as he was lifted from the floor, fingers clawing uselessly. A wet sound filled the hall as black blood spilled from his eyes, his nose, his ears, running downward, drawn toward Jeuydas' feet as if pulled by something unseen.
The flesh of Jeuydas' hand darkened, rotting further as it absorbed what flowed from him.
Then it stopped.
Jeuydas released him. Kevin hit the ground and didn't move.
He then turned to the others. "Replace the soul. Dispose of what's left."
He paused. "This time, find one that doesn't think."
No one argued. No one met his gaze. Silence followed Jeuydas' departure.
One of the robed figures finally spoke, voice low. "Should we… call them back?"
No answer came at first.
Then, from the corridor beyond, Jeuydas' voice reached them—calm, distant, final. "It's already too late."
A pause followed. "There could not have been a worse time to provoke her. The last chain holding her in place is gone."
His footsteps receded.
Unease rippled through the room as several figures exchanged glances.
"I don't understand," one muttered. "Why does he speak of her with such caution? She's done nothing beyond training souls and vessels. Hardly worth this concern."
Another figure answered, a woman, her voice quiet, almost reverent. "You wouldn't say that if you had seen what followed her death."
The room stilled.
"She didn't earn her respect," the woman continued. "She took it by force. And those who witnessed that day…"
Her voice faltered.
"They pray to this day, for surviving it."