Lomor adjusted his pack, testing the straps quietly, while Roald scanned the corridor ahead, alert but tense. The way forward was finally open, the Nullfiers still humming faintly from the walls, masking the sound of their steps. Freedom was within reach.
Stay calm. Don't show them. Not yet. Every step counts, and they need to leave safely before I allow myself to think of him.
But neither of them moved immediately. Instead, they turned to Velanora.
"Wait," Roald said softly, his voice rough with emotion. "We can't just… go without saying it."
Lomor nodded, shoulders hunched slightly, still recovering from the ruse and his staged injuries. "Thank you, Velanora. For everything."
Necessary. Everything I did—every risk—was necessary. And if Nux thinks he can intimidate me, he's wrong. He cannot know what I am planning, cannot see the fire coiled beneath this armor.
Velanora's armored form shifted, her helmet catching the dim light, and she inclined her head slightly. "It was necessary."
Roald shook his head. "No. It was brave. And precise. And—" he paused, struggling for words—"and more than anyone should have to do. Be careful with Nux."
Careful… always careful. Yes. But never afraid. I will not let him break me. I will not let him do to others what he did to those poor actors.
"And you," Lomor added quietly, "don't let him… do what he did with the actors."
Velanora's voice was calm, almost warm in contrast to her armor. "I won't. I promise."
I will face him. Calmly. Even if it kills me. He will not see hesitation. Not in me. Not now.
They started to step forward, finally ready to leave the castle behind.
But then a nervous shuffle came from around the corner. A young subordinate, sweat running down his temple, stumbled into view, eyes wide.
"Captain Velanora… Nux is… summoning you," he said, voice cracking with tension.
Roald and Lomor froze. Their gazes snapped to Velanora, worry darkening their features.
Good. Let them worry. Let them go. It's mine to handle. I've prepared for this moment, and he will not see me falter.
Her response, however, was entirely unexpected. She straightened, a small, confident smile curving across her lips.
"I'll be fine," she said, almost teasing in its calmness. "I won't let him do what he did to the actors. Not me."
Roald's jaw tightened, but he forced a nod. "Be careful."
Velanora inclined her head once more, eyes steady. "I will. Now go. Both of you—get out safely."
Go. Let them leave. My fight is coming. Calm. Measured. Every step, every gesture, a promise of defiance they cannot yet see.
And with that, she pivoted, walking toward the stairs leading deeper into the castle, her black cloak swaying like a shadow separating herself from the brothers. Lomor and Roald exchanged a glance, a mixture of concern and trust, and finally moved forward—toward the next stage of their escape.
The corridors behind them echoed faintly with the soft scrape of boots—Velanora's assurance lingering, even as the danger ahead waited.
Every step counts. Every shadow could be a blade. But I am ready. I will not flinch. Not now. Not ever.
Velanora moved through the palace corridors with measured steps, her boots silent against the polished stone. Each corner, each torch-lit alcove, could hold a trap—or worse, witnesses. Yet she walked with a calm that masked the storm of thoughts behind her visor.
Focus. Eyes forward. Don't breathe faster than necessary. He must not see fear. If he senses hesitation, he will strike. I will not give him that satisfaction.
She arrived at the kitchen, its familiar warmth a sharp contrast to the cold corridors. The air smelled of roasting meat, herbs, and faint citrus—a domestic normalcy that did nothing to ease her tension.
Familiar smells, false comfort. He'll think I'm off balance, distracted—but I am prepared.
Nux sat at the head of the long table, fork in hand, eating methodically. Servants moved around him, applying salves to the irritated patches of skin left by Springtrap's crushed nettle bombs. He did not look up immediately.
Calm. Calm. He will be calm, but I see the strain behind his eyes. Good. That will only make him underestimate me more.
"Come closer," he said, voice smooth, almost casual.
Velanora's eyes flicked briefly to his forearm. A flat, sharp edge—glinting under the sleeve. Her fingers itched for the hilt at her hip, but she forced herself to remain still.
Blade. He's ready. But so am I. Not yet. Let him feel the illusion of control.
She stepped forward, slow, precise, every movement deliberate.
Each step is a statement. I am calm. I am in control. He cannot touch the fear I hide—it does not exist.
Nux's gaze lifted to meet hers, calm but piercing. "Tell me… what happened to the boy?"
Velanora's jaw tightened behind her mask. She kept her voice even, unshakable. "He… had already succumbed to his injuries."
A pause. Nux leaned slightly forward, resting one hand on the table, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face for even the slightest crack, the faintest flicker of untruth.
Look all you want. I will not give it to you. Not the tiniest quiver. Not the faintest flicker. You will leave empty-handed.
Velanora met him without hesitation. Her posture, her steady breathing, the subtle tilt of her head—all communicated normalcy, routine, and obedience.
Every movement controlled. Every breath precise. He will not see what I think. He will not see what I plan. I will not falter.
"Very well," Nux said at last, still calm, still unreadable. He waved a hand, dismissive yet deliberate. "You may leave."
Velanora inclined her head once, acknowledging the command without a word. She turned, every muscle coiled in readiness, and walked back through the corridors she had mastered, leaving Nux at the table—a predator calm, collected, and fully aware, but for now… restrained.
And I will watch him. I will see every move. I will be ready for the next strike. He may believe he commands fear—but I command my defiance. Always.
Dillaclor will rise again.