The cell stank of damp stone and old blood. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing in like a weight Alyc refused to acknowledge. She sat against the cold wall, her wrists shackled in iron, but she barely felt their bite. She had learned to live with chains. The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, sharp, deliberate. She didn’t move as the heavy iron door groaned open. Thomiskee stepped inside, his face a mask of unreadable calm. Behind him, Sammond lingered in the shadows, silent as ever. "You’ve divided Selenia," Thomiskee said, his voice measured but edged with something dangerous. "Half of our people want your head. The other half want you as a weapon." Alyc smirked, her lip splitting slightly from the dried blood that still lingered there. "I don’t care what the people want." Thomiskee let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. "This isn’t a game, Alyc." His gaze bore into her, searching for something, regret, guilt, even the slightest hesitation. But Alyc gave him nothing. "Did you plan the assassination?" he pressed. "Was Selenia involved? Were you ever truly loyal?" Alyc leaned back, tilting her head as if considering the questions. Then, slowly, she turned her attention to Sammond. He stood unmoving behind Thomiskee, his expression too still, his presence too quiet. Something was wrong. The flicker was small at first. A distortion in the air, a ripple that made Alyc’s breath hitch. Sammond’s face… wavered. The color in his eyes dimmed, his edges blurred, bending like a heat mirage. Alyc’s stomach twisted. Sammond moved, no, glided, behind Thomiskee with an unnatural grace. Alyc surged forward in her chains. "Move, Thomiskee!" Too late. Sammond’s form warped, his hair darkening, his face stretching into something familiar yet wrong. His presence shifted, heavier, darker. Sammond was gone. Prigo Crest stood in his place. Thomiskee spun, his hand moving to his sword, But the transformation wasn’t over. Prigo smirked, his form twisting once more, flesh melting like wax, stretching into something older, something forgotten by time itself. His eyes darkened to endless voids. His grin widened into something unnatural. And then, there he was. Before Alyc could react, The Form moved. Thomiskee barely had time to register what was happening. His brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face, before, A blade pierced his spine. The sound was sickening, wet, final. Thomiskee gasped, a strangled noise escaping his lips as his sword clattered uselessly to the ground. His knees buckled. Alyc lunged forward, her chains rattling, but she was powerless. She watched as Thomiskee collapsed at The form's feet, his body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut. Blood spread in a slow, dark pool across the cold stone floor, seeping into the cracks of the ancient prison. His wide, unseeing eyes remained locked onto Alyc, frozen in confusion, in betrayal. Her chest tightened. Thomiskee hadn’t deserved this. He had been a soldier, a commander, maybe even an enemy, but not like this. Not like this. Alyc’s breath came in ragged bursts, the iron around her wrists biting into her skin as she strained against the chains. She wanted to move. To fight. To do anything but stand there, shackled, watching the life drain from Thomiskee’s eyes. But The Forgotten only smiled. He nudged the lifeless body with the toe of his boot, as if inspecting broken merchandise, then turned his gaze to her. "Disappointing," he mused, shaking his head. "I thought he would last a little longer." Alyc’s body burned with rage. Every muscle screamed for action, but there was nothing she could do. "Alyc’s breath came fast and sharp, her body coiled tight with rage, but before she could even form words, The Forgotten lifted a single finger. "Shhh, little warrior," he whispered, his voice curling through the dim air like smoke. "No need for pleasantries. You’re about to learn the truth." Then he moved. Not like a man, not like anything bound by mortal flesh. His form stretched, bending as though reality itself struggled to contain him. His features twisted, melting like wax in the heat. Sammond’s face flickered first, then Prigo Crest, then something else entirely, something in between, something ancient, something wrong. His true form was neither man nor god, neither young nor old. His skin rippled like shadow, his eyes shifting between too many and none at all. For a moment, he was nothing but shifting void, a wound in the fabric of existence.

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  Alyc felt her stomach churn. "You should have seen it sooner," he said, tilting his head, his smirk widening in something that barely resembled amusement. Alyc swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "Who... what are you?" The Forgotten regarded her like a wolf considering an injured animal, not with hunger, but with curiosity. "My true name is lost to time," he mused. "But I have grown... quite fond of Prigo." The name settled over her like ice. Her mind raced, dragging her through every memory, every moment where fate had twisted against her. All the pain, all the suffering,it had always been him. It had always been him. "You," she rasped, the word barely forming past the pressure in her chest. "You were there from the beginning." His grin widened. "Oh, little ember, you have no idea."

  Alyc’s fingers curled into fists, the chains rattling as she stepped forward. "You’ve been working for Desmond Alistar." A flicker of irritation passed across The Forgotten’s face. His features darkened, the shadows beneath his skin writhing. "Work for him?" he spat. "Stupid girl." His voice dropped into a low growl, venom dripping from every syllable. "I fed his paranoia. I nurtured his rage. I gave him the whispers he wanted to hear, the enemies he so desperately needed. He was so eager to burn the world in Emberfall’s name. It was almost too easy." Alyc’s stomach twisted. "You killed Sace." The Forgotten exhaled through his nose, almost disappointed. "To get into the Trials, yes." He sighed, shaking his head. "A necessary loss." She felt sick. Her mind spun through every moment, every event that had shaped her path, all of it tangled and twisted by his hands. The Forgotten stepped closer, his voice turning soft, almost tender. "I needed Durk vulnerable," he murmured. "I needed him distracted, weighed down by grief. I needed you to watch as he fell." Alyc’s pulse pounded in her ears. The Forgotten’s grin sharpened, his teeth glinting in the dim torchlight. "Oh, little warrior," he crooned. "I didn’t just make Durk die." His voice was almost gentle as he whispered, "I made them all die." The air turned suffocating. Alyc staggered back, bile rising in her throat. "You…" Her voice was raw, shaking with something beyond fury. "You orchestrated everything, the Trials, the war, me."

  "Of course," he said simply, as if it were obvious. "Everything had to be just right." He leaned in, his too-dark eyes burning into hers. "And you, dear Alyc, have played your role beautifully." Alyc lunged, chains rattling, vision pulsing red. She wanted to end him, to carve his name from the world, to burn him to nothing. But The Forgotten only laughed. "Now," he murmured, stepping back, his body fading into shadow, "you can stay here and watch your world burn." Then, He was gone. Alyc stood frozen, panting, trembling, her fingernails digging into her palms so hard that blood welled beneath them. Thomiskee’s body lay still on the floor, his blood still warm. And outside, beyond her prison walls, the war had begun.