The sun was setting behind the jagged rooftops of Karsen, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers over the cracked cobblestones. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke, iron, and something darker — the unspoken tension simmering beneath the surface of this border town.
Cyr sat in a cramped back room of a quiet tavern, the dim light flickering from a single candle as he traced patterns on the worn wooden table. His arm throbbed where the curse mark still pulsed faintly beneath his skin, a reminder of chains both visible and invisible. The events inside the Spiral Chamber replayed relentlessly in his mind — the forbidden binding ritual, the way time had twisted around him like a serpent ready to coil and strike.
Ink, his ever-watchful System Familiar, floated silently beside him, projecting a detailed analysis of the opponent's technique. The glyphs shifted rapidly as Cyr's mind absorbed the data.
"Veil of the Forsaken," Ink intoned. "A spatial and mental binding designed to trap the opponent in an endless loop of suffering. Extremely rare and classified as forbidden due to its devastating psychological effects."
Cyr's jaw clenched. The system's warnings were clear — mastery of this technique could tip the balance of power, but at a terrible cost. It was a dangerous path, one paved with sacrifice and ruin.
The tavern door creaked open, and Mira slipped inside, her silver eyes sharp as ever. She carried a small bundle wrapped in threadbare cloth, which she set gently on the table.
"I found something," she said softly, lowering her voice. "Old documents from the ruins beneath the city — references to the Binding Orders and forgotten contracts."
Cyr's gaze lifted, curiosity piqued. "More clues about the Lost House?"
Mira nodded. "Yes. And warnings. The deeper you dive, the more you risk being consumed by the bindings themselves."
The room seemed to grow colder as Cyr reached for the bundle, fingers trembling slightly. He was no stranger to risk — but this was different. The spiral of power and sacrifice was tightening.
Outside, the murmurs of Karsen's inhabitants echoed through the streets. Traders bargaining with wary eyes, children darting between shadowed alleys, and watchers — figures cloaked in secrecy — moving unseen. The factions jockeyed for control, each thread pulling at the city's fragile balance.
"Who can you trust in a place like this?" Cyr mused aloud, voice low.
Mira's expression was grave. "Trust is a currency more valuable than blood here — and just as easily spent."
As night deepened, Cyr's system interface pulsed with new options unlocked from the Spiral Chamber trial. He activated the "Contractual Binding Interface," a holographic web of vows and counters swirling before him.
Each contract was a gamble — power balanced on the edge of sacrifice. He pondered his next move carefully, knowing every choice could bind him tighter or set him free.
A sudden chill swept the room as the door burst open. A hooded figure stood silhouetted against the night, eyes gleaming with urgency.
"The Selection Trials are being expedited," the stranger announced, voice urgent and strained. "They're coming for those bound by cursed contracts — and the city won't be ready."
Cyr's heart hammered. The game was changing, and the stakes had never been higher.