The thick, corrosive mud of the Effluent Sinks gave up its grip with a final, sucking gasp. Veridia dragged herself onto the causeway, her body a screaming chorus of aches. The stone beneath her was a profound shock—not the jagged, broken rock of the Scablands, but a single, unbroken expanse of polished black obsidian that cut a clean, straight line through the swamp toward a distant cliff face. It felt unnaturally smooth against her torn skin, cool and indifferent. It was a path of pure will laid over a world of decay.
She was filthy, exhausted, and the Curse of the Sieve was a low, insistent throb in her core, a constant reminder of her leaking life. But as she pushed herself to her feet, the look on her face was not one of defeat. It was the grim, hard-edged mask of determination. Her mind replayed the last words Asterion had spoken to her in the quiet of his library, his voice a low rumble like stones shifting deep underground.
*"They are not a cult of simple pleasure, Princess. They worship sensation itself—the new, the extreme, the forbidden. They do not open their doors to the merely powerful. They open them to the truly interesting."*
The memory was a whetstone, sharpening her resolve. Her name, her lineage—those were dead currencies here. Her only collateral was the spectacle she could create.
A shimmering distortion appeared at her shoulder, coalescing into the insufferably perfect form of her sister. Seraphine surveyed the toxic landscape with a delicate, theatrical wrinkle of her nose.
"Oh, darling, look at you. Crawling out of a sewer to knock on the door of a brothel," she said, her voice a poisonously sweet melody only Veridia could hear. "Is this the grand plan? To become the most popular harlot in the swamp? The Patrons are finding it a touch… repetitive."
Veridia didn't spare her a glance. Her eyes were fixed on the dark gash in the cliff face ahead, the entrance to the temple. She straightened her spine, a small, futile gesture to reclaim an ounce of the dignity that had been stripped from her. She was not a harlot. She was an actress, and this was her most important audition.
***
The closer she got, the more the temple's presence asserted itself. The air grew thick with the smells of sulfur and ozone, a clean, sharp scent like lightning striking stone that scoured the last of the swamp's rot from her lungs. The entrance was not a door but a perfect archway carved from the living rock, the air within it shimmering with a faint heat haze. Rhythmic pulses of crimson light emanated from its depths, a slow, silent heartbeat that made the shadows dance.
And in the center of that archway stood the gatekeeper.
Veridia stopped, her breath catching in her throat. This was no hulking Orc or cunning goblin. This was a creature of the true Court, a being of ancient and terrible power. It was an Erinyes, a devil of vengeance and absolute law, repurposed as a bouncer. The sight of her triggered a pang of homesickness so sharp it was painful, followed by a wave of cold, professional dread.
She was beautiful in a way that defied mortal concepts of beauty. Her skin was the color of cooled lava, a smooth, greyish-black canvas for the faint, glowing lines of fire that pulsed just beneath the surface. Her eyes were burning coals, holding an eternity of judgment. Two large, leathery wings, like those of a monstrous bat, were folded neatly behind her, their tips brushing the stone floor. She wore an exquisite, minimalist armor of black steel that seemed less like clothing and more like a second skin, fused directly to her form. In one hand, she held a scourge of braided steel and shadow, coiled like a sleeping serpent.
The power rolling off her was a physical weight, an effortless, crushing authority that made every monster in Aethelgard seem like a mewling kitten. This was the power Veridia remembered, the power she had once taken for granted.
"Well," Seraphine purred, her illusion hovering just out of the Erinyes's line of sight. "She certainly looks more exclusive than the last pile of grunting beasts you entertained. Do try not to bore her to death, sister. It might be the first sin she's never seen."
The Erinyes did not move. She did not speak. Her coal-like eyes watched Veridia's slow approach, her expression one of absolute, cosmic boredom. She was a living wall, a monument to the concept of being unimpressed.
***
Veridia halted a few feet from the threshold, the heat from the temple entrance washing over her. She dredged up the last dregs of her princely arrogance, forcing her voice into a strained but imperious tone.
"I am Princess Veridia of House Vex. I seek entry."
The Erinyes remained utterly still for a long, deliberate moment that stretched into an insult. Then, with a movement so subtle it was barely perceptible, she uncoiled the scourge. The barbed tip tapped the obsidian floor once. The sound was sharp, clean, and utterly final. Her gaze remained fixed somewhere over Veridia's filth-caked shoulder, as if addressing her directly was too much of an effort.
Her voice, when it came, was a low, resonant hum, as devoid of emotion as a funeral bell. "Vex. Yes. I remember your house." She paused, letting the silence hang. "Your great-grandmother tried to enter. She offered me a soul-pact for a thousand years of servitude from her finest warrior." The Erinyes gestured with her chin toward a small, tarnished silver locket that hung from a leather cord on her belt. "I kept the locket. It was prettier than he was."
She finally lowered her gaze, not to Veridia's eyes, but to the locket. "Your name means nothing here."
Seraphine's illusion threw her head back in a peal of delighted, soundless laughter. *Oh, that is magnificent!* her voice echoed in Veridia's mind. *Your entire dynasty, reduced to a cheap trinket on a bouncer's belt! The ratings are soaring, Veridia! What will you offer her? The mud from your boots?*
The mockery, layered on top of the Erinyes's absolute dismissal, was a spark on dry tinder. Veridia's carefully constructed facade of control began to crack. She felt a tremor of pure, helpless rage, the kind she hadn't felt since her initial exile. This wasn't a beast to be cowed or a mortal to be seduced. This was a piece of home, judging her and finding her worthless. Her desperation boiled over.
"Then what do you want?" she snarled, the word tearing from her throat, raw and stripped of all artifice. "What is the price?"
For the first time, the Erinyes lifted her head, and her burning gaze met Veridia's. The sheer weight of that ancient, unimpressed stare was a physical blow. She looked Veridia up and down, a slow, contemptuous appraisal of her rags, her filth, her leaking, pathetic curse.
The barest hint of a smirk touched the Erinyes's lips. "The price is novelty," she said, her voice a cold, final judgment. "I am older than the mountains of this world and I have seen every sin conceived in every hell." She took a single, deliberate step forward, her presence swallowing the air, the heat from her skin prickling Veridia's face.
"Impress me. Show me a sin I haven't seen."