The clocktower ruins still smoldered with ghostlight, fragments of broken gears scattered like the bones of some ancient giant. Sid stood amid the wreckage, his breathing ragged, Serrath's final whisper still coiled in his ears: The Eighth Flame burns for you, not Ravh'Zereth.
Those words were a splinter in his chest. Even now, in the silence, he could feel the demon stir. Ravh'Zereth's presence pressed against the edges of his mind like a locked door straining under fire.
A ripple of shadow swept across the plaza, and Professor Nox stepped from the air itself, his cane tapping against stone as if he'd merely been strolling. His expression, usually unreadable, tightened when he looked at Sid.
"You survived Serrath," Nox said softly. "That is… unexpected."
Sid swallowed. "He could've killed me. He didn't."
"That," Nox replied, "is what makes this worse."
The professor's gaze shifted to the broken clocktower, its shattered hands frozen at midnight. He raised his cane, and faint violet strands of glyph-light unfurled in the air, weaving a map above them — a constellation of symbols, jagged lines, and burning points.
"These," Nox said, "are the Seven Fragments. Pieces of Ravh'Zereth's essence, scattered across the world when the gods sealed him. Each fragment is bound to a locus — a place where history and sorrow carved deep wounds into reality. Serrath was drawn to one such wound."
Sid's stomach tightened as his eyes followed the glowing symbols. Seven points burned like stars across the spectral map. But one, closest to the still-simmering breach, pulsed violently — as if answering his presence.
"You're saying one of those fragments is here," Sid murmured.
Nox nodded. "Near the breach Serrath tore open. And if Serrath could sense it, others will too — demons, Hollows, perhaps worse. That's why…" His eyes narrowed, violet light reflecting coldly from his glasses. "…you will retrieve it."
Sid stiffened. "Alone?"
"Yes." Nox's voice carried the weight of command, but also something sharper — a test. "You faced Serrath and lived. That has marked you, Sid Arkwood. The organization must see whether you are a survivor… or a liability."
The demon inside him stirred again, as if amused. Sid clenched his fists, fighting the heat rising in his veins. "And if I fail?"
"Then the fragment will consume you, or be taken. Either way, fate will have chosen." Nox's gaze lingered on him, searching, weighing. Then his tone dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "But know this — the gods are no longer passive. Serrath's words, the Eighth Flame… you've drawn their eyes. Some will watch. Some will judge. And some may already be moving against you."
Sid felt his breath hitch. The gods. Lucien always spoke of Baros with reverence, with trust. But the thought of being watched, judged, claimed by beings as distant as the stars — it didn't feel like salvation. It felt like chains.
Nox flicked his cane, and the map dissolved into shadow. "Your orders are simple: recover the fragment before it is lost. Trust nothing you hear. And Sid…"
Sid looked up, meeting his professor's gaze.
"If the fragment whispers to you," Nox said, his voice suddenly grave, "do not answer."
The air between them hung heavy with unsaid truths. Sid nodded slowly, though in his chest he already knew — silence would not save him. The demon's voice had never needed his answer to burn through his thoughts.
When Nox vanished back into the shadows, Sid stood alone in the broken plaza. The fragment pulsed faintly in the distance, calling, burning, like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
And above, unseen, something vast shifted. A presence older than demons, sharper than flame. Watching.
The gods had noticed.