The banquet hall was a trap dressed in silk.
Dozens of golden chandeliers flickered above, casting long shadows that crawled along the marble floor. A feast stretched the length of the table—roasted meats, sugared fruit, wine that gleamed like blood. None of it smelled right.
Elma and Calista entered side by side, hands brushing briefly before they separated, masks slipping back into place. Elma wore black, the high collar hiding the faint glow of the shard beneath her skin. Calista was all poise, her dark gown flowing like ink, but her hand trembled when she reached for her goblet.
Nitron sat at the head of the table.
"Sit," he said softly, voice cutting through the hall like a blade.
They obeyed.
Nitron leaned back in his chair, wineglass in hand. His silver eyes moved between them, calm but hungry. "You've both been busy," he murmured.
Elma forced a smirk. "You invited us to dinner to gossip?"
His gaze flicked to her collar, to the faint shimmer beneath her dress. "To talk about loyalty."
The leash around her throat tightened without warning. Elma stiffened, hand gripping the edge of the table, but she refused to bow her head.
Nitron smiled faintly. "Ah. You've grown resistant. Impressive."
Calista's hand twitched toward her dagger, hidden under the tablecloth. "My lord—"
"Quiet," he snapped, the word a whip crack. Calista froze, mask slipping for a fraction of a second.
Nitron's eyes returned to Elma. "Do you know why I chose you, little gutter rat? Why I pulled you out of the mud and made you mine?"
Elma's smirk sharpened. "Because I was easy to chain."
"No." He stood slowly, circling the table like a predator. "Because I saw this in you. Power. Rage. A hunger I could mold."
The shard pulsed violently, heat flashing through Elma's veins. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
Nitron stopped behind her chair, fingers ghosting over the leash. "And now you think you can break free."
Elma turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. "I don't think," she whispered. "I know."
The shard's hum roared in her ears, a sound like a storm building. The chandeliers flickered. Shadows curled along the walls like living things.
Nitron's hand tightened on the leash—hard enough to burn. Elma gasped, but she didn't collapse.
Instead, the shard flared.
Light burst from her collarbone, sigils glowing white-hot beneath her skin. The leash hissed, steam rising as if it were melting.
Nitron staggered back, his mask of control cracking.
Calista moved instantly, rising from her chair and drawing her dagger. Guards rushed forward, but she slashed one across the throat before he could speak.
"Elma!" she shouted.
Elma stood, the leash glowing red-hot against her neck. Her vision blurred, but the shard whispered clearly: Now.
She reached for the leash, expecting pain. Instead, the sigils burned brighter, and the metal shattered in her hand.
The sound was deafening.
The chandeliers swayed violently. Plates shattered. Shadows writhed like serpents, twisting up the walls. The shard's hum turned into a voice that echoed through the hall: Vessel chosen. Chains broken.
Nitron's expression was no longer calm.
"Kill them," he snarled.
Guards surged forward. Elma moved first.
She didn't think. She didn't plan. The shard guided her hand, sending a shockwave of light through the room. Guards were thrown against the walls, weapons clattering to the floor.
Calista darted to her side, blood on her blade. "We need to move!"
Nitron extended his hand, summoning a wall of black fire that cut off their escape. "You think this makes you free?" he roared. "You are mine!"
Elma turned toward him. The shard pulsed once, and the fire guttered out like a snuffed candle.
Nitron's eyes widened.
She stepped forward, every movement calm, deliberate. "Not anymore."
The leash's remains hit the floor with a metallic clang.
Nitron's composure shattered completely. He hurled a blast of dark magic at her, but the shard absorbed it, the energy sparking harmlessly across her skin.
"Elma!" Calista grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward a side door.
For a moment, Nitron didn't follow. He stood frozen, chest heaving, watching as his perfect weapon slipped from his grasp.
Then he smiled.
"Run," he said softly. "It makes the hunt more fun."
They fled through the manor's labyrinthine halls, boots pounding against marble. Behind them, bells tolled, signaling the betrayal. Guards shouted orders, doors slammed shut, magic hummed like a storm about to break.
Elma's chest heaved, the shard's glow lighting their path. She clutched Calista's hand, refusing to let go.
"You're bleeding," Calista panted.
"I'm fine," Elma said. She wasn't. Her veins burned, her vision blurred, but she didn't stop.
They reached a servant's passage, slipping through just as a wave of magic ripped down the hall they'd been in seconds before.
"Where?" Calista demanded.
Elma's hand pressed against the shard. The whisper came again, clear and cold: North wing. Tower.
She looked at Calista. "This way."
Calista didn't hesitate.
As they ran, alarms echoed through the entire manor. Nitron wasn't calm anymore. He was hunting.
And for the first time, Elma wasn't prey.
[Quest Updated: Thronebreaker]
Status: Active.
Objective: Reach the Tower.
Risk Level: Fatal.