The manor burned like a wounded beast.
Smoke crawled along the ceilings, thick and acrid, mixing with the copper scent of blood. The echoes of alarms and shouts rang through the halls, muffled as if the house itself was swallowing sound.
Elma staggered against the wall, her hand pressed to her neck where the leash had once been. The broken chain links still dug into her palm, warm as if they'd only just been molten. Her chest heaved, but it wasn't fear this time—it was the shard, thrumming like a second heart, each pulse rattling her ribs.
"Keep moving," Calista whispered, her grip firm on Elma's arm. Her dress was streaked with soot and blood, one sleeve torn where a guard's blade had grazed her. The calm queenly mask she always wore was gone; her face was pale, jaw tight with urgency.
They darted through a side corridor, boots splashing in water from burst pipes. The walls glimmered faintly under magic wards, shifting like a mirage. Nitron's presence was still in the air, coiled like a serpent—they hadn't escaped him, only slipped his claws for a moment.
"Elma," Calista said sharply.
Elma blinked, realizing she'd stopped moving. Her legs trembled, vision flickering at the edges. The shard's glow was seeping through her collar, casting her shadow in strange shapes.
"I'm fine," she rasped, but the words didn't sound like her own. Her voice had a faint echo, a resonance that made Calista's eyes flick to her neck.
"No, you're not." Calista grabbed her chin, tilting her face up. Elma flinched but didn't pull away. Calista's thumb brushed over her jaw, gentle even in the chaos. "You're burning up."
The shard pulsed harder, almost in protest. Tower, it whispered. The word slid through Elma's mind like ice water, sharper now, insistent.
"The tower," Elma said, her voice steadier. "It's calling me there."
Calista hesitated only for a heartbeat before nodding. "Then we go."
They turned another corner and froze.
Three guards stood ahead, armored in black and silver, halberds gleaming in the dim light. For a moment, everyone was still. Then the lead guard barked, "By order of Lord Vale, drop your weapons!"
Calista didn't hesitate. She stepped in front of Elma, her dagger flashing. "Move," she ordered coldly. "Or you won't live to regret it."
The guards shifted, nervous—but Nitron's name still carried weight. One lunged forward.
The shard moved before Elma could think.
A pulse of light erupted from her collarbone, throwing the guards backward like rag dolls. The hallway trembled, lamps shattering in a shower of sparks. Elma stumbled, clutching her chest as the shard's whispers grew louder, layering over each other like a chorus.
"Damn it," Calista hissed, grabbing her wrist. "You'll bring the whole manor down."
"They weren't going to let us pass."
"They didn't need to die," Calista said sharply, though she didn't loosen her grip.
Elma met her gaze. "You're shaking."
Calista froze, just for a second. Her fingers tightened around Elma's arm, and she muttered, "Not for me."
They ran again. The halls blurred—stained glass, shattered statues, the gleam of chandeliers swaying above like gallows. Every step felt heavier. The shard wasn't just glowing now; it was pulling, guiding Elma forward like a tether hooked to her ribs.
They reached a narrow servant's stairwell that spiraled upward, and Calista pushed Elma ahead. "Go. I'll cover you."
"You're not staying behind," Elma snapped.
"Didn't plan to." Calista smirked faintly despite the chaos, though her hand on the dagger was white-knuckled.
They climbed. The sounds of pursuit echoed below—boots pounding, spells sparking against stone—but the stairwell twisted like a maze, and soon even the shouts faded.
At the top, a single door stood waiting. No guards. No wards. Just darkness bleeding from the crack beneath it.
Elma's hand hovered over the handle, fingers trembling. The shard hummed violently, and her veins glowed faintly under her skin.
"Something's in there," she whispered.
Calista stepped closer, close enough for her breath to warm Elma's cheek. "Then we face it. Together."
Elma looked at her, saw the steel under the fear, and nodded. She pushed the door open.
The tower chamber was vast, round, and empty—at first glance. Moonlight spilled through high windows, illuminating murals of chained figures kneeling before a single crowned silhouette. At the center of the room, a pedestal stood, its surface carved with runes that glimmered faintly.
The shard's voice filled Elma's mind: Place me.
She stepped forward, almost in a trance. Calista followed, blade raised, eyes darting around the shadowy corners of the chamber.
"Elma," she said softly. "Wait."
Elma placed the shard on the pedestal.
The runes blazed white.
The ground shook. Chains carved into the murals rippled like water, the figures on the walls turning their heads, eyes glowing faintly.
A voice—not Nitron's, not the shard's—echoed through the tower.
"The vessel has come."
Calista grabbed Elma's hand. "We need to—"
The door slammed shut behind them with a deafening boom.
[Quest Updated: Thronebreaker]
Status: Locked In.
New Objective: Survive the Tower.
Risk Level: Fatal.