The manor was alive.
Not in a warm, living way—but in the way a predator breathes slow and steady before striking. The walls groaned as if listening, doors slammed ahead of them like a child's cruel game, and the torches lining the halls sputtered blue with every pulse of the shard under Elma's skin.
Calista's hand was a steady weight in hers as they sprinted down the servant corridor. "Keep going," she hissed. Her voice was sharp, steady—though the tremor in her jaw betrayed the fear she wouldn't show anyone else.
"Do you hear that?" Elma muttered.
The whisper. The shard's hum had shifted into something else. It wasn't guiding her anymore—it was pulling her. Each beat of light in her veins synced with a soft voice at the edge of hearing. Tower. Tower.
"Yes," Calista said breathlessly. "And if it's leading us somewhere, we follow. Because I don't think we'll make it out if we don't."
Behind them, boots thundered on marble. Nitron's guards were close. Too close.
Elma stopped at a dead-end door, slammed her hand against the lock, and the shard flared white-hot. The wood cracked apart like it was made of paper, splinters scattering into the hall.
Calista whistled under her breath. "Convenient."
"Not convenient," Elma muttered, yanking her forward. "Hungry."
The narrow stairwell beyond reeked of dust and old blood. Their footsteps echoed loud enough to draw every ghost in the manor.
They climbed.
At the first landing, they froze.
Two guards stood waiting at the top of the stairs, armored and ready, halberds leveled at their chests.
"Stand down," one barked.
"Not happening," Elma said flatly.
The shard surged. Her arm moved faster than thought, light slicing through the narrow hall. The first guard crumpled before he could blink; the second barely raised his weapon before Calista's dagger buried itself in his throat.
"Go," Calista hissed, ripping it free. Blood streaked the walls.
They pushed upward.
By the third landing, Elma's body was trembling. The shard's voice was growing clearer, threading through her skull like a second heartbeat. Almost there. Almost free.
Calista noticed. She grabbed Elma's arm and forced her to pause. "You're bleeding."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Look at me."
Elma's eyes snapped to hers, wild and bright. Calista cupped her jaw for just a moment, grounding her. The touch burned through the adrenaline fog.
"Stay with me," Calista whispered.
Elma nodded. They ran again.
The tower door wasn't guarded. It was worse.
It was sealed.
A massive iron gate covered in writhing sigils blocked their path. The symbols glowed faint blue, pulsing like a heartbeat, matching the shard's hum.
Calista swore softly. "He's locked this down tight."
"No," Elma said. Her fingers brushed the gate, and the shard flared so bright it burned her skin. "It's… calling me."
The sigils shifted at her touch, rearranging themselves. A single rune at the center glowed blood-red.
Calista raised her dagger. "Trap."
"Of course it's a trap," Elma said through clenched teeth. "But if this thing wants me inside, it'll open."
"Or kill you."
Elma smirked faintly. "Then we're both screwed."
She pressed her palm flat against the rune.
The iron groaned. Sigils sparked like dying stars. The door shuddered, then slowly swung open with a sound like a dying scream.
The air inside was freezing, sharp enough to sting their lungs.
The tower chamber was empty.
At least, it looked empty.
Pillars lined the circular room, each one carved with the same serpent crest that marked the leash. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying gently though there was no wind. And in the center, a single pedestal stood, glowing faintly with the same light that ran through Elma's veins.
She stepped forward slowly, every instinct screaming danger.
"Something's wrong," Calista whispered.
The shard hummed louder. Step forward.
"Yeah," Elma muttered. "Everything's wrong."
She reached the pedestal. Resting on top was a single iron circlet, black as obsidian, etched with runes she didn't recognize.
Calista's voice was sharp. "Don't touch it."
But the shard pulsed violently, forcing her hand up. Her fingers brushed the metal—
—and the world went white.
She was standing in the banquet hall again. Empty. Silent. Nitron stood at the head of the table, smiling softly.
"You think you've won," he said, voice echoing. "You've only stepped where I wanted you to."
The leash materialized around her throat, burning. She clawed at it, choking, but couldn't speak.
Nitron leaned closer. "Vessels don't choose. They're chosen. And you, Elma… were chosen to kneel."
The shard's hum turned into a scream.
The vision shattered.
Elma dropped to her knees in the tower chamber, clutching her head. Calista was at her side in an instant.
"Elma!"
"I'm fine," Elma gasped. Her throat burned where the leash used to be, but there was no mark. "He… he knows we're here. He wanted this."
Calista helped her to her feet, her eyes wide with fear. "Then we're out of time."
The shard pulsed once, violently. The chains hanging from the ceiling rattled as if in a sudden wind.
A deep, guttural voice echoed through the tower, not Nitron's, not the shard's.
"Vessel," it growled. "You've woken me."
Calista grabbed her dagger, pulling Elma back. "What the hell was that?"
The shadows in the room began to move.
[Quest Updated: Thronebreaker]
Status: Active.
Objective: Survive the Tower Guardian.
Risk Level: Catastrophic.