The council chamber was large, ornate, wasteful in every detail.
A massive oak table dominated the center. High-backed chairs surrounded it, carved with heraldry and inlaid with silver. Tapestries hung on walls. Chandeliers dripped light from above—real candles burning wealth while people outside shivered in darkness.
Governor Aldric sat at the table's head—round face gone soft, expensive silk robes, rings on every finger. His hands were smooth, uncallused.
Around the table: merchants arguing about profit margins, minor nobles posturing about family honor, military officers who looked competent but were clearly being ignored.
And Diana.
She stood rather than sat, refusing comfort while her people prepared to die. One hand rested on the table, the other on her sword. She still wore damaged armor from their escape—black metal scored with claw marks, green sap dried on the plates. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, but her eyes remained sharp.
Behind her: Thorne, Sylva, Rowan, Ivy. All standing. All warriors who'd seen actual combat.
"—cannot possibly hold for four days!" a merchant was saying, voice shrill. "The walls are strong, yes, but we don't have the supplies for a prolonged siege!"
"Then ration harder," Diana cut him off, her voice flat and final. "Your people will survive on less. They've done it before."
"But the nobility's comfort—"
"Will be identical to everyone else's," Diana said. "The nobility will eat the same rations, drink the same water, and sleep in the same conditions as the common soldiers. Or they can leave the city and take their chances with the demons outside."
She paused, eyes sweeping the table.
"I'm sure the demons would love to meet some well-fed nobles."
The merchant paled. No one else spoke.
Don and Ashwood entered quietly. Diana's eyes flicked to Don, registered his presence, then returned to the discussion.
"The reinforcements," one of the military officers was saying—a gray-haired woman with actual scars. "You're certain they're coming, Your Highness?"
"My mother received the emergency beacon," Diana said. "The fleet is already en route. Two days, possibly three. We just need to hold until then."
"And if we can't?" Governor Aldric asked, wringing his soft hands.
"Then we fight in the streets," Diana said simply. "Street by street. House by house. We buy time for evacuation of noncombatants. Children and elderly first. Then the wounded. Everyone else fights."
"But—"
"But nothing," Diana interrupted. "This city will not fall while I'm alive to defend it. Is that clear enough, Governor?"
Aldric swallowed hard. Nodded.
A voice spoke quietly from behind Diana—Thorne, low enough that most wouldn't hear.
But Don's hearing was sharp. He caught every word.
"Princess… forgive me for asking, but why didn't you use your Domain against the Blood King?"
"It would have killed you," Diana interrupted quietly but with pain in her voice. "All of you. Every member of my team. I don't have full control yet—it's still partially wild. It doesn't distinguish between enemy and ally. It simply consumes."
Silence. Then Thorne's voice, softer: "I see. I'm sorry I doubted you."
"Don't be. Doubt keeps you sharp. Blind faith gets you killed." Diana's jaw tightened. "I'm not willing to pay that price. Not unless there's no other choice."
Don filed that information away. Diana had power she couldn't fully control. That was a weakness that could become an advantage.
["She's stronger than you,"] Madness whispered. ["But strength without control is just danger waiting to explode."]
Diana turned then, finding Don properly. Her gaze swept over him—taking in his appearance, his posture, the way he stood ready to move at any moment.
"Don." Her voice carried neither warmth nor coldness. "I didn't expect to see you up so soon. You took severe damage. You should still be resting."
"I was," Don said. "But I need something from you."
"Oh? And what would that be?"
Don met her gaze. His yellow eye burned steady and cold.
"I know we don't know each other. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I'm asking you to trust me anyway."
Diana's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps. Calculation.
"Why should I?"
"Because I need supplies," Don said simply. "Mana restoration potions. Stamina potions. A weapon. Armor. And I'm willing to make it worth your while."
"Worth my while? We're preparing for siege. Resources are limited. What could you possibly offer—"
"Consider it a trade," Don interrupted. "An investment, if you prefer. Give me what I need now, and when I return, I'll repay you. With interest."
"When you return from where?"
"Somewhere I need to go alone."
Silence stretched through the chamber. Every eye was on Don now.
Diana studied him with the gaze of someone who'd learned to read people through decades of politics and battlefield decisions.
"You're not going to tell me where, are you?"
"No."
"Or why you need equipment that suggests you're preparing for combat where your usual advantages won't protect you?"
Don said nothing.
His yellow eye burned brighter.
Diana's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Interesting."
She was quiet for a moment, fingers drumming once against the table.
Then she nodded. "I don't know you, Don. I don't know if I can trust you. I don't even know your full name or where you truly come from." She paused. "But something—intuition, desperation, or just the fact that anyone who asks for supplies before walking into certain death with that look in their eyes deserves a chance—tells me I should help."
She turned to Ashwood. "Give him what he needs."
Ashwood bowed slightly. "As you command, Princess."
The old mage produced a small ring from his robes and pressed his thumb to the rune etched into its surface. Magic shimmered, and items materialized on the table.
A full suit of armor. Black leather reinforced with metal plates at vital points. Flexible but strong. Built for speed and mobility.
A sword. Straight blade, single-edged, about three feet long. Perfectly balanced. Quality steel forged by someone who knew their craft.
Five vials arranged in a neat row. Three glowed soft blue—mana restoration. Two glowed pale green—stamina restoration.
"Storage ring," Ashwood explained. "Holds up to fifty pounds—"
"I don't need the ring," Don interrupted, stepping forward to gather the physical items. Armor under one arm. Sword secured at his hip. Potions tucked into pockets he'd created from imagination. "Just the supplies themselves."
Ashwood blinked. "You're certain? Storage rings are valuable—"
"I'm certain."
Diana's eyes narrowed slightly—noting that, filing it away. He has storage already.
Interesting.
"What you're about to do…" Diana said quietly. "It better be worth it. War is coming. Resources are limited. I can't afford to waste them on futile gestures."
Don met her gaze. "It will be worth it. You have my word."
"Your word," Diana repeated. "From a boy whose name I barely know, whose origins are a mystery." She paused. "I'm either making the best decision of this war, or the worst."
"You'll find out soon enough," Don said.
Then he turned and walked toward the exit, armor secured, sword at his side, potions safely stored.
Behind him, the council chamber erupted into discussion.
Don ignored it all.
He had what he needed.
Now came the hard part.
The streets of Millhaven passed by in a blur.
Don walked without really seeing, his mind already elsewhere. People moved out of his way—something in his expression made them step aside without conscious thought.
The inn appeared. He climbed the stairs.
Entered his room. Closed the door.
Locked it.
The room was exactly as he'd left it.
Don set the armor on the bed. Placed the sword beside it. Arranged the potions in a neat row—three blue, two green.
Everything he'd need.
Everything that might keep him alive.
Might.
A warmth pulsed in his chest—the Source's presence.
[Don… are you absolutely certain about this?]
Her voice carried weight—worry, fear, something deeper.
"I'm certain."
[Where you're going… it will change you. Twist you. You might not come back as yourself.]
"I know. I'm going anyway."
[You might not come back at all. True death. Permanent. Your skill won't save you there.]
"I know."
Silence stretched between them—heavy, suffocating.
Then the Source spoke again, softer, almost breaking.
[Why? Why risk this? You're strong enough already. Why push further?]
Don was quiet for a moment, staring at the armor.
"Because strong enough to survive isn't the same as strong enough to protect," he said finally. "I survived the dungeon. Survived that demon king. Survived the escape. But I couldn't protect anyone. Couldn't save the prisoners who died. Could barely keep up."
His hands clenched into fists.
"I survived. But that's not enough. The demons are coming. War is here. And if I'm just strong enough to survive while everyone around me dies…" He shook his head.
"What's the point?"
[Oh, Don…]
"I need to become stronger," Don said.
"Strong enough that next time, I don't just survive. I win."
The Source was quiet for a long moment.
Then:
[I understand. I don't like it, but… I understand.]
[Promise me something?]
"What?"
[Come back. However changed, however different—just come back. Please.]
Don's throat tightened. He nodded.
"I'll try."
[That's all I can ask for.]
Don stood. Took a deep breath.
His hands moved to his chest, where the Source rested.
"I'm ready," he said quietly. "Accept the trial."
The world held its breath.
Then text appeared before his eyes—not the Source's warm golden glow, but cold blue mechanical letters.
[ABYSS TRIAL ACCEPTED]
[HOST SKILL: IMMORTALITY - MODIFIED]
[- Underworld Revival: DISABLED]
[- All Other Functions: ACTIVE]
[WARNING: DEATH IN THE ABYSS IS PERMANENT]
[WARNING: THIS ACTION CANNOT BE UNDONE]
[WARNING: ESTIMATED SURVIVAL RATE: 3%]
[PRIMARY SYSTEM CANNOT FOLLOW]
[BACKUP SYSTEM: OPERATIONAL]
A different voice spoke then—cold, mechanical, familiar yet distant.
[WELCOME BACK, HOST.]
[BACKUP SYSTEM ONLINE.]
[GOOD LUCK.]
["Finally,"] Madness whispered, materializing fully now, both yellow eyes blazing. ["Let's see what you're really made of, little seed. Let's see if you break… or if you become something magnificent."]
The room began to fade.
Colors bleeding away. Sounds growing distant. Reality becoming thin, translucent—the walls losing solidity, the floor losing substance.
[I'll be waiting,] the Source said softly, her voice already growing distant. [When you return. If you return. However you return. I'll be here. I promise.]
"I know," Don whispered.
Then the world disappeared.
Reality tore like paper.
And Don fell into the Abyss.