The shade watched Vale in silence.
Its crimson eyes narrowed, not in anger, but appraisal. It had seen Vale's partial success, felt the distortion in the air, recognized the echo of the technique. And yet… doubt lingered in its gaze.
Vale, meanwhile, swayed.
The moment the adrenaline faded, the cost made itself known. His legs trembled, his vision blurred, and the world tilted sharply to one side. He staggered, barely managing to keep himself upright as his head spun violently, as though his thoughts had been ripped loose and hurled back into place incorrectly.
He groaned, lifting a hand to his temple.
"Damn…" he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to steady himself. After a moment, he cracked them open again and glanced toward the shade. "Does this… always happen?"
The shade studied him for a brief moment longer.
Then it shook its head.
Vale exhaled deeply, relief and frustration mixing in equal measure. He lowered himself to the cold stone floor, sitting heavily and letting his back slump as he allowed his body a moment to recover.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The arena was quiet now. The torches flickered faintly, their light barely strong enough to chase away the shadows clinging to the curved walls.
The shade shifted at last. It leaned forward, resting both hands atop the massive greatsword embedded in the stone, using it like a pillar as it regarded Vale from above, silent, patient, waiting.
Eventually, Vale lifted his head.
His expression was conflicted, frustrated, and tinged with something dangerously close to self-doubt.
"What am I doing wrong?" he asked quietly.
The shade tilted its head, crimson eyes flickering as though considering how to answer, if answering was even possible.
Then,
A sound erupted.
Soft. Sharp. Out of place.
The shade snapped its head toward the source instantly, body tensing, eyes blazing. Vale reacted a heartbeat later, spinning around,
But there was nothing.
Only the empty arena behind him. Stone. Torchlight. Silence.
"What was that?" Vale muttered, unease creeping into his voice.
He turned back,
And froze.
Standing several paces away was the High Priestess.
She hadn't entered through the door. She simply was, as though the space had decided she belonged there. Her long robes brushed the stone floor, her blindfold pristine and unmoving, her posture calm in a way that made Vale's skin prickle.
She was looking at the shade.
The shade returned her gaze without hostility, without fear, only indifference.
After a few quiet seconds, the priestess turned her head toward Vale. A gentle smile touched her lips.
"You're quite remarkable," she said softly.
Vale blinked, then pushed himself up with one hand, steadying his legs before standing fully.
"How so?" he asked carefully, his eyes never leaving her.
She tilted her head slightly, amused.
"Very few manage to form such a productive relationship with their shade in so short a time." Her gaze shifted briefly back to the towering shadow. "Of course, Leo wouldn't remember you."
Vale stiffened.
"You were born when he was in his mid-twenties," she continued calmly. "And this shade represents his teenage years, roughly the same age you are now."
Vale's eyes widened, panic flaring briefly.
"How do you know I know his name?" he demanded.
For the first time, the priestess fell completely silent.
When she turned back to him, her smile was gone.
"Because I know the visitor was here."
Her voice was cold now, sharp, stripped of warmth. The air itself seemed to tighten around the words.
Vale swallowed hard.
"You know Ali?" he asked.
She paused, then nodded once.
"Of course. Every god knows who that man is." Her tone darkened. "What he is, however, remains known only to our creators."
Vale's breath hitched.
"Y-you're a god?" he asked quickly. "Your creators? I thought gods were primordial, beings that always existed."
The priestess studied him for a moment.
Then she chuckled softly.
"Quite curious, aren't you?"
She lifted a hand and waved it gently.
The world shifted.
The arena dissolved, folding in on itself like a discarded illusion. In its place stood a vast circular chamber. Twenty-two towering curtains of heavy cloth lined the walls, each concealing something unseen, something deliberately hidden.
Vale turned slowly, eyes wide as he took it all in.
The priestess's voice echoed evenly through the space.
"To answer your question simply: the only thing within existence that requires no creation is Atum itself." She gestured faintly. "Everything else has an origin. A maker. A cause."
She paused.
With a subtle motion of her hand, one of the curtains fell.
Vale's breath caught.
Behind it stood a massive painting, an image of the priestess herself, unmasked, standing among a gathered people. She was feeding the hungry, blessing the weary, watching over them with quiet devotion.
At the bottom of the painting, a symbol revealed itself.
A card.
The third card of a tarot deck.
The High Priestess.
The woman smiled faintly.
"Yes," she said. "I am a god. Or rather… I once was."
Her voice lowered, reverent and heavy with ancient truth.
"I am the third fragment of what was once the most powerful god to ever exist."
She turned her blindfolded gaze toward Vale.
"The Original Arcana."
Vale's eyes widened.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the priestess, his mind refusing to assemble the meaning of her words into anything coherent. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. Thought after thought surfaced, each one collapsing under the weight of what he had just heard.
A fragment of a god.
No, the god.
The Original Arcana.
His throat tightened, and when he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.
"Why… are you telling me this?"
The question escaped him before he could stop it. His gaze remained fixed on her, disbelief and unease twisting together in his chest. Beings of this magnitude did not reveal their truths lightly. Secrets like these were weapons, leverage, or burdens meant to crush lesser minds.
The priestess smiled, brightly, almost fondly.
Her blindfolded gaze drifted away from Vale and settled on one of the towering curtains lining the chamber. Vale followed her attention instinctively. He counted them again, more carefully this time.
Twelve.
The twelfth curtain.
Justice.
"You see," the priestess began softly, "when we were first created, twenty-two separate people were summoned, each chosen to embody one of the cards."
Her voice echoed gently through the circular chamber.
"Each of us took our place. Each of us became something more." She paused. "And in time, we merged. Our souls, our concepts, our power, combined into a single being."
Her smile softened, tinged with something distant.
"The Original Arcana. The God of Change."
Vale swallowed.
His mind raced, struggling to connect the fragments she was laying before him.
"One of those summoned," she continued, her tone gentle, deliberate, "was the one who bore the card of Justice."
She turned her head slightly toward Vale.
"That man… was your great-grandfather."
The world lurched.
Vale snapped his gaze back to her, his breath hitching sharply as the words struck him with full force.
"My-?"
His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He stumbled backward, then collapsed to one knee, hands braced against the cold stone as he stared down at his own trembling fingers.
His great-grandfather.
A fragment of the most powerful god to ever exist.
His body shook, breath coming in uneven bursts as he struggled to steady himself.
The priestess watched him quietly, her smile unchanged, not mocking, not cruel. Patient.
"I carried his memories for a time," she said softly. "So to me… you are sort of like family, Vale."
Family.
The word landed heavier than any revelation before it.
Vale squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling slowly, forcing his racing thoughts into some semblance of order. After several long breaths, he lifted his head again. His hands still trembled, but his voice, when it came, was steadier.
"If you're a fragment of a whole," he asked, eyes wide with urgency, "then why were you separated?"
The priestess fell silent.
For a long while, she said nothing at all.
The shade stood nearby, watching with quiet indifference, crimson eyes reflecting faintly in the dim light.
Finally, the priestess exhaled, a long, heavy sigh, burdened with ages of regret.
"Do you remember when Drago told you this place was a slaughterhouse for spawn?" she asked.
Vale nodded slowly.
"That is true," she admitted. "But it is not the whole truth."
She straightened slightly, her voice taking on a measured gravity.
"There are three kinds of gods within existence," she said. "The first are the Original Gods, the children of the First Creator."
She lifted a finger.
"The second are the Eidolons, crafted by the Second Creator."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Vale's mechanical arm, a knowing smile touching her lips.
"You are already familiar with those."
Then her expression sobered.
"But there was a third kind. Unwritten. Unrecorded." Her voice lowered. "Those who ascended to godhood rather than being born into it."
Vale's breath caught.
"The Founders," she said.
The word struck something deep within him—an echo of half-forgotten knowledge.
"There were six of us," she continued. "My original self among them. And the one you seek, the Black Lion."
Vale's eyes widened further, disbelief creeping back in.
"At some point," the priestess said quietly, "we rebelled against our creators."
Understanding dawned in Vale's expression, slow and dreadful.
"You were punished," he whispered.
She nodded.
"We were imprisoned," she said. "Cast into a place where escape was impossible. Where our bodies and souls were torn apart. Where the Atum itself stagnated, denying us the ability to return… or to become whole again."
Her smile faded, replaced by something sorrowful.
She spread her arms slightly, indicating the chamber around them.
"That is what this place truly is."
Vale's heart pounded.
"Not merely a slaughterhouse," she continued. "That function is secondary."
She paused, then delivered the truth with quiet finality.
"The primary purpose of this realm… is to serve as a prison."
Her blindfolded face turned toward Vale.
"A prison for the greatest gods that ever lived."