There was no sound.
No light.
No weight beneath her feet.
Sinephilim opened her eyes and knew, at once, where she was.
Not because of what she saw but because of what she felt.
Grief. Guilt. Endless, churning guilt.
A white plain stretched in all directions, and in the center stood a tree made of glass. Its branches hung low, heavy with chains. Souls hung like fruit, screaming and begging.
She took a step.
The glass floor cracked.
"Sin…"
A voice called out, quiet, terrified.
She turned toward it. Her body tensed up.
Two boys stood beneath the tree.
Demonkin. Her brothers. When they were young.
"No."
One held a smith's hammer. The other clutched a silver flute. Their faces were too young, too trusting.
They don't belong here.
"Little sister?" The taller one whispered. "We were waiting…"
She ran toward them.
But the ground shattered beneath her feet. Yet she did not fall. Her brothers did.
And then-
They were yanked upward, screaming, as bloody tendrils wrapped around their legs and ripped them into the air.
"No!" She cried.
But she couldn't move. Her limbs failed her.
Then, she saw the figure at the base of the tree.
A man.
Armor as black as night. Eyes glowing crimson.
"Rhenvar…" She said, voice in disbelief. "You promised…"
Rhenvar was smiling. Viir hovered beside him, licking at the soul-light like honey.
"They're not even screaming anymore," Viir giggled. "They will taste great."
"No…" Sinephilim choked. "No, this isn't real."
But Rhenvar stepped forward, dragging red chains made from those he killed. Souls twitched along their links like insects caught in a spider's web.
"You know what I am," he said. "Yet you allied with me."
He opened his mouth.
And one of her brothers, the one with the flute, was pulled into his maw.
"Flock!" She screamed.
He was swallowed whole.
"Why are you doing this?!" She screamed.
"Because you let me." Rhenvar's voice had changed, no longer his usual not caring self.
It was smooth.
Mocking. Godlike.
"You called yourself a queen, a commander. But you did not shield them. Not in the war. You sacrificed them to save lowly commoners. Pathetic!"
Viir flew closer. Her mouth was filled with black pus.
"They're all gone now, Sin. Wanna be next?"
Sinephilim fell to her knees.
Tears streamed freely.
No magic came to her.
No blessing.
No strength.
The world showed her a mirror.
She looked in, and saw herself.
Sitting on the throne of black bones.
Her hands soaked in blood.
Her crown forged from the same red soul-magic that bound her brothers.
("This is who you are, friends of a monster, become a monster.")
"That's not me," she whispered.
Her mirror self spoke. "But this IS you."
She struck the mirror with her fist.
It didn't crack.
"THAT'S NOT ME!" She screamed.
A voice, feminine and cruel, whispered behind her.
("You always thought you were strong. But you only ever survived because others died,") it continued. ("And now the one you forced yourself to trust… the one you allied with… is feeding on them.")
"Stop," Sinephilim sobbed. "Please…"
"You protect no one." The tree cracked and began to fall.
"You stand by while he feeds and you fed him."
Footsteps echoed.
Her heart dropped.
Rashka came into her view.
"What do you think happened, when you let him claimed my soul?"
"I- didn't-"
"You commanded him. Now I share the same fate as your brother."
"I- I-"
"Your hands are stained with something far worse than blood."
She looked at her hands. It wasn't blood. It was black.
"I- didn't know-"
"Dead souls turn black," Rashka knelt down. "Just like his armor."
"Rashka I'm so-"
The world went white.
Sinephilim woke up.
Face in the dirt.
She lifted herself up. Shoulders shaking.
The others were nowhere in sight.
The air still carried the echo of her brothers' screams.
(It was just a false vision… it wasn't real…)
She still felt it.
She would always feel it.
Her spirit beast, Fenrus, howled in her soul, wanting to come out.
Even he couldn't reach her.
She curled into herself.
And for the first time since she left her kingdom in ashes.
Sinephilim wept without grace in the cold world she now resides.
But she felt it. Heat. Warmth. A fire was in the distance.
She knew what it was and stopped questioning herself. Because she hardly needed to. Her companion raised his alarm. And she refused to keep failing.
Because she is still a queen! And a queen with the most dangerous weapon.
Hope.
She got up and looked to Willow's fire, and she ran.
Ran to the fire. Ran to the burning heart.