The chambers assigned to him were not in the main castle, but in a smaller one — an unprepossessing structure of crimstone, clinging to a rocky ledge at the edge of the hollow. From here to the Altar was a stone's throw: a narrow path, hewn into the rock, descended directly to the amphitheater, and Arthur could hear the ceaseless hum — the voices of cultists and creatures merging into a single rhythm.
He stood at the window, leaning one hand on the rough stone, and looked down at the sea of beings.
Boundless, heaving, like an ocean in a storm. Demon Eyes, swarming in the sky, cast crimson reflections upon the earth. Crimers, great and small, lay and crawled, forming a living wall around the sacrificial site. Cultists in scarlet moved in strict order, but their gazes kept turning toward the small castle. Toward him.
"You are already awake, Stranger."
Mens's voice came from the doorway. She entered soundlessly, like a shadow, and paused in the threshold. Today she wore no ceremonial garb — only a sleeveless crimson dress that revealed her pale arms and the pulsing mark on her palm. Her hair, the color of fresh blood, was loose and streamed over her shoulders. She looked almost... domestic.
Arthur did not turn around.
"Your god — is he already inside me?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on the Altar. "Or is he only watching for now?"
Mens came closer and stood beside him at the window. Her shoulder almost touched his arm. She smelled of something sweetish — incense, crimroot, and something else, elusive.
"He is waiting," she answered softly, almost intimately. "But you interest him. You are different from the others. He sees... potential in you."
"Potential for what?"
"To become part of something greater." She turned to him, and something akin to ecstasy flickered in her scarlet eyes. "In three days, when the Altar is ready, you will cease to be yourself. Your body, your soul, your essence — all of it will dissolve into Him. He will consume you, and you will become Him. And I... I will finally be able to speak with Him. To see Him. To hear His voice."
She spoke of it as if it were something beautiful. As if it were the greatest honor imaginable.
Arthur listened in silence. His face remained calm, but inside, cold was spreading.
Consume. Dissolve. Cease to be myself.
In that moment, he saw only one picture: in three days, he would be gone. His body would walk, speak, perhaps even remember his life — but it would no longer be him. And Mens would stand beside him and smile, looking at the one who had taken his place.
"Is that why you are so calm?" he asked in an even voice. "Because you know I cannot resist?"
"Would you want to?" She tilted her head like a curious bird. "Resist a god? It is pointless, Arthur. You are only a man. Strong, clever, but a man. And He is eternity. He has outlived centuries. He has waited for this moment longer than you have been alive. Your resistance will change nothing. So why fight?"
Arthur turned back to the window. His fingers tightened on the edge of the stone sill.
"I don't like it when someone else decides for me," he said quietly.
Mens smiled — almost tenderly, almost humanly.
"I know. That is precisely why He chose you. You will not break. You will not beg for mercy. You will accept this with dignity. And when He consumes you, your strength, your will — all of it will become part of Him. You will live on in Him. Is that not beautiful?"
"It is death," Arthur replied.
"It is transformation," she corrected him. "Death is when nothing remains. But you will remain. Only... differently."
She reached out and almost touched his shoulder, but stopped herself at the last moment.
"Rest, Stranger. You have three days. I will see to it that food and water are brought to you. If you wish to see your dragon — tell the guards. I will allow it."
She turned and walked toward the door.
"Mens," he called.
She stopped.
"Do you truly believe that after the ritual, your god will speak with you? That he will not discard you like a used tool?"
She turned back. For an instant, something flickered in her eyes — a shadow of doubt, immediately crushed by faith.
"He is my husband," she said. "I have served Him for seven years. He will not abandon me."
And she walked out.
Arthur was left alone. He stared out the window at the endless sea of creatures, at the pulsing Altar, at the crimson sky.
Three days. I have three days.
He did not know what to do. He did not know if there was anything he could do. But one thing he knew for certain: he had no intention of "dissolving" in any god. Even if it meant burning this cursed Altar to the ground.
Outside, cutting through the roar of the crowd, came a low, guttural growl. Veridis had awakened.
---
She did not remember being transported.
Her head was filled with fog, interspersed with bright, painful flashes: an arrow in the wing, the taste of her own blood, the dull blow of a club. And the smell — pervasive, sweetish-rotten, alien. The smell of the Crimson.
She lay on her side, on a bed of dry straw, in a cramped pen whose walls were built of rough stone. Her flank was bandaged, but a dull pain throbbed beneath the wrappings. Her wing ached. Her paw answered with sharp pain at the slightest movement.
She breathed rapidly, like a hunted animal. Memories surged in waves: how she had flown after the man and the bird-beast, how the Crimers had attacked them, how she had fought and not retreated.
She knew that he was somewhere nearby.
That scent — the smell of smoke, iron, and rabbit meat — cut through even the stench of the Crimson. He was here. Alive.
She tried to rise, but her paw gave way, and she collapsed back onto the straw. A soft, rasping sound escaped her throat — not a growl, almost a whimper. She was alone, wounded, in the heart of hostile territory. Once, she had had a tree. A hollow. A refuge. Now — only the scent of the man who had left her food and spoken to her in a calm voice.
She did not know what would come next. She did not know that her human was to be consumed. But instinct, ancient and unerring, whispered to her: "He is your pack. Hold on to him. Survive."
Footsteps sounded from beyond the pen's wall. She tensed, ready to defend herself despite the pain. But the footsteps passed by, and the dragoness lowered her head onto her paws once more, her eyes fixed on the door. She waited.
She did not yet know that in three days, everything would change.