Hulking flesh sparked from the corpse of the slain Dungeon-Spawn. Resembling an immense tortoise with a thorned shell, the monster had opened the battle with a salvo of barbed projectiles. Though severed from its form, the projectiles followed its intent, slipping past the narrow breaches in Havoc's barriers to gouge thighs, arms, and stomachs alike. It was a miracle they all survived. Yet as Naereah hurried from one pale-faced mercenary to the next, drenched in sweat as she laboured to staunch the worst of their bleeding, Havoc could not say how many would wake to the light of the next day.

'It'll only get harder from here, but have faith in the Seer's design,' Shar called from behind, her tone soft, almost mothering.

With her palm rested on the shoulder of one of the survivors—Sabine, Havoc recalled—Shar leaned close, whispering something inaudible into her ear before returning to Annalise's side. Her conviction seemed to radiate through her every movement, a balm to the fearful. Yet to Havoc, her faith was misplaced, a delusion of a mind warped by the searing flames of Annalise's enigmatic madness. Still, she was right about one thing: things would only become more difficult.

To escape the Forest, they needed to carve a course toward a Temple. There, they would find the Tears of Desire, along with the means of returning to the world outside the Dungeon-Cell. But between them and salvation lay a gauntlet of monsters; each one brimming with profane power, teetering on the edge of Champion rank of their abyssal Inheritance.

Their circumstances were not as dire as they seemed—they were far worse. Before them, monsters waited, but an Abomination stalked behind. Formed of splinted glass, at its touch flesh, bone, and viscera crumpled into a bloodied mess, feeding its ever-growing strength.

Though relentless, the Abomination moved with measured advances—its clinking and slithering motions alien and unnerving—seemingly content to herd their group deeper through the mountain passage. Never further than a three-day trek behind, the group had no choice but to abandon their campsite and confront the Spawn ahead—whether they were ready or not.

They were not ready…

The wounded were few, but their numbers would swell with each battle; so too would the burden of facing the Dungeon-Spawn without their support. Catastrophic loss was inevitable. Before long, the wounded would mount, their Harmony would run dry, and their hope of reaching the temple would hang by a fraying thread. The desperation of their situation was evident, yet as Havoc caught sight of one of the survivors—his fist clenched with resolve, his eyes gleaming with unbridled optimism toward the Seer—Havoc could only conclude he was alone in his cold appraisal of their condition. Where he saw ruin, they seemed only to perceive salvation.

Blind fools, he thought, subtly swaying his head as disappointment and guilt swirled in his gut.

Blended with his contempt was an acrid pang of envy. He would not allow himself to be swayed by Annalise's charm, but in these quiet moments, he longed to feel what the others felt—swaddled in blind faith, unencumbered by the crushing weight of being accountable for his own survival.

'It'd be nice, wouldn't it?' Anton said, his tone self-assured yet subdued, his palm resting lightly on Havoc's shoulder.

Havoc stiffened at the man's touch, instinctively taking a step back. Turning, he locked eyes with the mercenary, the faint glint of Anton's gold-plated armour catching the night-sun's listless glow. Anton's posture remained casual, his knitted expression thread between camaraderie and world-weary caution.

'I'll give you some advice, kid. It's better to take the world for what it is, not for how you wish it could be,' Anton said, his voice steady but tinged with weariness..

He paused, his expression drooping into something unreadable as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When his gaze returned to Havoc, it had hardened, determination glinting behind the lines of his face.

'She's turned my men into mindless followers. I don't like it, but more than that—I don't trust it. You've spent more time with her than most. What does she have planned for us?'

Nothing good, Havoc thought. The words scrambled to the tip of his tongue, desperate to break free, but he choked them down, swallowing the truth in silence.

Havoc opened his mouth, feigned ignorance ready on his lips. Before he could voice his denial, Anton raised a palm, halting him mid-breath. He followed Anton's gaze as the crunch of boots on gravelled earth drew his attention behind.

My lady wishes to speak with you,' Shar said, her tone dispassionate and steady as she gestured toward Annalise. The Seer curtsied playfully when Havoc and Anton glanced her way, her lips curving into a teasingly sheepish smile.

Anton took a step toward Annalise but froze as Shar moved to block his path, her stance unyielding.

'Just the boy,' she said, her voice firm. With a slight tilt of her head, she gestured for Havoc to proceed, her dark eyes fixed on him, as if measuring his worth and finding him wanting.

'We'll talk later, kid,' Anton said as Havoc moved toward the Seer.

As he approached, Annalise closed the distance between them without a word and continued past him, her steps light but purposeful. When they were a safe distance from the group, she stopped before a smooth boulder. Her fingers traced its surface with a lingering touch, as though drawing some silent comfort from the stone, before she hopped onto it and gestured for Havoc to join her.

'The night after we face the fourth Dungeon-Spawn along this path, Aaron's going to make an attempt on your life,' Annalise said, her tone light and devoid of the weight expected of such a proclamation. 'He'll invite you to join him on a hunt and strike you down, far from prying eyes.'

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'How do you know all this?' Havoc asked instinctively, flinching at the stupidity of questioning a seer about how she learned of present intentions and future actions.

Annalise leaned toward him, her lips curling into a pitying smile, her eyes alight with something like amusement, as though lamenting his naivety.

'Surely even you must have seen this coming. I mean, be sensible—what else could you expect?' she asked, teasingly exasperated, as though pointing out something painfully obvious.

'You're growing too strong too quickly. You've embarrassed him in front of his men. And then there's something else… What was it? Oh, right—you stole the heart of the woman he loves. I'm not saying you deserve it or anything,' she added, a playful lift curling her words. 'but you kinda brought this upon yourself.'

Havoc's mind raced, straining to find the words to refute her accusations, but none came. She was right—one and all, everything she said was true. From the beginning, he had no regard for Aaron's supposed authority, and that had not changed since joining the survivors. The others all stood to benefit from Aaron's goodwill—he was paying for that privilege, after all. But Havoc was never one of his hired swords, and he had acted accordingly, doing as he pleased, even in open defiance of Aaron's conflicting commands.

Most of the time, his defiance barely grazed Aaron's pride, though there was always an undercurrent of resentment. But when Havoc informed the handful of Ugly's surviving men about their leader's demise—and the role he and Aaron had both played in it—whatever lingering command Aaron held over hearts and minds, rather than just purses, dissolved completely.

On reflection, he admitted his candour had not been the most prudent decision, but he was already weighed down with enough secrets to scuttle a warship. Even at the cost of drawing suspicion and disdain, it had felt like the right thing to do. And, if he were honest, he had relished the moment—speaking over Aaron's red-faced exclamations for silence with unapologetic clarity.

His rapid progression spoke for itself. A new Inheritor, he had already reached the third-step of his Servant Inheritance—a feat most would consider impossible within a few years, much less the two weeks it had taken him. Yet this very accomplishment marked him as a threat, a target for envy and mistrust.

As for stealing Naereah's heart, unintended as it had been, the Seer's words rang true. He could not mistake the look in her eyes for anything less than the deepest of longings, nor the glint in Aaron's for anything other than malicious resentment. Havoc had done nothing to stoke the fire of the Selenarian's desire, but the distance he kept did little to extinguish her stolen, lingering glances.

He could not ignore the friction building in Aaron's gaze, each stolen glance from Naereah fanning embers into a slow-burning blaze.

'Much ado about nothing—Lucia is also about ready to make her move,' Annalise hummed, her lips curving into an impish pout. 'Seeing as no one's going to survive the battle after the next, there won't be much need for a healer. Even if there was—bless her soul—Naereah would be long spent. Still, I need her, so I'd prefer you kept her close for now.'

Havoc did not miss the harrowing foretelling so casually spoken. The battle after the next was fated to be the last for the survivors, their purpose to the Seer expended. He had long known they were not destined to leave the Forest, yet the callousness with which Annalise spoke quickened his pulse, rattled his nerves, and flushed his cheeks with futile ire. Whether it was her manipulations or his inability to change the survivor's fate which had him incensed, he was not certain. But he could not deny the churning frustration rolling in his gut.

'Why are you telling me this?' Havoc finally asked, his fists clenched tight.

'Could you please keep up!' Annalise sighed, her ocean-blue eyes lifting with in an exaggerated roll. 'You still have work to do. I need you to keep Naereah safe for when we reach the Temple of Desire. The other two are reaching the end of their usefulness, Their deaths won't even serve my purpose in this group's heroic last stand,' she said as she locked her fingers together in a mockery of prayer, lifting her face skyward.

'For the record, neither would yours. You have no faith in me—or anything else, I'd wager. But unlike our resident nobles, you're sensible. You're just looking for a way out. You're not going to get in my way over petty ambition or untempered greed.'

Whatever Annalise had planned, Havoc intended to remain far removed. She was right—his only goal within the Forest was to escape. Bountiful riches meant little to him; inheriting at all was satisfaction enough. Still, curiosity clawed at the edges of his mind, its razored tips piercing through caution like a needle through silken cloth. No matter how much he told himself to keep his distance, he could not shake one gnawing question:

What does she want? What would make her do all this?

'Why do you need their faith?' he finally asked, unable to hold the question down any longer.

Her eyes shifted toward him. She tapped her forefinger on her upper lip, as though weighing whether his question warranted an answer. Then, with a soft sigh, she turned to face him, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp as a blade.

'That's the role this Dungeon-Cell wants us to play,' she said, her tone resigned.

'What are you—' Havoc started, but Annalise raised a hand, tilting her head gently from side to side, silencing him with the gesture.

'The despair of the faithful—the Tears of Desire,' she explained, her voice soft but edged with fatigue. 'We're re-enacting a fragment of this kingdom's ruin. The temple will only open once our performance is complete. The brave and noble must place their faith in a saviour born of their own imagination, only for that hope to be betrayed in the end.

Silence drifted between them, its weight heavy upon Havoc's shoulders. But then Annalise smiled, a soft chuckle slipping past her lips as her eyes lit with a primal intensity.

'It's really the part I was born to play,' she said, all traces of doubt washing from her expression. 'Yes, I'll betray their faith in me, and no, I'm not a god—but I will be. And when that day comes, I'll not forget their sacrifice. This is a necessary first step, and I would do it all again. So if you're waiting for me to regret my actions, I'm afraid you'll be waiting an eternity.'

Havoc waited for a moment, his mind racing to process all that Annalise had told him, before settling on the one thing he had any control over.

Aaron intended to take his life—fine. Their confrontation, long expected, was now inescapable. So be it. If it was inevitable, he would cast the first blow.

With purposeful strides, he returned to where the survivors had gathered. His eyes swept across the battlefield until they landed on Aaron, whose gaze was fixed on Naereah.

Kneeling over one of the wounded, her blood-drenched hands hovered above a mangled thigh. She stood, swaying slightly as sweat trailed down her pale-blue face.

Without hesitation, Havoc moved toward her, catching her in his arms before she collapsed. She trembled softly in his hold, her body weakened from exhaustion.

'Thank—' she began, but the words faltered as Havoc pulled her closer, his palm cupping her face.

He gazed into her lightless eyes, feeling the faint thrum of her beating heart against him. And then, without another thought, he planted his lips on hers.

His first kiss, given not in love but in spite.

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