The carriage ride was four hours long.

Four maddening hours of isolation, separated from Cordelia, Fractal, V, and Ten because of some obscure Bastian law that required me to ride alone.

Not even the attendant from earlier had been allowed to accompany me—not that I had ever caught her name.

The silence was suffocating.

The walls of the carriage weren't just thick—they were layered with sound-dampening enchantments. Even if I screamed, the driver wouldn't hear me.

I was alone.

Well, mostly.

At least my Gloss still worked.

5939: I take it you all are at least not being bored, being in a carriage together?

V: Yeah. Fractal brought a ton of games. We are currently playing some version of Chess. Ten is winning.

Cordelia: Understatement. Ten is crushing.

Fractal: Destroying.

Ten: They are lying to you.

I chuckled. At least they had each other to endure the long, obnoxious drive.

Me?

I was in a box. Alone.

I shifted in my seat, adjusting the ridiculous amount of feathers and furs weighing me down. The noble fashion of the Moonlight Court may have looked ostentatious, but it was incredibly impractical for a desert climate. Already, the heavy fabrics clung uncomfortably to my skin.

Fractal was right to laugh at me.

Sighing, I leaned my head back against the cushioned seat, closing my eyes for a moment. I had nothing to do. The ride was too bumpy for reading, and while my Gloss worked, there was only so much entertainment I could extract from messages before boredom inevitably set in.

5939: Tell me someone at least thought to bring snacks.

Fractal: I did! I packed dried fruits and sweet biscuits!

V: Yeah. But you should have seen Ten's face when she saw the ration packs.

Cordelia: It was like watching someone lose faith in humanity in real time.

Ten: Look. I get that we need travel food, but salted jerky and hard biscuits are just suffering disguised as nourishment.

Fractal: …So you don't want the dried meat I packed?

Ten: No, I do. I'm just making my disappointment known.

V: Noted. Next time, we'll pack you a five-course meal for the road.

I grinned, shaking my head. At least they were having fun.

I tapped at my Gloss again, but before I could type out another message, something shifted in the air.

The carriage lurched, just slightly—barely enough to be noticeable. But the atmosphere around me changed.

A pressure.

A presence.

It was subtle, like the first few seconds of stepping into a room where someone had been speaking but had just gone silent. The kind of unnatural quiet that prickled at the back of your mind, telling you that something was off.

I opened my eyes.

The inside of the carriage was the same—still lavish, still lined with cushions and silks and an excess of absurdly fancy decor.

But I wasn't alone anymore.

Something was here.

I didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Just listened.

And then—

Tap

A soft, deliberate sound, like the tap of a single finger against the wooden frame of the seat across from me.

I was alone.

I should have been alone.

Yet.

Tap.

Again.

I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral as I let my fingers brush against the folds of my robe. If something was in here with me, I needed to figure out what before reacting.

My eyes flickered toward the window—just a sliver of moonlight peeking through the velvet curtain.

Then, a voice.

Low. Smooth. Amused.

"You don't seem very excited to meet me."

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I froze.

The voice wasn't coming from inside the carriage.

It was coming from the space between.

Between the layers of sound-dampening enchantments.

Between the physical world and something else entirely.

I slowly turned my head.

And from the shadows of the carriage, something leaned forward.

A smile formed before the face did.

Sharp. Unnatural. Wrong.

Lips curled in delight, revealing too many teeth.

"Hello, little Walker," the voice purred. "You've been quite the curiosity."

The face that came into view was, once again, a beautiful one. I was beginning to suspect a trend.

Did magic improve one's appearance? Or did power simply attract beauty?

"Yes," the woman in front of me answered smoothly, as if I'd spoken aloud.

I hadn't.

She was refined. Elegant. Draped in the same ridiculous furs and feathers as the rest of the nobility, yet she carried it with a confidence that made the ostentatious layers feel intentional rather than absurd. Gold glinted at her wrists and fingers—five bracelets, five rings, five brooches.

Five marriage partners? Five Children? Five relationships that are truly sacred to her either way.

My gaze swept further.

Five tattoos. Etched in deep ink, each one stylized yet unmistakable—marks of five campaigns fought and won.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Five is a wonderful number."

Her voice was warm, rich with amusement. "I was told you think loudly, but I didn't expect it to be quite so… vivid." Her expression didn't waver, but there was the smallest flicker of distaste. "Though that image with the flies is particularly unpleasant."

Ah.

I tilted my head. Then, carefully, deliberately, I made the image worse.

The flies were no longer around her. They were on her. Crawling beneath her skin, burrowing through flesh, peeling her away in slow, methodical bites—not a corpse, but a body still aware, still experiencing each and every moment of disintegration.

The scowl she gave me was visceral.

For the first time, her poise cracked, just a fraction. She exhaled sharply through her nose before schooling her features back into something dignified.

"Now that," she said, her voice still measured but now lined with the weight of irritation, "was rude." She studied me, as if reassessing something. "You shouldn't do that, Walker. Making someone experience their own death in such a grotesque manner—especially when one isn't even using Mind Mana—is not only offensive but damaging to the telepath."

I said nothing.

Her irritation faded, replaced with something more thoughtful.

Her fingers idly adjusted one of her golden rings as she regarded me. "Still," she murmured, "that was impressive."

She tapped a single, manicured finger against the side of her temple. "You think in a way that is both vicious and precise. A rare combination."

Her smile returned, sharp this time. "I'm going to enjoy this."

I leaned back slightly, letting my own silence stretch.

Eventually, I exhaled, keeping my tone measured. "And who, exactly, am I speaking to?"

Her eyes gleamed, satisfaction flickering in their depths.

"Seraphina Iskandar," she said. "Fifth Consort to High Queen Lillianne of Bast Reqdenyet 'enen. General of the Fourth Division. And the one assigned to evaluate whether or not you are worth Bast's attention."

Ah.

Evaluate.

Not greet, not escort, not welcome.

I'd expected this meeting to be diplomatic, something veiled in niceties and political maneuvering. But this?

This sounded like a test.

I let my expression remain neutral. "I see."

Seraphina's smile widened, the kind of expression one made before setting a board game down in front of an opponent.

"Good," she murmured.

Then, she snapped her fingers—And the entire world lurched.

The world lurched, and in an instant, the enclosed carriage was gone.

Instead, I stood in a field of flowers—an endless, shifting landscape of color.

An ocean of orchids. Purple waves swaying in the breeze.

A river of roses. Scarlet petals spiraling through the air like stray embers.

A forest of forget-me-nots. A sea of delicate blue, stretching into the horizon.

A maze of marigolds. Golden blossoms tangling into intricate pathways.

A canyon of camellias. Deep pinks and whites blooming along unseen cliffs, rolling downward into unseen depths.

The view was breathtaking. But more than that, the scent—heady, overwhelming, suffocating in its richness—filled my lungs with every breath.

A world shaped by intent.

I turned to the only other presence in this domain: Seraphina.

She stood among the flowers like a queen among subjects, her golden jewelry catching the light in sharp reflections. The feathers and furs of her attire should have clashed with the floral surroundings, yet somehow, they made her presence even more pronounced.

I straightened, then bowed. "This one greets you as Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr."

I hoped—desperately hoped—I had gotten my pronunciation more or less correct by now.

Seraphina did not react to my words immediately. Instead, she seemed lost in thought, her sharp gaze scanning me as if reading something far beyond what my body could present.

Then, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You really do plan to accept Reqdenyet 'enen's proposal."

I inhaled sharply.

Her words were not a question. They were an observation.

One I hadn't even spoken aloud.

Still, before I could respond, she straightened, and her voice returned to full strength.

"Hail, Kevkebyem Lekvedyem Benyeyr. This one greets you as Heya Shhevrest at Hegbey'e."

I breathed in.

Okay. That one was… harder.

I knew I wouldn't be able to say it back with flawless precision, but I at least had to try. "Please forgive me, Lady, if my pronunciation is wrong."

Seraphina shook her head almost instantly. "Don't bother. I hate the stuffiness of that particular ritual and prefer to go by my war title instead."

Her lips curved into a wry smile.

"Lady of the Broken Grail."

I frowned slightly. "Which is… literally what your courtesy name translates to?"

"Precisely."

I nodded in understanding, then took another slow glance at the endless field of flowers surrounding us.

"Then, Lady of the Broken Grail, while this field is beautiful, why have you brought me here?"

Seraphina's gaze didn't waver.

"As I said, I need to give you a test."

Then, for a moment, she paused, as if listening to something unspoken.

Then, I felt it.

A pulse.

A wave of power washing over me, assessing, unraveling something unseen, before receding back into her like the tide.

Her eyes gleamed.

"You are…" she started, then tilted her head, considering. "You are on the cusp of breaking through to the next soul level. Maybe even three."

A slight note of approval entered her voice.

"You simply need to condense your miasma."

I kept my expression neutral.

She had no idea.

Condensing my miasma wasn't as simple as raw effort. My method required contracts, deals, and other matters—all things I had no intention of explaining to her.

Instead, I nodded, wordless.

And then, carefully, I buried my thoughts.

Layers upon layers.

Flies. Endless flies. Devouring, consuming, ripping apart the vision of Seraphina in grotesque detail. A grotesque mental labyrinth—one that, should she attempt to pry deeper, would be entirely her own fault.

She watched me for a moment longer, then smirked.

"That trick again?" she mused.

I remained silent.

Then, suddenly—abruptly—the flowers began to shift.

The marigolds wilted, the orchids curled inwards, the roses shed their petals, and the entire landscape changed—

—And I was no longer alone.

Figures of ash began materializing around us.

Tall. Cloaked. Helmed. Each one carrying a weapon in one hand and a shattered grail in the other.

Seraphina turned toward them, smiling as if she had just greeted old friends.

"Ah," she said, her voice rich with satisfaction.

"Let's begin, then."

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