Sawyn stood in the center of the stone chamber, her blade tracing the intricate runes encircling her. She glanced up at the ceiling flanked by four main columns, blood channels carved into their sides, focusing on each one. Zephyrial descended the stairs into the room.
"Are you ready, m'lady?" Zephyrial circled the chamber's edge, inspecting the carvings and consulting a scroll. "The time is nigh. Your newfound power awaits."
Sawyn's gaze followed Zephyrial, who moved fluidly between the columns. She then stared at her own hands, clenching and unclenching them.
"This power my father sought, that my mother sanctioned him to seize—it's meant not just to save our family, but my people," Sawyn murmured, as though convincing herself. She fixed her gaze back on Zephyrial.
"With this power, you will dominate the weak. The days of the Shadow Lord will end. We'll exact revenge on those who exiled and banished us," Zephyrial hissed. "We will reclaim what was once ours. We will be the Fist of the Exiled."
Sawyn pondered this, eyeing her sorceress with a stern look.
"The Fist of the Exiled? No. We've built our home here. We will shield those within our borders and protect our family. This was never about conquest, but survival," Sawyn retorted, her ears burning. "We'll establish our own laws, penalize lawbreakers, and shelter the displaced. That was the pact between the Shadow Lord and I after the war. Until he—... Until he-"
"Until he found something—or someone—better," Zephyrial interjected with venom. "Not some weak little girl too scared to take what's right in front of you."
"Watch your tongue," Sawyn snapped, grip tightening on her blade's leather-wrapped hilt. "Remember who you serve."
"Of course," Zephyrial bowed mockingly. "I serve no one but myself."
Sawyn gritted her teeth, stepping forward as Zephyrial raised her hands, invoking a spell. Pain seared through Sawyn, as blood started flowing down the channels of the four pillars.
"WHAT—WHAT IS THIS?" Sawyn screamed, forcing her eyes open to glare at the sorceress. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?"
"I've delved into your memories, researched the rituals linked to your bloodline," Zephyrial spoke calmly. "I know precisely what your father intended when he sought to harness your power."
Fear gripped Sawyn, the memories of a frightened child in the Shadowfell's stone corridors flooding back.
"I require your cooperation a little longer," Zephyrial continued the ceremony, blood pooling at Sawyn's feet. She uttered a word in an unfamiliar language, and a crystal glyph ignited. Despite Sawyn's resistance, her vision dimmed. "When this is all over, all of Satyria will bow to me. And before I let you go, I'll make sure to have you on your knees, pleading to your new Queen to let you die."
Sawyn let out one final scream before she slipped into the darkness of her own subconscious.