Nysa jolted awake from her slumber, sitting upright on her bed.
The clarity of her sudden rousing chased away any grogginess, and she looked around with her sole remaining eye, half-lost in the memories of her previous battle.
A few candles maintained the room's obscurity at bay, revealing a small, hollow structure with metallic bars separating her bed from a well-kept hallway. Although she seemed to be in a dungeon, most likely underneath the apothecary, the door to her prison was sprawled open.
"We apologize for the room." Someone approached, and Nysa soon recognized the grizzled figure of Giron, one of the Mekkubal Order's Homunculi. "We don't have much space, as you can see."
He carried a tray of steaming hot food, putting it on the nightstand beside her. "I brought you something to eat."
"How much time did I sleep?" Nysa asked, stroking the Mana-gorged bandages around her left arm.
"A little more than half a day, I'd say. Jonam brought you here yesterday night. You were barely conscious."
Nysa immediately slid out of her covers, forcing herself to stand. Her body felt heavy but functional, cracking and spreading a faint sense of relief as she stretched her limbs.
"Where is Jonam? Did the reinforcements arrive?"
"You should eat something first," Giron remarked. "Whatever that Relic wrapped around your arm does, it heavily saps your energy. Regaining strength takes priority if you still wish to accomplish your goal."
Nysa glanced at the food, her mouth filling with saliva under the wafting smell. However, a stern, green gaze flickered in her mind like a warning, drying her lips and stifling the urge to eat.
She remembered the fragrant sweetness of that pancake, its sudden bitterness when she heard about her father's suicide, and her mother's command:
That food should be sufficient for three days.
Nysa shook her head, picking up an empty cup instead. "I don't need to eat. Water will suffice."
Giron was confused by her reaction, but he didn't prod further. "As you wish. Master Ophir Yannai's disciple arrived a while ago, along with the three other branches from Himera, Gonnos, and Delos. They're holding a meeting upstairs."
"I see." Nysa tapped the left side of her face, feeling a piece of cloth over her vacant eye socket. "What's this?"
"A present from Mistress Ilana Avi-Hai, the leader of Gonnos' branch. She's quite fond of... sewing. She matched the cloth with your dress, which she gracefully mended."
She looked down at her garb, only to find it in pristine condition, devoid of any signs from yesterday's explosions and battles.
"I'll be sure to thank her."
Nysa left the room, only to realize that the one adjacent to hers was occupied.
That one, however, was carefully closed with thick bars and a deeply engraved Theurgic Field in its walls. A twelve-year-old girl with mismatched eyes was chained inside, writhing and rambling softly on the cold ground.
"Is that...?"
"It's Asteri, yes," Giron answered sharply. "Her mental stability has reached its lowest point yet. We previously got around the problem by fixing the gaps in Myrine's psyche with fragments of Asteri's personality and memories. Unfortunately, it seems that last night's incident eroded that fragile balance, and she can no longer function as a human."
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Master Yaen ordered us to keep her restrained. I believe he wishes to observe how long it takes for her body to collapse from the spell's burden."
"I... I..." Saliva frothed at the little girl's lips as she spasmed endlessly on the floor, unable to voice her agony. "—orry... M—M...yrine..."
Something tugged at Nysa's heart again, though she couldn't comprehend it. A strange feeling spread like a sizzling fire from her gut, and she found herself unable to withhold her bubbling contempt for the Henosis Seekers.
Her shadow extended from underneath her feet, approaching the shackled girl as if in answer to her emotions.
Giron noticed the phenomenon, but he was too slow to react.
"Please, don't—"
Before he could finish his sentence, a blade of materialized darkness went through the little girl's head. White smoke escaped the newly opened gap in her skull, followed by the sound of a trailing, last breath.
As her torment ended, Nysa observed the relief in Asteri's eyes, liberating her Dead Spirit and Myrine's soul.
The tightness in her chest finally vanished, and she found herself a little lighter on her feet.
"Good. Now we can go."
The grizzled Homunculus sighed, glancing a last time at the dead Asteri before leading the way. "They're waiting for you upstairs, Lady Quinctillia."
—
Nysa was led through several doors, crossing a number of rooms that would have usually been impossible to hold within the apothecary's small area.
She finally reached a yellow gate plastered with a peculiar symbol—a white circle with a triangle in the middle, connected to the circular edges with five lines on each side—the occult sigil of the Mekkubal Order.
Giron knocked thrice on the gate, then opened it for Nysa.
She first noticed a large, triangular table surrounded by empty, weathered marble walls with no ornaments or tapestry.
Five individuals were present, though she could only recognize one.
At the head of the table's longest edge sat a young man with jaw-length, straight-cut black hair, mismatched black-and-blue gaze, and a triangular stigma shaped like a single-lens spectacle around his bright-colored eye.
To his left stood a tall, long-haired man with white strands despite his youthful traits.
Directly next to him, she found Jonam eerily out of place in his new, boyish appearance.
To the young man's right, a beautiful woman was cross-legged atop the table, her hair parted in two braids with different colors, one black and the other purple. She wore an elaborate, gaudy dress that somehow managed to mix Hierapetran's ample clothing with the revealing nature of Qehari garb.
On the furthest corner of the room was a short man with a bowl cut that hid his eyes, his blonde hair bearing hazel strands typical of the western isles.
They all stared at Nysa as she entered, though the young man with the straight-cut black hair was the first to talk:
"Good morning, Lady Quinctillia. I assume you've rested well."