Dun - Location somewhere

  And you're certain he is there... no illusions, no misdirections, no falsities?" the voice inquired, echoing as if it came from all directions.

  "Yes," came the reply, steady but ced with uncertainty. "I managed to leave my mark on him. I’m certain he’s there."

  The voice, omnipresent and disembodied, seemed to swirl around the room, echoing off the cold stone walls. "You must understand the gravity of your cim. If you are wrong, the consequences will be dire."

  A shiver ran down the spine of the one who spoke, a mix of fear and determination. "I’m not wrong. I felt it—his presence. It’s undeniable."

  "Emotions can be misleading," another voice cautioned, its tone more primal and increasingly urgent. "What you sense might be a fabrication of your mind, a mere reflection of your own wishes. Are you ready to confront the truth, regardless of how painful it may be?"

  "I am," the reply came, firmer this time.

  "Very well," the first, calmer of the ethereal voices replied, its tone authoritative.

  "Do we have any champions in that realm?" inquired one of the godlike beings. "We must achieve victory, even if it requires us to confront and defeat the nd god who governs it."

  "Yes, my supremes," the seeker replied, their voice steady despite the weight of the moment. "San Shamal and San Topero."

  The godlike beings exchanged gnces, their expressions inscrutable. "Shamal, the abaster lord, and Topero, the hewing wake," one of them mused. "Not ideal, given their track record of obliterating most in their path," one of them said with a tone of exasperation, clearly frustrated by the limited options avaible. "But we have little choice in the matter."

  "Very well, Freeka," the first being said, its voice resonating with authority, ced with an undercurrent of chilling intent.

  "Summon them. We will provide the guidance they need to navigate the trials that await. But remember, the nd god is not merely a creature of brute strength; it is a being of ancient power, deeply connected to the very fabric of that realm. You must be prepared for the unexpected.

  "You need not kill the nd god if it does not obstruct your path," another being added, its tone sharp and unwavering. "However, should it stand in your way, do not hesitate to sughter it. Your mission is paramount, and any threat to your success must be dealt with decisively."

  The weight of their words hung in the air, a palpable threat that sent a shiver down Freeka's spine, reminding them of the dire stakes involved.

  As he spoke, a dark thought crept into his mind: the consequences of failure loomed like a shadow, threatening to engulf him. He shuddered at the idea of what might happen if he did not succeed—what fate awaited not just him, but those he cared for.

  The two beings in front of him had always been fickle, their goals unclear, yet they had never failed to get what they wanted. Freeka felt a chill run down his spine as he considered the unpredictable nature of their desires. He knew he had to tread carefully, for their whims could turn dangerous in an instant.

  With that thought lingering in his mind, Freeka prepared to summon his champions, the weight of his resolve echoing in the silence that followed.

  ---------------------------

  Location Anvil's fall interrogation room

  Hakkon leaned back against the cold stone wall of the cell, his expression a mix of irritation and amusement.

  "Ah, yes, thank you ever so much for your enlightening tales, dear prisoner. Truly, your ability to dodge questions is nothing short of remarkable. But I must ask again—what were you doing in the Maker's Labyrinth"

  Hakkon leaned back against the cold stone wall of the cell, his expression a mix of irritation and amusement. "Ah, yes, thank you ever so much for your enlightening tales, dear prisoner. Truly, your ability to dodge questions is nothing short of remarkable. But I must ask again—what were you doing in the Maker's Labyrinth in the first pce?"

  The prisoner, a gaunt figure with weary eyes and bloodied rags clinging to his skin, shifted with a casual grace on the rough bench. Dried crimson streaked his face, a stark contrast to the indifference in his demeanor. "My dear confessor, you wound me so... What is a characteristic of a great storyteller if I do not leave my audience on the edge of their seats?"

  "Ah, the brave martyr," Hakkon scoffed, crossing his arms. "You speak as if your bloodied state is a badge of honor. But tell me, what were you hoping to uncover? Secrets of the past? A way to escape your fate?"

  "Maybe all of that," the prisoner said, his voice dripping with confidence. "Or perhaps I was just trying to understand the darkness that surrounds us. The byrinth is a reflection of our fears, our desires. I thought if I could navigate its twists and turns, I might find crity. And if I bleed a little in the process? So be it."

  Hakkon raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. "Crity? In a pce designed to ensnare and confuse? You must be more foolish than I thought. Or perhaps you’re just a dreamer, lost in your own delusions."

  "Call it what you will," the prisoner replied, a smirk pying on his lips despite the blood that trickled down his temple. "But the byrinth has a way of revealing truths, even if they are not the ones we expect. I was willing to face whatever y within, to confront the shadows of my past. And look at me now—still standing, still breathing."

  "And yet here you are," Hakkon replied, a smirk pying at the corners of his mouth. "A prisoner, caught in the web of your own making. How poetic."

  The prisoner met Hakkon's gaze, unflinching, his confidence unwavering. "Perhaps. But every story has its twists, Hakkon. Even yours. You may think you hold the keys to my fate, but the byrinth has a way of turning the tables. I’ve danced with death and come out with scars that tell tales. What do you have to show for your so-called power?"

  Hakkon chuckled, the sound echoing in the dim cell. "You’re a curious one, I’ll give you that. But remember, the byrinth may reveal truths, but it also demands a price. Are you prepared to pay it?"

  The prisoner leaned back, a faint smile creeping onto his lips, bloodied but unbowed. "I’ve already paid more than you know. But the real question is, are you ready to face the truths that lie ahead? Because I have a feeling our paths are more entwined than you realize. And when the time comes, I’ll be the one holding the cards."

  The prisoner leaned back, a faint smile creeping onto his lips, bloodied but unbowed. "I’ve already paid more than you know. But the real question is, are you ready to face the truths that lie ahead? Because I have a feeling our paths are more entwined than you realize. And when the time comes, I’ll be the one holding the cards."

  Hakkon, the High Confessor, stood before him, magic violently orbiting his form, crackling with energy and illuminating the dim chamber. His eyes narrowed, a mixture of disdain and intrigue flickering across his face. "I see that despite your wounds, you’re still quite the jester," he replied, his voice smooth yet edged with menace. "You think your clever words can mask the truth of your situation? You are a prisoner, bound by chains of your own making, and I hold the key to your fate."

  The prisoner chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the stillness. "Ah, but you misunderstand, Hakkon. I am not the one in chains here. You may have me physically restrained, but my mind is free, and my spirit unbroken. You wield your magic like a weapon, but it is your fear that truly binds you."

  Hakkon stepped closer, the swirling magic intensifying, casting eerie shadows across the walls. "Fear? You mistake my resolve for fear. I am here to extract the truth from you, and I will not be swayed by your theatrics. The truths you hold are dangerous, and I will uncover them, one way or another."

  The prisoner met Hakkon's gaze, unflinching. "You may try, but know this: the truths I carry are not easily unearthed. They are buried deep, intertwined with the very fabric of this world. You think you can simply pry them from me? You underestimate the power of what I know."

  Hakkon's expression hardened, the magic around him fring in response to his rising anger. "You are pying a dangerous game, and I assure you, I do not lose. Your bravado will not protect you when the time comes for me to extract what I need."

  The prisoner leaned forward, his smile widening. "Then let the game begin, High Confessor. But remember, the cards are not always what they seem, and the jester may yet become the king."

  With that, the air between them crackled with tension, the promise of a confrontation looming as the two adversaries prepared to engage in a battle of wits and wills, each determined to emerge victorious in their own right.

  Just then, a voice echoed through the chamber, cutting through the tension. "Master Einhart, the Seal Master, has arrived and will be assisting with the mind delve you requested, Hakkon."

  Hakkon's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it settled back into a mask of determination. "Very well," he said, his tone now ced with a new intensity. "Let us see what insights he can provide. The game is about to become far more interesting."

  The prisoner’s smile faded slightly, realizing that the stakes had just been raised. The air was thick with anticipation as they awaited the arrival of the Seal Master, each aware that the true battle for knowledge was only just beginning.

  Master Einhart Tov Morto, the Seal Master, entered the chamber with an air of quiet authority. Cd in deep indigo robes adorned with intricate silver runes that shimmered faintly in the dim light, he exuded an aura of ancient wisdom and power. His long, silver hair flowed like a river of moonlight down his back, framing a face that bore the marks of countless rituals and arcane studies. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and discerning, seemed to see beyond the physical realm, probing the very essence of those around him.

  As he approached the center of the chamber, he began to set up the runic formation necessary for the mind delve. With deliberate precision, he knelt on the cold stone floor, unfurling a scroll that contained the intricate designs of the runes he would inscribe. The scroll was filled with symbols that glowed softly, each representing a different aspect of containment, protection, and focus.

  The prisoner, observing Einhart's meticulous work, leaned back and smirked, a hint of joviality in his tone. "I must say, I’m genuinely surprised that someone still knows how to make a Vermillion Sun Cage. It’s a rare skill these days, isn’t it? Most have forgotten the old ways, too busy with their fshy spells and trinkets."

  Einhart paused for a moment, gncing up from his work with a raised eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Indeed, it is a lost art, but one that remains essential for those who understand the true nature of magic and its containment."

  The prisoner chuckled, the sound echoing in the stillness. "Well, it seems I’m in the presence of a true master. Perhaps I should take notes while you work. Who knows when I might need to whip up a cage of my own?"

  Einhart returned to his task, carving the runes into the stone with precision. "You may find that knowledge is not as useful as you think when you’re trapped within your own mind," he replied, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness.

  As he worked, the air around him began to hum with energy, the runes responding to his touch. Wisps of light danced along the edges of the symbols, illuminating the chamber with a soft glow. Einhart's brow furrowed in concentration, and he muttered incantations under his breath, calling upon the ancient forces that governed the mind and spirit.

  Once the runic formation was complete, he stood and surveyed his work, ensuring that every detail was perfect. The circle pulsed with a steady rhythm, a heartbeat of magic that resonated with the very fabric of the chamber. He then pced his hands over the formation, channeling his energy into it, reinforcing the seals and ensuring that they would hold against any resistance.

  "Prepare yourself," he said, turning to Hakkon and the prisoner. "What we are about to uncover may be more than you bargained for. The mind is a byrinth, and within it lies not only memories but also fears and shadows that may resist our intrusion."

  With that, he stepped back, allowing the runic formation to fully activate. The air crackled with energy, and the chamber filled with a low, resonant hum as the magic began to weave itself into the very essence of the space, ready to contain whatever dark secrets the prisoner held within.

  As the runic formation powered up, the air around them began to hum with energy, the runes responding to Einhart's touch. Suddenly, the prisoner jolted upright, a nervous smile spreading across his bloodied face. "Thirteen hells, they sent Freeka. Ploughing Freeka! Who does that? Who fucking sends Freeka?"

  Hakkon opened his mouth to respond, confusion etched on his features. "What do you mean—"

  But before he could finish, a deafening explosion erupted in the distance, shaking the very foundations of the chamber.