Chương 366: Chapter 361 - Itris

The air was different. Heavier. Hotter. It carried the scent of scorched stone and something sharper beneath. Around them, the lift shaft was silent and cold. But ahead, a single archway stood, flanked by intricately carved columns that almost seemed to glow in the ambient heat. It framed a threshold veiled in a wavering distortion, with streaks of red and crimson flickering beyond. Scarlett stood there for a moment, letting the stillness press down on her. Then she turned slightly, glancing at the others.

Rosa stood rigid, one hand hovering near her chest. Her complexion was noticeably paler, and Scarlett could sense the strain beneath the surface as the woman looked at her with concern. The others—Kat, Fynn, Allyssa, Shin, and Arnaud—had all moved a step closer, but the blue-white flames circling Scarlett held them at bay.

"Calm yourselves. I am in no danger," she eventually said, her gaze resting on Rosa for a heartbeat longer before returning to the archway.

"…Fynn. Tell me — what do you see past that threshold?" There was a pause.

"Just a stone chamber," Fynn replied.

"Dark. Empty." Scarlett nodded slightly. She'd suspected it would appear different to her than to the others.

"It would be best if all of you remained here for now," she said.

"I shall likely return shortly."

"Scarlett, wait—" Rosa began. Scarlett stepped forward. The circle of flame responded, parting as tendrils curled outward to form a narrow path, flanked by living embers that swayed like sentries. She passed through the archway. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the arch behind her was gone. It didn't crumble or fade, but simply ceased, as if it had never existed. The air beyond was stifling. Each breath felt like inhaling the memory of fire — smoke and heat and something older than both.

Yet strangely, it wasn't that bad. Before her stretched what many might have called a wasteland, endless and alive with elemental fury. Runes, scorched into the cracked earth, pulsed dimly like open wounds. The ground smoked and hissed beneath her feet. Jagged spines of obsidian jutted from the terrain in defiance of form. Fire danced in nearly every crevice, and overhead, the sky churned — an ash-choked abyss that carried the acrid scent of burning brimstone.

On the far horizon, titanic walls of flame licked the heavens, towering and shifting like giant limbs. Scarlett took it in quietly. In her old world, there were certainly those who would have described this as hell. She doubted that was the case, though. She'd seen this place before. She'd glimpsed it when Arlene had used the [Eternal Flameweaver's Athame]. She'd been half-consumed by it during the Emberbrand Baptism. And now, it seemed, she stood at its core. She turned, slowly surveying the landscape.

The runes etched into the earth weren't Zuverian, but she still recognised some. They were primordial. The same sigils used in primordial spells, like the ones Arlene had used to defeat the Anomalous One's fragment, and that Scarlett had unearthed beneath the House of Fire in Elystead. Her eyes widened slightly. Far ahead, just beyond the haze and flame-twisted terrain, something shimmered. A blaze unlike the others. It rose like a spire of frozen fire — too smooth and symmetrical to be natural.

At its core was a pale light, shifting outward through orange, then gold, and finally into a hue that defied description. It wasn't wild. It wasn't furious. It simply… was. Monolithic. Rooted. Like a candle lit by a god. What…? A voice behind cut through the thought.

"My chosen." She turned. And froze. Arlene stood there, just two steps away. Same robes. Same streak of white in her hair. Same tired, unreadable expression — the one that had studied Scarlett with quiet scrutiny and measured, understanding care. As if she might, at any moment, critique her stance, her mana flow, and her control, all in a single glance. Scarlett stared. Then the woman's lips parted.

"My chosen. Plight thine troth." Scarlett's grip tightened around the Athame. Her mouth flattened into a thin line.

"…You are not Arlene." The words cut. Not for their volume, but because they felt surprisingly real. Because they stung a little more than she thought they might have. She looked again. Studied how the light touched the thing's face without warming it. It didn't shift. Didn't blink. Flawless on the surface, but… The perfect mimicry only made the dissonance worse. Anger surged in her chest. For a moment, just a moment, she had— She stopped herself, breathing out through her nose as she closed her eyes.

"My chosen," the mimic repeated in Arlene's voice.

"Plight thine troth." Scarlett opened her eyes. She let her gaze drift over it again, from head to foot, hunting for a flaw. It really was exact. But at the same time, hollow. Like a wax statue animated by old magic. A placeholder. A mouthpiece. What was it? A messenger? A vessel? Some pseudo-avatar of the fire goddess? If so, it was poorly constructed…or intentionally chosen to provoke her. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Again, the voice came.

"My chosen. Plight thine troth." Scarlett said nothing. Instead, she looked down at the [Eternal Flameweaver's Athame] in her hand. The hilt pulsed warm against her skin, even more so than usual. She turned it slightly, letting the flickering light glide across the molten veins embedded in the blade. She wasn't sure what this thing wanted, but— She decided to try what hadn't worked before.

"From embered depths, the secret springs, In sacred chant, the power sings. Once concealed, now blaze with might, Reveal your purpose in fiery light." The blade shimmered. A slow ripple passed outward, almost imperceptible. Above, the ashen sky stirred, like a breath drawn through seared lungs. Embers spiralled upward in a brief dance, flared brightly, then fell still. A low hum followed, too deep to be heard properly, more felt than heard. Then silence again.

The Arlene-shaped figure became somehow even more still.

"… My chosen," it said. Scarlett watched carefully. The words held more weight now. Not louder, nor more intense. They just felt slightly more… anchored. Present. Was this the Athame speaking through the figure? Or Itris herself? The latter seemed unlikely. Scarlett didn't believe she was truly the fire goddess's chosen — at least not in the formal, divine-right sense. From what she understood, that role was inherited. Born into. Like the Countess. The Augur. Even Rosa. Still, in this era, in this world…

it was true that she was likely the closest thing Itris had. … Frankly, she didn't like that. Whatever power the goddess could offer, it hadn't stopped Arlene from meeting the fate she did. In fact, it had probably contributed to it. And now, appearing like this? What reaction was it expecting from her?

"Who are you?" Scarlett asked. She tried to keep her tone even, measured, but a colder edge bled through despite it all.

"…Why do you wear my teacher's face?" There was no response. The figure remained perfectly still. To Scarlett, it almost seemed like it was buffering. Like it was running off a fragmented script buried deep within the ruins of intent. Finally, though, it spoke again. Slower this time.

"Fulfil the covenant. Complete the flame-bound oath." Scarlett's brow tightened. What covenant? What oath? What was it even trying to tell her? This didn't feel like a conversation, but more like interacting with a construct. A spell given just enough awareness to follow a narrow path of logic. An echo of purpose, perhaps. Yet, at the same time… She looked around. Then back to the monolithic blaze in the distance. The air here was charged. She could feel it now, fully. A quantity that made her skin prickle.

The place was steeped in something intent, brushing against her awareness. Saturated with the memory of power, and the scent of what she supposed could only be described as divinity. Without a doubt, this space was closer to Itris than anywhere she had ever stood before. And in that closeness, she could feel the faint shape of something watching. Was this the fire goddess' attempt at making contact?

"Fulfil the covenant. Complete the flame-bound oath." She looked around. Then back to the monolithic blaze in the distance. …She really would have appreciated it if Arlene could have left her a user manual.

"Fulfil the covenant. Complete the flame-bound oath." Her gaze lifted.

"I do not know how." There was no answer. No flicker of expression. No change in its presence.

"Fulfil the covenant. Complete the flame-bound oath." Her expression hardened. She squared her shoulders.

"…Why should I?" Still nothing.

"What reason have you given me to follow along?" she asked.

"You wear a face not yours to take. You speak in riddles. You offer no guidance. No clarity. No choice." Her grip tightened on the Athame as she raised it. Above the blade, a corona of fire spiralled into being — a halo of controlled heat produced by her magic.

"What can you offer me that I do not already possess?" She waited. Waited for another repetition of that same phrase. Waited for the nothingness to stretch. And stretch it did. Her patience thinned. She looked upward to the roiling sky, then down to the hissing, rune-scarred ground. She turned in place, surveying the surroundings one final time. Was this some test? Was she supposed to stand around indefinitely? That couldn't be the goddess's design. To trap her here until her will wore thin?

She knew she had to be wary around the gods and goddesses, but if Itris thought— The space shifted. Not with flash or sound. But the change was immediate. Like gravity entering the room. Like awareness stepping into a vacuum. The distant blaze flared high, acknowledging the moment. Behind her, a voice spoke again. But this time, different." Contractor." No, it wasn't a voice, exactly. It was more a sound that resembled speech the way heat resembled touch. Layered and fragmented.

Carried like smoke across a river of oil, as if pushing its way through an endless veil to reach her. Scarlett turned. The figure that had once worn Arlene's shape was gone. In its place stood something else. A being made of fire — not red, not orange, not white, but something without colour, without anchor. Its core pulsed faintly, wrapped in strands of flame that twisted in impossible hues. Shapes flickered in and out of visibility, struggling to hold a humanoid form. She stared. This time, she felt it.

The will behind that shape. The enormity behind the presence. The pressure that didn't ask permission. As she watched, the world began to wither. Distant runes blinked out one by one, glowing symbols smothered like dying coals. The ground dulled beneath her. The ember-choked sky dimmed, folding inward under invisible weight. Even the horizon's walls of flame flickered and faded. Whatever this realm actually was, it appeared to have limits. And those were collapsing. Her gaze returned to the flame-shaped figure.

Was this… Itris? Or, rather, her avatar? The being raised a hand. Flames coiled up its arm in tight spirals, gathering at the wrist — then blooming outward to form a single burning scroll. It hovered, then slowly unfurled. [Embers of Will (Divine)] {An encoded compilation of sacred pyromantic rites, forgotten techniques, and divine doctrines} Scarlett's eyes fixed on it. She studied it, saying nothing at first. This… Wouldn't it contain what she needed to wield the [Eternal Flameweaver's Athame] properly?

To access those techniques she'd seen Arlene use? The ones Scarlett had failed to replicate. Her gaze slid back to the figure.

"…Are you giving this to me?" Its eyes—if any part of its face could be called that—met hers. She felt it like molten pressure tracing her skin, probing beneath the surface. Then it spoke, a single word. Dry. Brittle. Like the speech itself cost — even an act this tiny straining something fundamental.

"Trade." Scarlett narrowed her eyes. Trade? No mention of covenants or an oath now. There wasn't any talk about obedience or reverence, like one might expect of a goddess. Instead, she was seriously being offered a trade? Her attention shifted to the scroll. Around her, the realm continued to decay. The flame walls were gone. The ash sky crumbled. The ground shrank and folded. The edges of reality itself shimmered, stretched thin like dying fire.

Was all this unravelling because Itris had appeared — even in this limited form? Time was running out. Scarlett looked back at the avatar.

"What is it that you want? What do you wish to trade?" The scroll floated closer, aligning with the Athame still in her hand. The blade pulsed, veins glowing in time with something unseen." Deeper," said the voice again. She frowned.

"Deeper?" Did it mean further into Beld Thylelion? Did it want something from below? Then—without her noticing the moment it had—it had reached them. The collapse. A haze swallowed the avatar's lower half. Its legs vanished into strands of flame, flickering out. Only the upper form remained, burning brighter to resist what was unravelling. Scarlett stood still, seemingly unaffected, but waiting for an answer. The silence, however, drew on. Was that it? Had the goddess already said all she could?

She opened her mouth to speak— The avatar's chest flared. Flames surged—briefly white-hot—then the voice returned. More complete, but straining." Fate… awaits… beneath. Beware. Bring me… a remnant… of its fracture. Anomalous One." The words passed through air that no longer burned. Then the figure collapsed inward. And it was gone. The realm fell still. Scarlett stood alone, enveloped in a heatless shimmer. The boundary was gone. Seconds passed.

Then, the world shifted, and she found herself standing in a simple stone chamber. Before her, the scroll remained, hovering quietly. [Side-Quest Completed: Fiery Divine Encounter] {Skill points awarded: 7} She glanced at the blinking prompt. Then at the scroll. Then, beyond it, where the chamber branched deeper. The avatar's words echoed in her mind.' Fate awaits beneath.' What did that actually mean?