The scent of roasting game and cheap ale was a thin disguise for the tension that hung heavily in the air of the Copper Kettle’s private room. Forks scraped against ptes, but the food remained rgely untouched. Zeek, Amon, and Kerris sat hunched over a scarred wooden table, lit by a single, flickering ntern. Verris, a dark silhouette, leaned against the closed door, Regalia resting heavily in his grasp, its ruby eye a dull, unblinking coal. Heka, a faint, inky shimmer, clung to Amon's robes, her presence a silent hum against his skin.

  Amon, ever the schor, cleared his throat, breaking the strained silence. "We have… much to discuss. And little time." He gnced at Heka's subtle shift, a reassurance in the ntern’s light, then back to the map Zeek had provided – a hastily sketched diagram of the byrinth, now spread across the table. "Our time in the Grand Library was… enlightening. And disturbing."

  He began with the ancient texts, his voice low but firm, tracing the history of Kemet's gods. "The gods of Kemet, in their initial thirst for ultimate power, sought to harness the very essence of creation. They forged pacts, not with the light, but with an older, far darker entity – something primal, existing beyond the veil of our known world." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Zeek and then Kerris. "They found a way to bridge the gap, to create a conduit. A living heart. A vessel. They created an Avatar."

  Heka’s smoke, unseen by most, pulsed faintly. Amon continued, "These texts speak of a foundational power within the Heart of Sorrows. Not just a pce, but a malevolent entity, an eldritch force that corrupts all it touches. It doesn't simply occupy the byrinth; it is the byrinth. The ancient Shu-Ra records, those not whitewashed by false narratives, confirm that my ancestors' rivals, swayed and corrupted by this same encroaching darkness, were not merely power-hungry. They made a dark pact. This deity, this unseen force, was the avatar of the demented old gods. It sought to gain a true foothold in our world. It required a pure, powerful vessel. A willing sacrifice."

  He looked at Zeek then, a grim understanding dawning in his eyes. "The byrinth grows, its corruption spreads, because its source feeds. And that source… needs a battery. A powerful, living conduit. Someone of divine descent, who, when bound and given into the corruption, would make them nearly inextricable."

  Kerris, who had been listening with growing horror, shuddered visibly. Her hands trembled as she traced the lines of Zeek’s map. "The… the Shepherd," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes, still haunted from her ordeal, met Zeek’s. "When I saw her… Lilliana… she moved with such grace, serenity, and brutality. But her face… it was calm, yes, but her eyes held a terrible madness. She spoke of keeping the pce safe, of passing a test. She was proud of the horrors she created. She knows you’re coming, Zeek. She thinks she’s protecting something. And those… those flowers, they move. They whisper. The faces at their core,” she shuddered, “They know your name."

  Zeek swallowed hard, the st bite of game now feeling like ash in his mouth.

  “It is time,” came Grigor’s voice echoing in Zeek’s thoughts.

  Zeek drew his dagger and slit his palm then, after a deep breath, slid his blood-stained map across the table. "This… this has been with me since the first time I went in." His finger traced the shifting lines as they came to life. "It updates. On its own. I thought it was just my curse, my guide." He looked at Amon, a new, raw vulnerability in his eyes. "But your texts… they mentioned a way to create one. A dark pact. A soul bound to it."

  He paused, gncing at Kerris, a silent warning in his gaze about the delicate nature of what he was about to reveal. "There’s a soul in this map… and there’s a wraith in the byrinth that continues to seek it. A piece of… something that's tied to this map, to me. It wants her. It wants Lilliana. It wants to complete something. It feeds on the corruption. On her." He didn't have to say whose soul was in the map, or whose wraith. The implication hung heavy, thick with guilt and despair.

  A heavy silence descended, broken only by the crackle of the ntern and the distant, muffled sounds of the inn below. Verris, having started scribbling on some parchment, paced toward the window. His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he moved, opening the window. He was usually a grim, towering figure with a face carved from granite. Tonight, though, something was different.

  Heka raised and eyebrow, seeing a small piece of the letter in the man’s hand. What little she could read said: “I’ll be back after this next job. I promise to tell you all about it son.”

  Outside the window, a massive raven awaited the brutish man. His demeanor was somber; his eyes showed an unfamiliar glint. He tied the parchment to the raven before muttering, “Off you go,” then turning back to the room.

  The room remained silent as Verris joined the table. Heka couldn’t help but ask: “A letter to your son? You have a child?”

  Zeek looked up, shocked. “I’ve seen you trading letters, but I assumed it was more men under your employ. A son?”

  Verris eyed her with a mix of anger and embarrassment before letting his shoulders slump. "Mind your own business, woman," he grumbled, his voice devoid of its usual boast. "They are to my boy. Elias."

  Amon, still processing the byrinth's horrifying nature, let out a short, surprised bark of ughter. "Your boy? Verris, you’ve spawned? I always imagined you simply springing from the earth, fully formed and covered in mud."

  Verris ignored the jab, his gaze fixed on Zeek, a flicker of something in his eyes. "He was studying here, in Estus. He’s since headed south to train under the Brotherhood of the Silent Storm.

  “Does he know what we’re setting out to do?” Kerris approached delicately.

  “He will soon, as your father does. I will tell him of his father’s grand adventure once it’s over.” Verris gnced towards Zeek, “Speaking of which…”

  Amon's mockery vanished, repced by a profound understanding, a shared parental anguish that resonated deep within his ancient lineage. He reached across the table, his hand finding Verris's massive forearm. "Oh, the tales you’ll tell," he said, his voice now gentle, devoid of its usual sarcasm.

  "This is about family, for all of us,” Amon said, standing. “A dark power seeks to corrupt us all. I would burn the world to cinders for Heka, and I believe you feel the same for your Lilliana.”

  Heka's smoke, unseen, stirred around Amon, a silent affirmation. Kerris, still pale, nodded, her jaw set. "My friends… they were taken by the Shepherd. If I can avenge them… then I go. For them. For my father."

  Zeek looked at the blood-stained map, at the faces of his companions, then at Verris, whose hard gaze now held a glimmer of hope. "We leave for the byrinth at dusk via the Bckened Shallows. The closer we get to the heart, the more corrupt the world becomes. We can’t wait any longer.” His voice crack, “I just hope there’s still a piece of her in there…”