The cavernous chamber was silent—eerily so. The only sound was the echo of Sylvie's footsteps, soft against the polished obsidian floor. A long corridor of jagged voidstone led deeper into the mountain, the air thick with something darker than magic: dread.
She knelt without hesitation at the base of the raised dais, golden eyes low, silver hair draping forward like a veil. Her tail lay still against the cold stone.
A moment passed. Then another.
And then—he spoke.
"You were late."
His voice was silk stretched over razors. Calm. Controlled. But brimming with the promise of pain.
"I completed the mission. The core was extracted, and the sanctum cleared," Sylvie said, keeping her tone level, emotionless. "The quota was fulfilled."
There was a long silence. A footstep echoed above her, then another. She kept her gaze down as her master descended from the throne-like seat, his boots stopping just beside her lowered head.
"You fulfilled the quota, yes." He reached out, fingers like iron claws brushing her chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his eyes—eyes devoid of warmth. "But not flawlessly."
She said nothing. She knew better than to argue.
"You were not alone," he murmured. "I saw them. The human boy and the half-elf girl. They reached the sanctum. They breathed your air, tainted your results. You let them interfere."
Sylvie's jaw clenched.
"I did not invite their presence," she said quietly. "They stumbled in by their own will. I hid. I did not speak. I even helped eliminate the boss. But I did not—"
"You hesitated," he snapped.
The echo cracked through the chamber like thunder.
"You watched them. I saw it in your eyes, Sylvie. You didn't just tolerate their presence—you were curious. Fascinated, even. Especially with the boy."
Sylvie's fists clenched against her knees.
"He's... different."
That was all she allowed herself to say.
Her master's hand slid to her neck, thumb pressing gently—threateningly—over the embedded slave seal that pulsed faintly with arcane binding. Her breathing hitched.
"You were raised for a purpose," he said coldly. "To fight. To conquer dungeons. To bring back the loot. I gave you shelter. Training. A reason to live. And this—" he pressed harder, "—this is how you repay me? With sentiment?"
"I haven't failed you," she whispered.
"You're close to doing so."
He finally let go, and Sylvie exhaled, barely containing the tremble in her limbs. He walked past her now, pacing, his voice echoing louder.
"If I see another hesitation, another moment where you let your curiosity dull your edge—there will be consequences. You know the rules. No second chances."
Sylvie remained kneeling. Her mind burned, not from the scolding—but from the flicker of doubt. The image of Reynar shielding Liora. The way he stood his ground. The echo of his voice—"When someone is in need, I will help them."
She hated it. And yet, she couldn't ignore it.
"I understand," she said.
"Good," her master replied. "You're being sent to the Eastern Ruins next. A new rift has opened. You'll go alone."
"Yes, Master."
"And Sylvie..." His voice lowered, venomous. "Don't make me regret giving you that name."
With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving her alone in the cold, unfeeling dark.
Sylvie rose slowly, hand brushing her neck. Her heart was a storm, her instincts torn.
But above all, one truth remained: the next time she crossed paths with the duo… it might not be as an observer.
It might be as a threat.