The one retrieved from The Void

Doubt clawed at him. Vas wasn't sure he had the strength—or the knowledge—to pull it off. Yet, the alternative was stagnation, and stagnation in this world was a death sentence.

For now, the most pressing task was to recover. His body screamed for rest, every muscle a reminder of how far he had pushed himself. He doubted he could descend any further into this abyss without reinventing himself, without embracing his identity as a Forger in ways he never had before.

Lying back against the rough stone, his mind turned to his training in the Occult. There was so much knowledge buried in those lessons, fragments of techniques and theories he had barely touched.

The path forward would demand more than he had ever given before, but there was no other choice. The silence around him pressed heavier, as though the abyss itself awaited his decision. Vas closed his eyes, summoning the last shreds of resolve. Rest now. Forge later.

It took a while, but eventually, Vas stirred and woke. His body felt rested, though he had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious. The oppressive stillness of the ledge made time feel meaningless. Across from him, The Rose sat curled in a fetal position, trembling slightly. She wasn't far away, yet she seemed lost in a world of her own, her face pale and her eyes darting with haunted unease. Whatever had transpired had shaken her deeply.

"So… we survived?" The Rose's voice was low, barely above a whisper, as though she feared speaking louder might invite some unseen horror back.

"Yeah," Vas said, his voice rough, the word feeling more like an exhalation than a statement.

The Rose attempted to rise, her hands trembling as she braced against the jagged stone, but the moment she tried to stand, a sharp cry escaped her lips. Pain wracked her body, forcing her back down.

"We can't hurt each other," Vas said flatly. His tone was measured, but beneath it, there was an edge—an unspoken tension that mirrored the weight of their predicament. "Not here. So don't bother."

The Rose looked at him, her expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "So, what are we supposed to do?"

"You can leave this place," Vas replied, leaning back against the cold, unforgiving stone. "I still have things I need to do here."

"What about our deal?" she asked, her voice brittle, like she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"I'll find you later," Vas said. "We'll finish our fight then."

"No." The Rose's reply came swiftly, her voice firm despite her fragile state. A grim expression settled over her features, darkening her already pale complexion. "If we fight later, I'm certain I'll lose. In fact…" Her voice faltered, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands. "I believe I'd already be dead if… whatever that was hadn't happened."

"So?" Vas prompted, his curiosity piqued by the weight of her words.

"I'm going to honor our deal, dear," The Rose said, her lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "And I'll tell you why we call the gods the Usurpers."

Vas stiffened, his attention sharpening. This was the first time anyone had broached this subject directly, and now, with Morrigan and The Archivist eerily silent, he could listen without fearing their interference.

"But," The Rose warned, her voice softening, "I'm not sure I can tell you everything. Sometimes… Amrita forbids certain knowledge from spreading. It has happened before."

"I understand," Vas said, nodding. "Anything you can share will help."

The Rose took a steadying breath, composing herself as best she could before settling into a seated position. Her gaze turned distant, as though reaching back through memories she wasn't sure she should unearth.

"As you know," she began, her voice taking on a measured cadence, "in order to gain access to the power of Anima and Amrita, one must undergo the Unveiling Ritual."

"I'm not sure that's true anymore," Vas interjected, his tone skeptical.

"It's true," The Rose said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But not completely true. For starters, Amrita is… restrictive. It imposes rules, boundaries—I'm sure you've noticed that, darling. But if that's the case, how do the gods give tests to advance the ritual? Why does Amrita allow them to do so? And don't tell me it's because the gods are omnipotent or omniscient, because they're not. They cannot break the fundamental rules of The Occult."

"Yeah," Vas agreed. "I've thought about that."

"Then consider this." The Rose leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping as though she feared the void around them might overhear. "There's another detail most people overlook. Some spirits can also bond with individuals and guide them through the Unveiling. Why would they do that? What do they gain from it? And how do they have the power to assign tests for advancing the ritual? Spirits don't wield influence over Amrita on the same scale as the Usurpers."

Vas's focus sharpened, his gaze fixed on her. For a moment, The Rose seemed surprised; usually, by this point, her audience would be interrupting her with doubts—or Amrita itself would intervene.

"The truth is," The Rose continued, her voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and unease, "it's not the Usurpers who assign the tasks to advance the Unveiling. It's Amrita itself. The real question is: when does Amrita begin to take control? And why does it allow the Usurpers to intervene at all?"

Vas frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Nobody knows exactly when Amrita begins assigning the tasks directly," The Rose said. "But here's what our research revealed before the war: after the third step of the Unveiling, neither the Usurpers nor bonded spirits have any say in assigning tasks. In fact, there are documented cases where the Usurpers actively tried to prevent certain individuals from advancing. One person even described recurring dreams of a voice warning them: Don't open the door. Don't lift the veil."

"Why wouldn't they want someone to advance?" Vas asked, his brow furrowed. "Doesn't that strengthen their domain?"

"To a point, yes," The Rose admitted. "But beyond a certain stage, the Usurpers begin to see those who advance as threats."

"Threats?" Vas echoed, his unease growing.

"Because the Usurpers weren't born as gods," The Rose said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "They became what they are through the Unveiling."

"What?" Vas asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and confusion. "The Church of the Twelve always said that the gods created everything. If they became gods through the Unveiling, that can't be true."

"Correct," The Rose replied, a small, knowing smile curling at her lips. It had been a long time since someone had given her this much attention, truly listening to her words instead of just admiring her body. And even longer since someone had shown genuine interest in this subject—one that could make the young man in front of her a hunted fugitive across the entire solar system.

"Before the Usurpers, there were other beings—beings who were actually born divine," she said, her tone shifting to something darker, more serious. "We called them the Primordials."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a shudder rippled through the air. Nu began to tremble uncontrollably, his body wracked with an unseen force. The atmosphere around them thickened, as though the very air was closing in on them. A weight pressed down on Vas's chest, suffocating and cold. The Rose's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing with a sense of creeping dread. This wasn't the work of Amrita—no, something else was at play here. An Usurper, perhaps, but why would they be so intent on silencing her?

Far in the distance, a shadow moved, its form indistinct but undeniably present. It was the same being that had spoken to Lily and the others, the one who had guided them to Vas. Its presence was different now—cold, detached, an eerie calm replacing the warmth it had once exuded when watching over him. The being's body, like a silhouette against the dark void, flickered with an unnatural glow. It snapped its fingers, and the unseen force trying to choke off their conversation abruptly ceased.

A voice echoed through the air—an unsettling, ambiguous tone, blending male and female, ancient and youthful all at once. "I promise, nothing and no one will harm them while they remain there. If anyone tries again, a few years of agony will be the least I'll grant them."

Somewhere far away, in a strange, otherworldly space, a man with sharp, defined features, dark hair streaked with silver, and eyes as black as the void itself stared into the darkness with an unreadable expression. His suit, a sleek combination of gray and silver, gleamed in the dim light, a silver pocket watch swaying at his side. His voice was a low growl, cutting through the tension. "What was that? What just happened?"

A tall, graceful woman appeared, shimmering like a living aurora, her hair shifting through colors as if spun from the very fabric of the cosmos. Her eyes, silver as the moon, seemed to reflect the countless threads of fate she wove. She wore a robe that seemed to be made of interwoven cosmic filaments, glowing faintly like stars in the night sky. Her presence was ethereal, timeless, as though she was part of something much bigger than herself.

"How did it go?" she asked the man.

"Bad," the man replied, his voice flat but tinged with unmistakable concern. "I almost died."