Sereth can’t breathe properly. Every inhale drags against invisible weight, every exhale sounds too loud in her own skull. The fire’s glow dances across Elaris’s profile, painting him in amber and shadow, and she knows that look — that calm before he does something reckless and noble.
Her muscles strain against the invisible bonds, but she can’t move. Her throat burns with the effort to scream, to shout his name, to stop him from taking that cursed quill.
No sound.
Not a whisper.
Just the hollow, maddening silence and the frantic pounding of her heart.
He’s going to do it.
The thought rips through her like lightning. The memory of his voice—
“You’re more than worth keeping.”
—the way his eyes softened when he said it, the warmth that bloomed in her chest—
all of it twists now into something else: dread.
She tries to reach him through their bond, that faint shimmer of connection that pulses in time with her heartbeat.
Elaris, please don’t. Please—
Nothing answers.
Only the silence.
And then a voice — not his.
Valthrix (inside her mind, velvet and venom): “You poor little flame.”
Sereth’s eyes widen. The words crawl inside her skull like molten honey, sickly and sweet.
Valthrix: “All that courage, all that clever tongue… and now, nothing but a pretty face and a closed mouth. Tell me, how does it feel? Watching the one you love march willingly into ruin?”
Sereth trembles, every instinct screaming to resist.
Don’t listen. Don’t listen.
But the devil’s voice slides through every defense, whispering behind her thoughts.
Valthrix: “He won’t hear you, my dear. None of them will. They’re all so beautifully contained. But I can hear you. I always hear what hearts refuse to say.”
Her eyes sting. The mark on her bow hand flickers with faint light, a heartbeat against her skin.
Valthrix: “So, let’s make it interesting, shall we?”
The voice smooths out, silk wrapping around a dagger.
Valthrix: “What would you give to speak, Sereth?”
The question lands like a stone dropped into deep water.
Her stomach turns. She doesn’t dare answer.
The silence inside her grows louder — pressing, waiting, listening.
She stares at Elaris, still motionless, still locked in that unblinking stand-off with the devil. His hand inches toward the quill.
Every instinct screams say something, move, do anything, but she can’t.
Only the echo of the question remains, whispering like a curse:
What would you give to speak, Sereth?
And somewhere behind her, the others stir — not outwardly, but in their minds.
Each hears something different.
A voice dredging up the unspoken things they most fear.
The words they never said.
The ones they hoped no one would ever know.
Kaer’s guilt, Garruk’s loss, Arden’s shaken faith, the twins’ infernal shame — each one touched by her whispers.
The room becomes a symphony of private torment, silent to the world, deafening to their hearts.
And still, at the center of it all —
Elaris, unaware.
Steady.
Reaching for the quill.
The firelight dances along the parchment, its edges rippling with slow, infernal heat. The air feels thinner now—less oxygen, more presence. Something unseen crawls behind the light, whispering in tongues that make the shadows twitch.
Elaris can feel it pressing on him. The same trick he used to read necrotic bindings—the way each letter carries intent—works here, but the infernal script shifts like oil. Every time he thinks he’s deciphered it, a clause changes tense, a word reverses meaning. He narrows his eyes, muttering the sigils silently, fingers tracing in the air.
The world narrows to the flick of quill and flicker of flame. He sees the subtext now, faint but there: three challenges of will, deception, and truth. The third is marked in scarlet, its words slightly smudged. That’s never accidental. Someone wants him to overlook that final clause.
He leans closer, breath ghosting the parchment. The letters recoil like insects under a lantern. A faint hiss escapes the quill—alive, sensing inspection. The mark on his palm pulses in warning. He frowns.
Something isn’t right.
He looks up.
The others are still—too still. Kaer’s jaw clenched. Borin’s fingers white-knuckled on the table. Arden’s lips moving in prayer without sound. Laz and Vex twitching subtly, eyes flicking toward Sereth.
Sereth—
Her face has gone pale, eyes wide, pupils unfocused as though she’s staring through the room and into something beyond it.
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He opens his mouth.
“Sereth—”
No answer.
Just that humming silence pressing harder against his skull.
He grips the edge of the table.
Something’s wrong.
But before he can act, the infernal whisper slithers beneath their collective skin.
Inside Sereth’s mind, the world has turned to glass.
She can see everything: Elaris reading, Kaer’s motionless profile, the flickering fire—all behind a perfect, soundless wall.
Then the voice comes again.
Valthrix (inside her head, gentle as venom): “He’s clever, isn’t he? Reading every word, pretending it will matter. You know what happens if he signs, don’t you? You feel it already, here—”
The sensation crawls up Sereth’s chest, a line of cold heat snaking from her heart to her throat.
Valthrix: “He’ll bind himself to me. And when he does, you’ll feel the weight of his soul pulling yours along. You’ve tied yourselves together so neatly. It would be such a waste not to make use of that connection.”
Sereth shakes her head violently, though her body doesn’t move at all in the real world. Tears well at the corners of her eyes.
Stop it.
Valthrix: “Make me.”
The smile in her voice curdles the air around the words.
Valthrix: “You can’t though, can you? Not like this. All that power, all that passion—and nothing to say. How pathetic it must feel, to watch him march into the fire and not even whisper his name.”
The voice softens. A mockery of compassion.
Valthrix: “But it doesn’t have to be that way. I could loosen your tongue, pretty little flame. Just one word, one promise… and you could speak. Warn him. Save him.”
The air ripples around her thoughts; something cold and slick brushes against her consciousness.
Valthrix: “What would you give, Sereth, to speak?”
The world freezes again. Her bow hand twitches, the runes of Heartstring faintly aglow. The light stutters as her thoughts race.
My voice, my soul, my—
She stops herself.
She knows better than to answer.
But the temptation burns hot, so hot, clawing at the inside of her chest like a living thing.
At the far side of the table, Vex notices it first—her twin’s infernal blood recognizing the faint psychic pulse of a devil’s touch.
Her eyes snap to Sereth, then to Valthrix, reading the invisible currents. She kicks Laz lightly under the table.
He frowns, following her line of sight.
They can’t speak either, but both of them feel the shift. The air around Sereth hums differently, almost alive.
Arden’s eyes flick up, catching the same pulse of light off Sereth’s hand, and a deep, instinctive dread curls in her gut.
She’s being tempted.
But none of them can move, none of them can stop it.
Back in the silence, Valthrix hums softly to herself, outwardly serene, inwardly coiled like a serpent.
Her gaze never leaves Elaris.
But beneath the table, beneath the still surface of reality, her true attention is elsewhere—waiting for the answer that will determine how deep her hooks can sink.
Valthrix (in Sereth’s mind): “What would you give to speak, little flame?”
“A memory? A secret? A name?”
“Or perhaps…” her tone drips with mock sympathy, “…the heart of the one who listens even when you don’t speak at all.”
Sereth’s eyes widen further.
Her throat tightens.
The bowstring in her quiver thrums once—like a heartbeat.
She still doesn’t answer.
But Valthrix’s smile tells her that silence, too, is a kind of answer.
Elaris studies the parchment one last time. The infernal sigils coil like snakes across the surface, each one shimmering with malicious patience. His eyes flicker, black and silver, trying to see through the hidden layers.
He catches something beneath the main contract — a faint double text, a binding echo meant to trap intention itself. A clause buried deep:
“Upon signing, the signee accepts all transference of burden from prior holders.”
He grits his teeth. That means he’ll inherit the twins’ full weight of damnation — but it also means they’ll be free.
Elaris looks up. The room is still locked in silence. Valthrix watches him like a cat watches a trembling bird.
His hand hovers over the quill. The mark on his palm glows.
He breathes out once, steady, and signs his name in smooth, deliberate Infernal script.
The parchment ignites in red light — no heat, only the sound of cracking glass as invisible wards snap into place.
Infernal magic cascades outward — then reverses.
Every member of the party gasps as breath floods their lungs. Garruk chokes out a swear, Kaer grips his head, Arden doubles over, the twins’ eyes flash with sudden pain.
The silence shatters into a roar of overlapping voices.
But Sereth—
Sereth’s voice doesn’t return.
She jerks forward, a quiet gasp leaving her as her hand flies to her chest. The burning in her mark spreads — searing white-hot, then fading to a numb ache. Her bowstring glows faintly for half a second before dulling again.
Elaris looks up sharply.
“Sereth?”
Her lips part — nothing. Then she forces out a whisper.
“I’m fine…”
She’s not. Her voice sounds wrong — faintly hollow, her tone not quite steady.
Vex and Laz exchange a look. They both feel it — that infernal exchange. Their connection to Hell thrums in resonance, like a dissonant chord.
Arden, pale and shaken, watches her carefully, sensing divine imbalance.
Valthrix only smiles.
“Well done, Pale Shepherd.”
Her voice drips with satisfaction. “You’ve done what few ever manage. A contract sealed. A balance restored.”
The flames behind her flare bright crimson before fading to ash-grey.
“Enjoy your victory.”
She glances at Sereth as she steps back into the shadows.
“Some victories, however…” she purrs, “…require a tithe of their own.”
Her form folds in on itself, her grin the last thing to vanish.
As the light fades, the group sits in stunned silence. Their throats raw from voiceless strain, their minds still echoing with the whispers Valthrix planted in their hearts.
Elaris’s hand trembles slightly, his pulse syncing with the glowing signature still burned into the air. He feels the faint tug of infernal weight binding itself to him — a burden accepted, but not yet fully revealed.
He exhales.
“It’s done.”
But Sereth barely hears him.
In her mind, the echo of that voice still lingers.
Valthrix (inside her, fading): “You gave me a piece of yourself, little flame. Don’t worry — you’ll hardly miss it… until it matters most.”
Something in her heart shifts.
A splinter of herself gone.
A faint emptiness where her confidence once lived.
She keeps her expression calm, her voice light.
“Guess we won then…”
But when she reaches for her bow, her hand trembles. The balance feels off. The string no longer hums with that perfect harmony.
Arden watches her, uneasy. Vex looks away. Laz just mutters, “Hells’ sake…” under his breath.
The tavern is silent again, but this time it’s the quiet of exhaustion, not enchantment.
Borin downs what’s left of his ale. Garruk mutters something about “bloody devils and their bloody games.”
Kaer just rubs his temples.
Elaris stands, flexing his fingers, the faint burn of infernal sigils crawling up his wrist. He doesn’t see the way Sereth leans on the table, one hand clutching her chest.
Vex and Laz move closer, watching her carefully.
They know what that look means. They’ve seen it before — the cost of a pact made too quickly.
But they say nothing.
Just a quiet, shared grimace of guilt.