Yelena and Agathae’s eyes met across the battlefield of fury-tinged words that the Great Hall had become.

Agathae’s eyes had always been soothing. They had been a comfort on even the darkest nights. They had been the first thing Yelena had seen some mornings when she awoke to the Tigran girl snuggling up to her after having broken into her room for the fifth time that week.

It was the same Tigran she was looking at right now, standing on the podium beneath the Prophet, looking down on her. But those eyes were no longer the eyes of her friend. The cat-girl’s once jovial lenses had now narrowed into the slitted glass eyes of a predator out for vengeance, stoked up by the snake hanging on her shoulder.

"Sister Yelena has been infected with the influence of a Voidspawn," she said. "She can no longer be trusted to protect the people of Averix. My vote is with Sister Virtir."

The assembly was cowed into silence, with only a few heads turning to see the moment of betrayal etched into Yelena’s face.

She had come to terms with many disappointments in her life. She was isolated. She was demeaned. She had always had more to prove than her Brothers and Sisters in their eyes. She had to slay more beasts. She had to participate in more tourneys. She had to do more chores. In fulfilling each of these tasks, she’d done everything she could to please these people who now surrounded her. Yes, she knew they’d never all come around, but with a team like she had – with Di, Aggie, and Cynthia around her – she had a pocket of this life to herself that she never even felt like she’d really earned. It was a true friendship born from their shared experiences – not their differences. They knew each other like no one else.

And in less than a minute, Agathae had taken to the stage and cast all that aside, like some withered old rag – a children’s comfort – she had no more need for.

Yelena felt the rising in her chest again, and clutched her bosum tightly, feeling the scars that had been cut into her breastplate. This is what they’d wanted all along, wasn’t it? They hadn’t wanted her – they’d wanted the thing buried deep inside her being: the monster. They wanted that convenient excuse to get rid of her all this time. Their friendship had been a façade.

That was it, wasn’t it Agathae? You never really wanted my friendship. You never wanted my hand. Every time you hugged me you’d been probing me for weaknesses to exploit, just like your serpentine companion.

"Agathae…" Dimedrious was mumbling. Somehow in his sorrow the room grew even quieter.

It was the last word Yelena needed to finally propel herself forward.

"You think this is the solution?" Dimedrious was shouting. "Locking her up like some thief? Who’ll see to her welfare, you, snake-fiend? Or maybe you – the traitor cat standing beside the puppet master up there!"

He stopped himself when he felt Yelena’s shoulder brush by his. She walked calmly, carrying her head high for the first time she could remember ever since she first entered the Great Hall.

"Lena," he began. "You don’t have to-"

The face she shot back in his direction paralysed him completely. He stopped in his tracks, and she turned back to look up at her interlocutors: at the shaking form of Agathae behind the podium, and the tight-lipped image of Virtir next to her, just managing to conceal the smile behind her stoic presentation.

Yelena looked up at them both, and planted her sword in the ground before her.

"You know me," she said, and she tried her best to keep her voice steady, latching her gauntleted fingers round the pommel of her blade as though to balance her entire being.

"I came to you fifteen years ago. I grew up amongst you, fought beside you, and shared the warmth of this Hall with all of you."

She felt the eyes of the assembly on her. But she didn’t turn. Her eyes were for Agathae only.

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"All I have ever done is try to fit in," she said. "I started no fights. I kept quiet – that’s what I thought was right. I trained with you as best I could, even though I knew you’d never really think of me as one of you. Because you’ve all gone through pain and rejection out there in the world, and I’ve never experienced that. I could never know what that felt like, right?"

Dimedrious shifted but didn’t move. She could feel his desire to simply take her from this place and shield her. But she wasn’t his. This was her moment to prove who she really was. No mentors. No shadow-creatures. Just her, surrounded by her enemies.

"Well, I can tell you how I feel now," she said. "Alone. Completely alone. Feeling like you’re all against me, even those of you I once called friend."

Her eyes burned into Agathae and she saw her friend recoil. She looked like she wanted to speak, and yet Yelena did not relent. She didn’t even know why.

"I know what you think of me," she said, now looking back at the crowd. "It’s not as Brother Dimedrious says – you do think you know me. You know that there’s something within me that heeds the call of darkness, and I don’t deny it. The truth is: this is the same strength I drew upon to avenge our fallen Sister who now lies beneath our snows."

She felt a pang of despair when she actually said it, but she kept her hands clenched to her blade. She had to push through. For Cynthia. And for herself.

"But I will not bow down to this demon that dwells within me," she said. "It would be easy to. It would be easy to take this thing that lives in me and say that its part of who I am. It would be easy to share in your hatred – to call myself the monster you believe I am. You know, I’ve always believed it. I’ve told myself over and over again that my life here was valid, but then I’d look in all your eyes and see my own real shame reflected back at me. I know it. Don’t think I never felt your own hatred towards me. You can’t hate me more than I’ve hated myself for the last fifteen years."

She turned back to her accusers as the crowd shifted their glances from her. Now, she had to finish this.

"So, I will give you all what you want," she declared. "But I will not bow to your hate. I decide what my destiny is, and I decide who I really am. My answer to your Denouncement, Sister Virtir, is this: I will bind myself, but not to your prison."

She allowed herself a moment to breathe. To let the words form. To pronounce her own sentence and condemnation. Even if it was the only chance she had.

"I consign myself to the Everloft – to delve within the black throat of Averix and battle the horrors within. In doing so, I vow to find out the truth of my being and cleanse myself of the darkness within me."

The entire assembly erupted in a chorus of shrieks, some now rising from their seats to stab their shock into the air. Agathae looked like she’d been shanked, and Virtir’s surprise was barely concealed from the crowd.

"How dare you attempt to covet honor in this Denouncement!" Virtir yelled above the din. "You would cheerfully blaspheme in our own Hall. You think yourself the successor to Lords Jael and Miron?"

"It’s no boast, Sister Virtir," Yelena responded. "If I fail, then I die. You shall have my corpse, should you ever wish to make the dive yourself!"

Amidst more uproars from the assembly, Yelena noticed out the corner of her eye that Azran was staying silent. Just watching the whole chaotic proceeding. He could probably guess every new word that was being sprouted from her and her opponent’s mouth.

But the one person she couldn’t look at was Dimedrious. She could only guess at what expression must be plastered on his face right now.

"You think we’d trust you to walk two feet away from this place?" Virtir yelled, pushing Agathae from the podium and assuming command once again.

"Appoint anyone you wish to make the journey with me!" Yelena shouted back. "Do it yourself, if you must. I would expect nothing less. But I will make this journey, and I will free myself from this evil!"

"You forget yourself, Sister – the will of Caer Argent will decide your fate. Not your own desire for glory!"

Yelena did not relent. She made her final attack:

"I said that I consign myself to the Everloft. I do so of my own free will, and I invoke no power but that of the Prophet to be my judge. I will not place my destiny in the hands of you, or this Hall. Instead, I appeal to the relic of the Everloft itself. I ask the Prophet – do you accept my consignment?"

As the question was voiced, the Great Hall was cowed into silence.

All heads turned upwards to the corpse nailed to the top of the Hearth – the decrepit being born from the abyss that was always watching over them all.

They held their breaths, and even Yelena felt thin beads of sweat forming on her brow. She was taking the gambit.

She and Azran both knew it was a last resort. The best way to secure control over her own life for once. Finally.

When no movement came, Virtir’s eyes darted back to Yelena while the rest of the crowd stood rapt. This moment would be the ultimate decider for them both. She needed to grasp at a victory that was now in jeopardy. Her calm demeanor dropped.

Then, the withered arm of the Prophet gradually rose – animated by nothing but the will of the dwindling spirit that still dwelled within those old, mummified bones.

The empty eye sockets of the Prophet found Yelena. She felt them bore into her heart, hold it, and shackle it with the oracle’s judgement, delivered through the wail of a thirsting demon:

"From now until the conclusion of her quest, this child of Argent belongs to The Everloft!"

One raised finger danced over Yelena’s head.

It was as though the finger of death itself had claimed her soul.