I scatter a handful of ashes on the chessboard.

The error has expanded recently, and coral plants have grown from the pieces. The flower petals are iridescent butterfly wings. I know these colors well; they remind me of the hunt for the [Devil].

The chessboard is now a vase placed on the veranda. It feeds on the sand I cover it with.

I look up at the desert from which the familiar breeze comes.

Bushes of coral error arise in flashes and the membrane in the clear sky.

I notice only one dot. There will probably be some rain soon. I should prepare to welcome it.

I haven't received guests for a while.

Ci-cin.

My snake-headed tail wags and points towards the tornado.

It has been there for several years. I couldn't say how many. It has advanced centimeters and continues to raise a fuss. In that black cloud, red lightning abounds, and getting close is difficult.

How much closer has it come so far? A few miles, that's for sure.

It is a vast natural formation. Look at it. I have the feeling that it has a life of its own.

An uncanny presence craves my home and my person.

Maybe it's paranoia, but after the clashes, I struggle not to be cautious.

It's too far away to be affected by [Scan], the spell I use to evaluate my surroundings.

Getting close is risky, so I leave it alone.

One day will come, and then the mystery will reveal itself.

Once I've finished feeding the error plant, I turn to the living room and close the door behind me. One of the disadvantages of the wind is the dust it raises from the desert.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Sigh.

I miss the dry calm of the past.

I reach the kitchen and prepare water in a saucepan. I put it on the heat and wait for it to boil. When it boils, I infuse some berries and wait.

After a few minutes, I pour the liquid into a cup from the cupboard.

The infusion has no odor but I inhale the hot fumes for an instant. From the stories of the deceased, I know that this is not the case in the rest of the cosmos, but in the Underwasteland, water boils at about 2° degrees higher than the temperature of the desert.

As a mirror, water freezes at minus 20 degrees compared to that same temperature.

It is clear that Underwasteland water is not water, yet anyone who has tasted it does not notice the difference. It probably affects the taste that they are deceased. I doubt that any living being other than a [Bakenekro] can drink this water and not suffer harmful effects on the body.

I shake my ears and take the first sip. In boredom, I digress.

The sound of the windows shaking due to the wind—I'm used to it. Over time, it has become reassuring and evokes a sort of calm—like the sound of insects burrowing in certain parts of the dungeon.

I sip again and head for the trap door.

Standing, I remain for a few moments at it. That trapdoor where my father disappeared, where I went down to chase the [Devil].

Despite a veil of melancholy, I don't feel nostalgic. I have done my duty as the [Empress] of the Underwasteland.

I have nothing to reproach myself for.

Ci-cin.

I set the cup down next to my feet and lifted the trapdoor.

The stairs and the darkness welcome me. No gusts, no creaks other than the hatch itself.

I take two steps on the cold stone and sit on the edge of the floorboards.

I haven't been down to the dungeon in a while. I have been to the music room several times—to study the magic organ.

I have been in single rooms. But not much else.

I didn't even go back to [Sanctuary].

I know, I should look for something. Something important. But I don't remember it.

I went to the Ocean, where I hoped to meet the [Leviathan]. I have the feeling that it remembers what I have to look for. But I didn't find it.

It could be the effects of digestion. I can't imagine what it feels like to have the [Devil] in your body.

Maybe that's what I should be looking for. A way to put the lord of the abyss and the lord of errors to rest.

I wave a hand in front of my face. I smile at my thoughts.

If I had to look for something important—how could I forget it?

There is no solution to their condition. It is useless to worry too much about it.

I stand up and rub my thumb along the stone step. It's smooth and dusty. I exit the trapdoor and close it behind me.

I pick up the cup and drink the last sip. I return to the kitchen and look out the window. I see the dark spot from which someone is about to rain.

I run a hand through my long black hair and untangle some knots. I straighten my skirt and crack my neck.

Better prepare.

It's been a while since I received guests, and I'm a little excited.