Epilogue: Tamed

Tacey, weakened and teetering on the edge of consciousness, felt the relentless drip of blood tracing lines down her face. It fell rhythmically from her chin, each drop echoing in the vast, desolate refuge hall. Crumpled on hands and knees, she was pinned under the oppressive force of the spike covered creature she had fought before.

"I think it needs to be fresher," whispered a soft, detached voice. Prany, a silhouette of concentration, stood over her, holding a bowl to catch each precious drop of blood.

With a wince, Tacey felt the sharp sting as a spike mercilessly reopened the wound on her forehead, a process repeated more times than she could count. Fresh blood surged forth, blinding her eyes, and flowing down her lips, filling her mouth with its metallic tang. The once-safe refuge had become a place of pain, its protective runeform dismantled weeks ago by the very woman who now methodically collected Tacey's blood.

"P…Please," Tacey choked out, her voice a broken whisper drowned in the flow of blood.

"Almost there," Prany murmured, her movements methodical as she limped across the room. With a practiced hand, she anointed a new section of runes with Tacey’s blood. A brilliant flash tore through the dim light, casting stark shadows before the runeform fell into darkness. Unperturbed, Prany began the intricate process of rewriting the now-dead runes, channeling Divinity to breathe artificial life back into them.

Through the bloody veil, Tacey's blurred vision caught sight of a creature lifting another stone slab, revealing more hidden runes beneath. These runes stirred a flicker of recognition, a memory of Faer’s words about their structure, but her interest had been absent then. Recollection of their purpose failed her.

"What... what are you doing?" Tacey gasped, her voice a ragged whisper, repeating the plea that haunted the woman in her torment.

"She’s teaching your world," Stine's voice, an ominous whisper, floated overhead. Abruptly, it snapped, "Not that one, Prany!" The woman, Prany, recoiled as if struck, her hand trembling above the ancient symbols.

Stine's cold, authoritative whisper sliced through the air. "Careful. You're navigating an interconnected lattice, not mere isolated runes. Each rune is a node; the lines between them, edges defining relationships. The bidirectional flow points mark the edges, and the unidirectional ones, the arcs."

Prany's fingers hovered, tentative and uncertain.

"Focus on the dependencies," Stine instructed, its voice a measured cadence of precision. "Seek out the primary node in this section. Altering its properties will induce changes downstream, preserving the upstream structures."

Prany's fingers traced the lines, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "It's heavily nested. The writing is almost miniscule."

“Trina didn’t want anyone to find it,” Stine’s voice rumbled, a note of respect underlining its words.

With a surgeon's precision, Prany used her knife's tip to apply the blood to the specified points. Each touch was a calculated stroke, a deliberate dance to redesign the ancient runeform

Tacey, her vision blurred by blood and tears, watched as the whirling runeform began to falter. Each of Prany's applications caused the rotating lines to struggle, laboring to continue their rotation. Then, at one final direction from Stine, the movement ceased. The luminescence of the surrounding blue runes dimmed, and the room was plunged completely into darkness.

“Did we do it?” Prany asked, her voice quivered with hope and anticipation.

“Come see,” Stine said, as it lifted Tacey’s exhausted body, dragging her out of the refuge.

Pulled through the remnants of her battle, Tacey coughed, the smell of rotting carcasses invading her senses. Memories of her desperate fight against the invading creatures flashed in her mind, a futile effort to escape that Stine had cruelly quashed when the barrier went down briefly. Now, their decomposing remnants formed a grotesque path.

She gagged, her senses repulsed as she was dragged through the decomposing juices and waste of her victims. Her stomach turned, and she threw up the scraps of whatever Stine had force fed her earlier, adding to the detritus.

Through bleary eyes, Tacey could finally glimpse the exit of the refuge. Her gaze reflexively sought out her companion. Saryne’s rotting corpse greeted her just outside the doors. Stine’s cruel lesson ensured her companion’s lifeless form was never far away, ensuring she was rarely alone.

“We did it!” Prany said with a macabre excitement.

Tacey's mind, fogged by exhaustion, sharpened as she grasped the gravity of Prany's words. Trina's once-impenetrable barrier had vanished. They had completely disabled Trina’s Refuge without destroying it.

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“You learn swiftly, Prany, but the lesson is far from over. Rest, and we shall proceed with the next steps,” Stine intoned, its voice a harbinger of darker deeds yet to unfold.

Prany, her expression a mix of determination and eagerness, nodded and began her slow, limping journey away from the refuge, disappearing into the darkened streets of Prosit.

Stine, its form towering and inscrutable, gently lifted Tacey from the ground, its numerous eyes probing hers. “I finally have time to teach you,” it murmured.

Tacey, her resolve a silent fortress, offered no response.

“You are a challenging pupil, yet I believe in your potential," Stine continued. "I do not intend to subject you to Trina’s whims but to preserve and enlighten your perspective. Will you not converse with me?”

But Tacey’s lips remained sealed. The fall of the refuge meant her life hung by a thread, threatened by dehydration and sheer exhaustion. Her affliction screen was a litany of warnings along with her bonding sickness from when Stine had tore the Aspect of Perception from her. Yet the sky remained clear of the ominous shadows, indicating that the true body of Stine was still distant. She found a soft comfort in knowing her shadow would be safe from its eternal control. In this quiet, unceremonious end, she found a grim acceptance. Her eyes closed, surrendering to the inevitable.

Drifting on the edge of consciousness, a sudden clatter and the clinking of bottles jolted her back to reality. Unknown hands, brisk and unyielding, pried her jaw open, and she choked when a strange liquid was poured down her throat.

Her eyes flew open, panic giving way to confusion as she felt her afflictions – dehydration and exhaustion – rapidly recede. The spiked creature, Stine, watched her with an unsettling grin. “Termily has concocted numerous mixtures to extend our time together, Tacey,” it said. “You cannot escape the truth so easily.”

Stine’s dramatic declaration hung in the air, quickly followed by the appearance of a shadow, its silhouette agonizingly familiar to Tacey. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the form—Saryne. The sight of her beloved companion, now a twisted reflection of itself, draped in darkness, was like a knife to her heart. “No…” Tacey whispered, her voice trembling. The realization of Saryne’s shadowy imprisonment tore at her soul.

Stine’s whisper slithered through the air, a chilling mix of calculated hope and insidious persuasion. “Vina may have limited my influence,” it murmured, its voice curling around Tacey like smoke, “but I believe in you, Tacey. You will choose to join me willingly... for the chance to be with your companion again."

Tacey’s whispered response, “Not like this,” was a fragile defiance, her voice breaking under the strain of her despair. She reached out, desperate to touch the shadow of Saryne, but her hand recoiled as if burned, a sharp, stinging reminder of the barrier that now lay between them. The shadow was there, close enough to see yet forever out of reach, a mockery of the bond they once shared. Tears, long denied by dehydration and exhaustion, now streamed down her cheeks, fueled by a grief that refused to be contained.

As Tacey’s eyes remained locked on the dark figure of Saryne, Stine’s hand gestured, drawing her attention to another scene unfolding nearby. Creatures, twisted and monstrous, dragged forward another figure bound in heavy chains—a creature similar to Saryne, but distinctly different, thrashing desperately against its restraints. Tacey’s heart sank further as she watched in helpless horror.

With a sudden, brutal force, the shadow of Saryne launched itself at the bound creature, merging violently with it. The creature’s agonized screams pierced the air, echoing the silent torment tearing through Tacey’s heart. It was a grotesque union, a forced melding of darkness and pain, and every cry that escaped the creature’s lips felt like a mirror of her own despair.

When the assault finally ceased, Tacey watched in horror as Saryne’s skills reactivated, their bond reignited in a perverse, nightmarish mockery of their once-sacred connection. Every skill that had once been a source of comfort was now a chain binding them to an unending cycle of torment.

Stine’s voice cut through her grief, smooth and chilling. “Trina’s system is beautiful, isn’t it? So trusting that it will accept experience in any form, as long as the blood isn’t corrupted.” A nearby creature handed Tacey her white bone spear, its surface polished to an almost mocking sheen. “Now, you’ll learn a truth already known to Saryne. A truth you’ve silenced until now.”

Tacey’s gaze shifted from the spear in her hands to the shadow-possessed creature before her. The weapon was a cruel reminder of Saryne, once a symbol of their unbreakable bond, now a tool in a twisted game. She understood that Stine wanted her to break, to surrender to the suffocating darkness it offered as an escape. But somewhere within her, a faint ember of defiance flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

But Saryne’s shadow, driven by Stine’s will, had no such hesitation. It lunged at Tacey with a relentless fury, each strike a cruel echo of Saryne’s once-graceful movements now turned against her. The white bone spear in Tacey’s grip felt heavy with history, and each clash with the shadow left her reeling. Their shared skill, Grave Reflection, had once been a cornerstone of their bond, a lifeline that healed them in battle. Now, it was a torturous loop, pulling at their attributes and binding them to an endless fight filled with pain, a twisted dance where no wound stayed closed for long and no victory was ever won.

“Saryne, forgive me,” Tacey gasped, her voice raw and strained as she parried another vicious blow. Every movement felt like a betrayal, each thrust of the spear an admission of her failure to protect the one she loved. The shadow before her was unrelenting, wielding her own memories against her in a bitter imitation of their past. Its eyes, once filled with understanding, were now hollow and cruel, devoid of the warmth that had defined their bond.

As the fight dragged on, the futility of Tacey’s resistance sank in. No matter how fiercely she fought, there was no escape. Her remaining aspects, once formidable tools, were now powerless against the overwhelming darkness. Each moment felt like her last, her defiance slowly eroded by the relentless tide of shadow. She was no longer Tacey of The Twelve, no longer the steadfast friend of Saryne, or a woman with dreams of escaping Palitern. She was merely a puppet, trapped in Stine’s macabre play, dancing to the tune of a song she could no longer bear.

Yet, Tacey persisted in her struggle. The white bone spear in her hands, once a symbol of a cherished bond, now merely prolonged her pain. Each clash with the shadow of Saryne, every moment of shared agony and skill, became her last solace, a tragic yet profound reminder of the only relationship that had ever felt real to her.