Still leaning on the stone stele, Ambrose looks carefully at the card floating above the sacrificial bowl. Etched into the card is a regal queen, her hands gripping a ceremonial sword held in front of her. A crown of gladiolus flowers flow across her brow, filtering light through her hair as they cascade downward and extend past her figure, filling the card from edge to edge.

The flowers almost seem to dance as she looks at them, a flicker of a smile ghosting the queen’s figure with each blink. The cards almost feel alive when Ambrose looks at them. She reaches up and gently grasps its surface. The Empress. The words come unbidden. Command an area of Authority. Ambrose gently rubs the surface of the card as she considers the words, before placing it into her deck alongside The Magician. She takes another look at her information.

Ambrose Songfall

Soul: F-1

Will: F-2

Essence: F-1

Cards of Fate

Lesser Arcana [???]

The Magician [F]

Lesser Arcana [???]

The Empress [F]

Soulbound

[Empty]

She observes it for a moment, before turning back to the left stele and focusing on Enhance. The stele flickers for a moment before returning to the original three words. Ambrose turns to Transmute, and this time a short list takes its place. Much shorter than the previous one. Ambrose glances down at her blade before throwing it aside. She quickly scours through the list and selects an item.

This time she holds herself steady as the essence is pulled out of her, rushing into the bowl. Ambrose can feel herself empty, that sense of strength having long been sapped out of her. The energy melds together and condenses into the shape of a spear, quickly forming a wooden shaft with a steel tip. At the tips base are a few red feathers spiraling around it, reminiscent of a beast’s jaws snapping shut.

Ambrose grows still as she looks at it. She carefully takes the spear from the bowl and caresses it, the past filling her mind. She turns away after a moment and steps down from the pedestal, her spear held tight in hand. She glances at the large stele. 14 : 53 : 32. Taking a few steps away, Ambrose lowers her weapon to the ground and lies on her back.

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There is little else she can do except wait for herself to heal. As she stares up at the empty void around her, her mind wanders. The past fills her head for a time before she eventually drifts off to sleep. As she sleeps her body recovers little by little. Carved flesh sealing up, scorched skin smoothing out, regaining its original structure. Time continues to tick down.

When Ambrose opens her eyes, there is no pain. She regains clarity immediately as she sits up and takes a look around. 00 : 21 : 58. The time on the stele has ticked down to minutes. Ambrose takes hold of her spear and stands up. Looking down at herself she finds her wounds almost gone. Only some light scarring remains.

There is little to do except wait. She reaches into her deck, drawing out The Empress, and observes it carefully. She tries to utilise it, but it’s like a film is separating her from the card. She takes out the other card and it’s the same. This place prevents her from using it.

Placing them back into the deck, Ambrose tries to ease the tension in her muscles as she prepares herself for what comes next. She watches as the minutes turn to zero, and the seconds continue to fall. She hefts her spear, her back straight and her eyes steady. Mist beings to gather at the base of her feet. 00 : 00 : 00.

The mist swarms over her, shrouding her in its shape as it covers everything. And then it recedes, and pure darkness greets Ambrose. She raises her spear warily, the feel of cool metal hissing against her shoes. The leather numbs the chill, but it still seeps into her feet slowly. Ambrose sighs, sure of it now. She’s alone.

She looks around. The darkness almost viscous in the way it pushes against Ambrose’s sight, as she’s barely able to make out the the spear she holds in front of her. She maintains her position as she slows her breathing, each exhale creating a wave of cold particles. Everything is cold, a strange, deep cold that seeps into the core of her being. However it doesn’t seem to be harming her.

Ambrose continues to wait patiently, her eyes scouring the little she can see around her. Suddenly a flash of shallow red light escapes from her right, revealing her surroundings for a moment before receding again. In that moment she made out a large, empty enclosed room. She holds herself steady and continues to wait.

Another flash, and her eyes make out a corridor where it’s escaping from. She glances around, and steps backward, raising her hand until she feels the wall behind her. It’s cold, formed from a strong metal like the floor. Holding her spear tight, she marks three slashes into the wall forming a rough claw. She steps away, and when the light passes over the room again she sets out toward the corridor. After a short stride, she stops and waits for the light again to orientate herself. Each time moving her closer.

Something whispers against Ambrose’s ear. She swings her spear wide, slashing toward it as she steps back, but only the slicing of air greets her strike. Ambrose stares heavily at the darkness around her. It almost seems to have a weight to it as it presses down on her, her gaze wary.

The light flashes again, and Ambrose speeds up this time, taking heavy strides toward the corridor. A whisper passes by her ear again, and she whips around and attempts to grab something. Her hand only swipes the air. Another whisper, in the very same ear. There is no meaning to the sound, nothing more than the whispers of murmuring. A second whisper joins the first, then a third. The light flashes past again, and the whispers recede for a moment. Ambrose grows solemn as she breaks into a run, racing toward the corridor.