There were several things she lacked, as the tip of her finger gently traced the edge of the paper, leaving a page behind. Their absence was subtle, and resided deep within the intricate webs of her being.

The carriage, in which she sat, hit a bump on the road, perturbing briefly her golden locks...

Yet her pale green gaze, lost between the letters and the message they composed, never left the book, its words sometimes thrilling, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter…

—The feel of a lance wielded in defiance, lightning roaring by her side.

—The smiling face of a child, sheltered under the cape of a young woman.

—The unbridled cries of a figure holding a letter, which contained the will of someone who once loved.

They were a story, a known recollection of memories faintly familiar, nudging the corner of her mind with the ghostly feeling of a missed touch. If she knew who she was, maybe those memories would have awoken a light in her eyes, an electric glint full of recognition, shining with new found intent…

If she could relate to them, her lips would have been perturbed by the stroke of a smile, filled with a nostalgia only known to those who were once young, yet still held hope.

But she couldn’t, and so her elegant features remained still, forever frozen in time.

If there had been someone with her inside the carriage, maybe the flavor of a doubt would have risen and played around her tongue, turning into a question for her companion, wondering about the many things she should have noticed…

That there were no sounds, aside from the occasional hop against a rock, and the creak from the wood holding the vehicle together.

That there were no trees, no plains, no mountains, nothing of note to be seen through the narrow windows except for a dark, ghastly grey…

But there was no one besides her, and so her gaze never left the book in her hand; And so, she never noticed any of these absences surrounding her.

Her thoughts were also ignorant of her destination, nor were there traces of a place she’d want to pass by. If she had, her gaze would have wandered towards the outside, and the spark of a query would have lightened the young leaf of her eyes, pondering about the length of her journey.

But there were none of these things, and so her gaze remained lost, in memories she could not recognize, in words she wasn’t reading, in pages turned in dissidia.

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Yet...

There was a heartbeat.

It was faint, barely called a sound. It echoed throughout her body, tracing the silhouette of the absences inside her, drawing a figure, a figure in the limbo between nothingness and light, hollowing her chest everytime her heart called out to it, keeping her alive…

She was ignorant to her destination, to her surroundings, to her identity…

Her fingertips traced the edge of yet another page, as the carriage shook and creaked.

Her heart blew a breeze, unsettling the veil hiding that unknown figure, that figure formed by the absences nesting inside her.

And she remained alone, unperturbed, and waiting.

Waiting to see that figure again.

A dark-skinned figure halted its steps on the grey, cold, uneven rock, provoking the person ahead to follow suit.

“Kimmara?” Called the latter, as her dark cape waved behind her as a consequence of turning around, revealing a tight leather armor protecting a feminine figure. “What’s wrong?

The one who was called lifted an eyebrow, her gaze focused on the mountain of whose surroundings they were to patrol. Her uniform and skin color, identical to her partner.

“Kimmara?”

“I… don’t know. I felt a light movement in the demonic curtain.” She finally answered, locking her grey gaze with one similar to hers. “Didn’t you?”

The veil covering the place they guarded was extremely difficult to perturb, and would remain still otherwise. That’s why such an event came as quite strange.

It took her companion a few breaths to answer, to which Kimmara called, “Azleen?”

The one of such a name shook her head after examining the mountain’s perimeter, then a pondering look took control of her features. Both of them had been partners for years, and so they were already past the tendency of doubting each other. As her mind went through any possible cause, one of her hands caught a strand of her white hair and played with it, a gesture quite her own, unlike the color of her hair, which was a trait unique to her race and duty; the appearance of her companion being proof enough.

Kimmara returned her gaze towards the mountain. That peak was quite far away, yet its size remained massive enough to overwhelm one’s sight.

“The House of Nemesis… or what’s left of it.” She muttered out loud.

So full of demonic essence.

So full of treasure waiting to be discovered, yet also protected by the thick curtain enveloping it all.

“Could it be… ?” She heard Azleen, and turned to look at her lifelong partner.

“What?”

“It’s a long shot, and we’ll need to monitor it closely to be sure, but… “Azleen lifted her gaze, revealing a strange emotion between yearning and fear. “I think what you felt could be a sign of a certain being…”

“A being?”

“Our Elder once told me about it: Charon. The only creature able to deliver someone into The House of Nemesis. If the legends are true, there aren’t only treasures in there… but also a god’s legacy.”