Dharen stepped into the Spire, entering a large entrance hall. It was a scene of absolute wealth and luxury. Truly, Dharen had not expected anything less after being provided with a Wanderlust Carriage as transportation to the event. Banners declaring the majesty of the Vezian Alliance draped across the walls, a symbol of a Vezian Spider emblazoned on each. The black Vezian spider stood in sharp relief to the velvet red of the banners, its many limbs splayed out. Each of the creature’s limbs was connected to a woven thread, illustrating the threads of influence that the Vezian Spider held over its many victims.

The Spiders of Many Threads, they were called. Similarly to Viators, Vezian Spiders had the tendency to Awaken to particular Seeds. Yet, unlike Viators, they were dangerous enough that scholars were not fully certain what it was that they Awakened to; it was simply the consensus that they exhibited clustered emotive Awakening due to the similarities in abilities that each Vezian Spider on record displayed.

They were certainly famous and formidable creatures. There had been more than one disaster caused by the influence of the Spiders, more than one town shaped by their touch. More paranoid individuals believed that their threads touched the entire known world in some manner, that anyone’s actions could unknowingly be twisted and pulled by their intricate network of webs. Preposterous, but interesting to think about nonetheless.

Viewing the symbol brought to mind one of the few tidbits of information Dharen had overheard regarding the Vezian Alliance during his walk through the Market. A man had even referred to the leader of the Alliance as The Man of Many Threads, extolling the Vezians’ ability to have their hands in everything within their domain. He bragged at having met Duende personally, and expressed his admiration of his conduct and bearing.

Dharen dismissed his observations of the hall, approaching a man that waited near a winding set of stairs. He followed his guide up the steps and across the hallway that met them at the next landing. They approached a set of large doors, and the man opened them for him with a respectful bow of his head.

Dharen entered the room, taking a moment to assess his surroundings. The room was quite large, and there were a number of individuals milling about and mingling. He had been far from the only one to be invited by the Vezian Alliance. From the gaudy merchants carrying themselves with pride to the grizzled warriors exuding an aura of danger, there had been a wide range of invitees.

A startled noise sounded out from behind him. He whipped around, seeing an ostentatiously-dressed man staring daggers at him. For a moment, he was bewildered by the situation. Yet soon after, he was able to recognize the man from the start of the fifth floor, the noble that he had followed to the Pits and subsequently defeated. It seemed that Dharen had not been the only one to receive an invitation based on his performance within the minor tournament.

He racked his brain for a moment, attempting to dredge up the noble’s name. Though he had heard it when the man was announced in the tournament, he had admittedly been too distracted by the fight itself to commit it to memory.

“Adand, right?” he questioned, a friendly smile upon his face. He saw little reason to antagonize the man - not more than he already had, anyway. Though it might be momentarily amusing to do so, given the man’s obvious sense of self-importance, it provided little to no real benefit to himself.

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“Anand,” the man spit out through gritted teeth. His jaw worked sharply, grinding his molars against one another as he seethed.

Dharen inwardly blanched. Though he had been attempting to keep things calm by presenting a friendly atmosphere towards the prideful man, he was certain now that the proud noble did not see his actions in a similar light. To a man such as him, the immediate belief would be that Dharen was attempting to needle him. He likely believed he was being gravely insulted, as only two possibilities might cross the mind of a man of such pride. The first was that Dharen had known his name, and was purposefully slighting him by pretending not to remember it. And even worse, the second possibility was that Dharen had never bothered to pay attention to it in the first place. That Anand was worthless.

The man was thoroughly incensed.

“My apologies. Please, enjoy the night,” Dharen responded. He extricated himself from the situation before it could progress further, choosing the safety of the milling crowd over the company of the irate noble.

As Dharen roamed his way through the crowd, exchanging various pleasantries with amiable individuals, he spotted someone familiar. Or heard, rather. Though it was no longer filled with anger, he was able to pick up a recognizable voice. After all, it was important to be able to recognize his former marks.

The merchant that he had encountered earlier in the day stood amongst a group of other wealthy individuals. Though he was once again bedecked in fine clothes and a plethora of jewelry, his fingers were notably free of rings this time.

Dharen wheeled back, making his way towards a nearby washroom. Realising that the merchant’s presence meant that he might need to offload the stolen ring more quickly than he had anticipated, Dharen quickly closed the washroom door behind him. He approached the nearest mirror, looking to confirm a suspicion.

As he gazed at his reflection, Dharen activated Miasmic Wreath. Just as before, a nightmare-like shadow enveloped his form, wrapping him in its dark embrace. Demonic hands made of night grasped at him, shifting in and out of reality as they wisped through him. His body was wreathed in the darkness, hiding his every feature thoroughly, enveloping him in a cloak of miasma and shadows.

Though the continued activation of Miasmic Wreath pulled away at his pool of Spirit steadily, Dharen surmised that he could maintain the effect for a relatively decent period of time, so long as he did not wastefully use Spirit on other abilities while doing so.

The ability may have had the main purpose of allowing him to resist mental effects, but Dharen found that the makeshift cloak of shadows was quite appealing for an entirely different reason. It would allow him to offload the ring, potentially along with other items, without being identified. In fact, it was unlikely that he would even be suspected. As long as he did not demonstrate the abilities created by his Fear Seed publicly, it would be unnatural for anyone to suspect a Triumph Seed of being able to cloak himself in shadows; such an ability would not be possible.

Potential crisis averted, Dharen deactivated Miasmic Wreath and returned to the previous room with greater confidence. With the ring hidden safely away inside his Spatial Ring’s storage, he did not expect to run into much trouble, but it was always best to play things carefully. He shuddered as he thought of the many close calls that he had suffered through while plying his trade in Yraos.

As he worked his way through the crowd once more, the general buzz of conversation came to an abrupt halt.

In the sudden silence, he picked up the sound of footsteps reverberating as an individual strode confidently, heels resounding sharply against the marble flooring. He managed to slip his way through the crowd as the footsteps approached. Reaching a better viewpoint, he looked out over the crowd. As he did so, he heard a whisper break softly through the hush enveloping the room.

“Duende…” a man spoke softly, almost reverently.