Scarlett stepped into the village square, her gaze fixed on the flames ahead. They hadn’t yet spread to consume all of Freymeadow, but from the many times she had witnessed this scene, she knew it was only a matter of time.

Her eyes shifted to the wooden platform at the center of the square. Atop it stood a familiar black pedestal, crafted from an unnaturally dark stone etched with intricate patterns. It was a Sanctumbrum.

It felt strange seeing it like this, intact. She was used to seeing it in ruins, melting and burning along with the rest of Freymeadow. Her gaze lingered, even as the flames at the edge of the village cast a fiery glow across the darkened sky.

This was probably what Arlene had been searching for. The woman was on a quest to destroy as many of these devices as possible, after all. Considering how powerful she was at this point, it wasn’t surprising that the empire trusted her to handle such missions alone at times.

“Finally, some progress,” a voice spoke beside her.

Scarlett turned to see the younger version of herself standing there, arms crossed, watching the distant flames. There was a note of anticipation in her voice, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.

“…Was this your intention from the start?” Scarlett asked.

“I suppose that depends,” the girl replied.

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “What do you hope to gain from this?”

“Very little, in truth. If anything, you stand to benefit here. I simply grew tired of waiting, so I thought it best to expedite matters. You clearly were not about to.”

“…You pressed Arlene as you did for that reason alone?” Scarlett’s voice carried a sharp edge.

The younger Scarlett looked up at her, unbothered. “Pressed her? Hardly. Nothing I said was especially profound or consequential, nor was she incapable of responding properly. I imagine that had she wished so, that conversation would have been very different. Though I will admit, my irritation at your constant fussing over her may have spurred me on partially.”

Scarlett studied her closely. She had anticipated some measure of manipulation and cold pragmatism, but her younger self’s motives were becoming increasingly murky.

“Jealousy, is it?” she asked. “I did not think you would be so…petulant.”

The girl actually blinked a couple of times, a faint crease forming on her brow. “…Appearances are not merely for show. I am as I appear, in more ways than one. It is not as though I ever had much choice in the specific form I took on.”

Before Scarlett could reply, a deep, distorted crack shattered the air, like the foot of a giant striking the earth. The ground beneath their feet thrummed with a strange, uncertain resonance, and the atmosphere stirred with a faint disturbance. The sound seemed to have come from beyond Freymeadow, deep into the forest.

The younger Scarlett’s expression darkened as she turned towards the noise.

“…Do you know what that was?” Scarlett asked.

The girl didn’t answer. She stood motionless, then turned on her heel. Scarlett barely had time to register the younger Scarlett’s movement before she disappeared, leaving her staring at empty air. She frowned.

That was suspicious. Strange and suspicious.

Another loud sound reverberated, but this one was different. Scarlett’s eyes snapped to the edge of the village, where the flames climbed higher, painting the sky in blazing hues. Slowly, Freymeadow would be overtaken by it all.

…Damn it all. She would have to figure out whatever the other Scarlett was up to later.

She pressed forward. Distant shouts reached her ears, near where the flames raged. She passed several houses, most of them empty, though she did glimpse a family huddled in a doorway — a mother clutching a frightened child while a broad-shouldered man stood at the entrance, gripping a long spear. His voice was low, as if offering final reassurances, but his eyes betrayed a certain grim apprehension.

The woman’s gaze locked on Scarlett, her face etched with confusion and something akin to fear. The man turned as well, a guarded look settling over his face as his features stiffened with a mixture of wariness and anger. Neither moved towards her. Scarlett soon looked away, focusing on the growing chaos at the village’s edge.

The flames had intensified, and the sounds of battle grew louder — explosions, along with the hiss and thrums of spells being cast. As she reached the outskirts, more villagers appeared, many of them desperately trying to douse the flames consuming their homes. Others were gathered near the stone wall encircling the settlement, weapons in hand as if in defence, their eyes locked on the turmoil beyond.

There, in the midst of the chaos, stood Arlene, her robes billowing in the searing heat. Fire surrounded her, her face twisted with fury, all of it directed at a single figure. Across from her, a tall, gaunt man in tattered robes loomed. His skin, ashen and leathery, peeked through the torn fabric, and just then, as he shifted his stance, a barrage of flaming lances erupted in all directions, perforating his body and igniting in a blaze of intense light.

For a moment, it looked like the flames would devour him entirely. Then, impossibly, his body began to regenerate, the charred flesh knitting itself back together in a grotesque display of unnatural resilience.

Scarlett watched, unsettled and not sure what to make of the sight. She didn’t know who this man was, but she had seen something similar before in the game. Was he a part of the Undead Council? But should they be active this early in the timeline?

The man raised his arms, and with a flick of his robes—which somehow regenerated with him—a wave of dark energy surged towards Arlene. She countered with a vortex of fire that spun violently, colliding with his attack and scattering embers of dark flames all around, some igniting even more houses.

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“You imperials, always a persistent nuisance, aren’t you?” the man sneered, an abnormally wide grin spreading across his face. His body dissolved into a swirling mass of sand and shadow that evaded Arlene’s flames, though they continued to chase him like a relentless predator. As he reformed several paces away and they caught up to him, his skin was yet again charred and burnt, only to regenerate immediately after. “Especially you, Red Devil,” he rasped through the flames and smoke. “To think I would find you here. Our third encounter, is it? Or fourth? Still nursing that grudge, I see.”

Arlene’s rage ignited her magic, fueling it with a blistering, untamed force. Without uttering a single word, she unleashed a flaming storm towards her foe. A cascade of blazing fireballs erupted forth, and pillars of molten flame roared into existence, swallowing the gaunt man in a hellish blaze. Meanwhile, Arlene seemed almost completely oblivious to the chaos she wrought with the ever-increasing intensity of her spells.

Scarlett couldn’t do anything but look on. This level of power — it surprised her. She hadn’t even known a confrontation like this had taken place before the events in Freymeadow. Was this actually the true passage of events? Did it happen before what she knew from the game?

As the man emerged from Arlene’s inferno—still in one piece, though looking as if he’d staggered out of a furnace—he attempted another counterattack. Shadows began coiling around him like a shroud, but Arlene didn’t give him the chance. More spells hurtled towards him, constantly crashing against and steadily overwhelming any defences he could muster and forcing him into a cycle of never-ending regeneration. He continued essentially laughing it off at first, but the more it went on, the more frustrated he grew until, finally, he took the chance, as Arlene paused to weave another devastating spell, to turn to the villagers.

“What are you waiting for, you imbeciles? Help me!”

Scarlett’s gaze shifted to the villagers. He was giving them orders? Did that make him one of the Tribe, then? Or, perhaps more likely, a member of the Hallowed Cabal?

Whatever his allegiance, the villagers seemed hesitant to simply obey. Only one of them, a man clutching a large axe, reluctantly stepped forward. He broke into a slow run, weapon raised, heading towards Arlene — only to be instantly enveloped by fire as he crossed an invisible threshold. The flames engulfed him, reducing him to nothing but ashes within moments, while Arlene didn’t so much as glance in his direction.

The other villagers let out shocked or beleaguered cries, and the gaunt man spared the smoldering remains only a look of annoyance before returning his focus to Arlene.

Scarlett looked at the woman, watching as she readily commanded all of this destruction against her sole target. Arlene had the clear upper hand, and Scarlett would be surprised if the gaunt man could regenerate indefinitely. Eventually, he would have to reach a limit, and the battle would end. What came after that was what was set in stone.

So where did Scarlett’s presence fit into this story?

Her attention was drawn to a group of villagers frantically clearing debris to free a woman trapped beneath a collapsed house beam. The structure groaned ominously, and a large chunk of wood began to fall.

Without thinking, Scarlett raised her hand. A barrier of water burst into existence, swirling into a translucent shield that shimmered in the firelight. The water twisted, and with a hissing splash, it intercepted the falling debris, cushioning the impact and scattering a cloud of cool mist. Nearby fires recoiled, momentarily subdued, as steam rose in billowing clouds.

The villagers stared at Scarlett, stunned, before snapping back to their task of freeing the trapped woman. Scarlett lowered her hand, releasing the water as her gaze lingered on her fingers.

…Was there a reason she had bothered doing that? She wasn’t here to interfere. While she wasn’t fond of the end this village met—or Arlene’s role in it—she had always told herself it was pointless to intervene.

Her thoughts scattered as something else caught her eye. Thin, white cracks, like hairline fractures, spread across the village — tearing through earth, walls, and even the air itself. They pulsed with an eerie, unnatural energy, distorting reality as if the world was stretched too weak.

Scarlett’s heart skipped a beat. There were so many of them. When had they appeared? Had they always been there, hiding just beneath her notice?

She took an involuntary step back as a rift suddenly split the ground before her, opening into an endless white void. It pulled at her with a quiet, otherworldly hum. The air rippled as something materialised — a flickering system window, its text barely coherent.

[Name: S̙̘̲͛͑̊̇͞c̵̟̳̻͍̰͔͙ͩ�̧͔̣̩̤̦̭̔̔͋ͯ�̨̥̱ͦɾʅҽ̾͒҉͇̟̦͓͎̖̹ṭ̙̖͓̝̩͕̆́ͦ̉͠tͫ̚̚͏̝͚̩̫̳ ̹͉ͩ̀H̵͕̤͍̙̦̫͙̉͂ą̼̰̺̾ͫ̊ɾ̿҉̤̳ƚ̖̣͇͙̝̖͕ͬ͊͆͆͜ϝ̛̥̺͕̟͈ͪͬσ̛̮̗ͣɾ̩̜͚̾͂͊ͦ͟ԃ͎̪ͮ̑͐͠]

[Skills:

[?̛̗̩̘̺̲̤̣̮̓͋ƈ̲̤̬̺̀̐͗͢ά̳̮̜̼̘̯͎̚ɾ̛̦̠͇ͮͬͣ͗ͅʅ͍̰̰͙͎̠̠ͯͦͧ͟ҽ̸̻̣̩̭̥̆ƚ̔̓ͭ҉͉̞͇̖ƚ̛͈̼̠̱͊̿ͅ ̱̫̮̟͌͡?̱̞͔́͂̾̈́́α͚̲͕̝̱ͬ͗͡ɾ̝̤͋ͬͫ͝ϝ̪̮ͫ̀ͯ͠σ͇̭ͣ̋͝ԃ̷̠͇ͮ̅]]

[Traits:

[Dignified August]

[S̢̲̼̜͇̈͊ṳ͔̰̻́ͥͬ̀pҽɾƈilio̩̗̘̦͒́u̧͚͙̪̯̝͚̝̬ͩͭs̳̺̗̰͍ͤ͜]

[ς̤͚̫̊̕ͅคש̢̞̺̣̈̌͋ͪaliєг]

[Call̥̹̘̮̝͒̕�̻͕͇̍͋̌͐͜�̷̝̳̭ͦͅ�̭͕̩̱͔͛ͤ͑ͦ͡ͅṵ̶̪̣̤̮̭̺̂̃̈́s̜̝͇ͧ̊͠]

[Overbeariɳɠ]

[Conceited̹̝̣̙͚̺͙ͬ͞]

[Third-rate Mana Veins]]

[Mana: ?̓͂̈҉̖͕?̮̫̻̈ͧ͜?̴̼͔̫͎̬̼͈̻̌̋̆?̴͚̳̖̗̺͇̌͐ͅ?̵̗̺̜̭̞̣͖̯ͮ?͈̹ͩͯͦ̉͝/̨̦̪̺̰̳̬̈́ͧ?̶͕̳̬͙̮̩͈͔͂͆̾͗?̴̪̺̰͓̟͓ͪ?̯̼̹̓͒̈́͟?̃҉̖̗͍̖?̤͉̮͓̯̥̃̓ͮ̑͢ͅ?̨͕͉̺͙̠̜ͤ̓̈]

[Points: ??]

Scarlett stared at the screen. An unsettling yet disturbingly familiar sensation clawed at the edges of her mind. For a brief, inexplicable moment, she was overwhelmed by the urge to reach into the rift.

A surge of anger jolted her back. Acting on pure instinct, she summoned a searing sphere of raw fire and power in her palm and hurled it into the void. To her shock, the rift swallowed the sphere whole, and instantly after, the rift dissolved into nothing, as if it had never existed. Scarlett’s eyes widened, fixed on the spot where it had been.

How had she done that?

Before she could even begin to process the thought, the ground beneath her trembled violently. For a fleeting second, she could feel the Memory ripple around her, the world flitting like a broken image on the verge of shattering. The burning buildings and frantic villagers wavered, distorting as if caught between two realities, then snapped back into focus.

Scarlett’s gaze darted towards the village’s edge, where the quake seemed to have originated. Then, she froze. Amid the pandemonium that had been Arlene’s battle with the gaunt man, another figure had appeared.

From a massive crater on the ground, a woman emerged with a quiet yet powerful presence. The air around her warped and bent, faint tendrils of rifts trailing in her wake. She wore sleek, dark clothing that clung to her form, a short hood obscuring part of her face. Jagged locks of violet hair framed her visible features, while strange, scale-like growths of tarnished silver climbed her neck and crept up the sides of her jaw, catching the dim light with a faint glint. Her eyes, alarmingly sharp, gleamed with a threatening intensity as they surveyed the scene.

Even the Memory itself seemed to hold its breath at her arrival. Arlene and the gaunt man both turned to face her.

“You…” the man almost spat out, his face twisting. “What are you doing here? This isn’t the time—”

The woman moved faster than Scarlett could track. In an instant, her hand was around his throat. With a single, effortless motion, she flung him across the battlefield, his body crashing into the treeline and disappearing from view.

Silence fell, broken only by the crackling of fire.

The woman turned to Arlene, her voice calm but heavy with intent. “Hartford,” she said, each syllable weighted. “We haven’t finished our fight.”

Scarlett inhaled sharply, her chest tightening. She didn’t know why she knew this, but this woman wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t. But the fact that she was…

This could be bad.

Vail was not to be trifled with.