The coming days were, to put it bluntly, chaotic.

Many in the castle were unable to accept at first that the Mind’s Festival was far ahead of schedule. On one hand, it was the reliance on historical records going back centuries, of which no event in recorded history had ever before happened. On the other was the fact people just didn’t want to believe that such a horrifying experience was capable of happening in the first place. Most had lost one loved one too many already to the horde of monsters.

It wasn’t until Zaiyoral put her foot down that people started taking things seriously. Being told you would be excommunicated from the Nasagi clergy dose that to people. Even if they didn’t believe her, the idea you’d be kicked from your home and left to fend for yourself in the Underground was punishment enough. More so if the Mind’s Festival was actually taking place. A fate you would not want to befall even your most hated enemy.

Once Zaiyoral was back in control, a short debate took place between everyone present. Ideas were thrown out. The first, obviously, was an escape. The coward’s option, but ideal if they wanted the lowest number of casualties. Non could be found that wasn’t paramount to suicide. The only charted paths out of the castle were in the wrong direction, too close to Mind Thieves territory. They wouldn’t have enough time to properly fortify the roads and would have to travel with numerous potential ambush points. This left only the uncharted directions or those that haven’t been fully explored. A dangerous endeavor, potentially even deadly since there were things worse than Mind Thieves.

The discussion became heated even further when someone else suggested fortifying the castle itself and preparing for a siege. It was known already that such a plan was doomed to fail. The year prior to the Festival was rife with preparation and heavy resource management. Adults, young and old, went on numerous expeditions to Level and increase their combat prowess. Even noncombatants partook, in a bid to increase their resilience and production capabilities. Weapons, armor, and ammunition were bought or created in mass almost every day. Food and water were cultivated to last days if not months in advance, as any festival could last anywhere from days to weeks even months on end.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

A years’ worth of effort could no be produced in less than a week. Even if they held out on the oncoming assaults, an unlikely prospect with the supplies they had on hand, they would starve themselves to death. If they even lasted that long. When the penalties came in for malnourishment, their walls would be breached more than likely.

All in all, it was seen as a hopeless situation. They couldn’t do either without guaranteeing countless deaths. Already, people began giving into despair, unable to see any option other than accepting death. Fights broke out, liquor was drunk, along with liberal use of drugs, and people sunk into depravity as they drowned in despair. Zaiyoral and many others tried and failed to keep up morale that had plummeted in less than a day.

It was only Nasagi, their ever-present God that had protected each of his followers for years, that was capable of breaking their spiral downwards.

For the first time, Zaiyoral was spoken to by her god. A momentous occasion, proof of her devotion, soured by circumstances. Their conversation was brief but enlightening. It left Zaiyoral with hope. And it left her with sadness. Her brethren were much the same. Tears were shed. Please were made. But, in the end, there were no other options left for them.

Nasagi had given divine guidance, a plan that would save the most lives. Most lives, unfortunately, was a small fraction of the thousand lives left in the castle. And even that number was more of an optimistic estimation than the likely result.

A path that had at first been left undiscovered to the cult for decades. Brave men and women would hold the line here, while civilians with a select few guards would escape to the surface. A death sentence to all who stayed.

It was unfavorable. But it was the only choice left for them to take.

In four days, the Cult of Nasagi, God of Shadows, had to prepare to survive the Mind Thieves Festival or be wiped out through a trial of blood and psionic might. Levels would be gained, families would be lost, and unbridled terror would be inflicted on innocents. But, by Nasagi’s will, they would survive.

The Mind Thieves arrived on the third day.