In exchange for the knowledge she extracted from Elliot that night, the mysterious group had agreed to help her fuel the sigil. She could feel their distant presence now, channeling more energy into her ritual, their power twisting in the air like a predator's breath.

"You're not getting out of this, Elliot," Nyra hissed, her eyes glowing with renewed determination. "Now... talk."

But Elliot only chuckled, a soft sound that sent shivers down her spine, though she refused to show it. Her frustration flared, and she turned to Sarah, who stood among the other Scribes, quietly fueling the sigil with her Anima. Nyra's voice sharpened as she ordered, "Sarah, confirm it again. Is Vas a bonded?"

Sarah's eyes glazed over for a moment, her connection with the occult forces allowing her to sense the truth. "Yes," she said, her voice low. "He is."

Nyra's eyes flicked back to Elliot, searching for any sign of a crack in his composure. "And with whom? What Archetype does he possess?"

Sarah opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Her jaw clenched, her eyes wide with confusion as she struggled to form the answer. Her throat seemed locked by an unseen force. The air in the room grew heavier as a strange, oppressive silence settled over the gathering.

Elliot smiled—a smile that sent a cold shiver down Nyra's spine. "Why are you smiling?" she demanded, fury crackling in her voice.

Elliot's eyes gleamed with a strange, knowing light as he spoke. "You've forgotten one of the most basic principles of The Occult, Nyra," he said softly, almost pitying. "The Principle of Veils."

Nyra's face twisted in confusion and rage. "What are you talking about?"

Elliot's voice remained calm, even serene, as he explained. "Amrita itself will not allow certain truths to be spoken. No matter how many times you ask Sarah, she cannot tell you. Not because she doesn't want to, but because the forces at play here are beyond your reach."

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Nyra's face contorted with frustration, and the glowing sigil around them dimmed for a moment as her control wavered. But she refused to back down. With a sharp gesture, she began to siphon more energy from the sigil, pushing it to its limits. The strain was palpable, and she could feel the rippling effects spreading outwards.

Across The Canopy and even down into The Middle Tier, people began collapsing, their life force drawn to fuel the sigil's immense hunger. Nyra hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of energy it would take to contain Elliot. The room felt like it was closing in, the air thick with an unnatural chill.

Then, the members of The Scribes, standing firm in their circle, began to falter. One by one, they collapsed, their bodies hitting the floor with dull thuds as the life was drained from them. First Robbie, then Sarah, and the others followed, their Anima exhausted.

And yet, through it all, Elliot remained calm, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His voice was barely above a whisper as he murmured, "I'm ready to go back."

Nyra froze, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't understand what he meant, but a creeping horror began to slither into her thoughts. Before she could react, the sigil—the powerful creation she had worked so hard to maintain—began to crack. Small fissures appeared in its glowing lines, then spread like fractures across glass.

And then, the sigil shattered.

With a deafening sound like a thousand breaking mirrors, the sigil dissolved into nothingness. Darkness enveloped the room, and from that void, something emerged. A figure, its body composed of swirling black mist, materialized in the center of the room. It was unlike anything Nyra had ever seen—an entity that radiated an overwhelming sense of dread, its very presence suffocating.

Everyone in the room felt it—the bone-chilling cold, the weight of terror pressing down on their chests, making it hard to breathe. The figure moved with eerie grace, a silent wraith that seemed to consume the light itself. It glided toward Elliot, and to Nyra's utter shock, he smiled as it approached.

The figure wrapped its shadowy arms around Elliot, pulling him close as if embracing an old friend. And as it did, Elliot's form began to fade, dissolving into the black mist. His final expression was one of peace, a serene smile as he disappeared into the void with the figure.

And then, they were both gone.

The room was left in silence. Cold, heavy silence.

Nyra stood frozen, her breath ragged as she tried to process what had just happened. Her body trembled, but she didn't know whether it was from fear or exhaustion. And then, slowly, she realized something else was missing.

The bond. Her connection to the power she had always felt—it was gone. She gasped, her hand instinctively reaching for the space where the invisible bond had always resided, a tether to the forces of The Occult. But there was nothing. The same emptiness echoed in the other Scribes as they slowly regained consciousness, panic rising in their eyes as they too realized the severance.

Nyra's voice came out as a shaky whisper. "No... no, this can't be..."

She staggered back, the full weight of the situation crashing down on her. She had never known the truth behind Elliot's power. They had called him Toth, the name he had used as his alias within The Scribes, but they hadn't known his true nature. They hadn't realized that their Archetypes, their very bond with the occult forces, existed because of him. He had granted them that power, and now... now that he was gone, so too was their connection.

Nyra's heart raced as the horrifying truth settled in her mind: Elliot was gone, taken back into the Void. And with him, their power had been severed—forever.

For the first time that night, true fear gripped her, more terrifying than anything she had ever felt. She had lost everything in that moment. And worst of all, she hadn't even seen it coming.