Pavlina’s legs gave out, sending her sprawling onto the cold, polished marble. Her hand, the one that had just lashed out, still throbbed with a sickly heat. She stared at it, then at the empty space where Orestian had been, bile rising bitter in her throat. The warmth. The tentative connection. It had all been a lie, or rather, a trap. Lirazna had waited, coiled, ready to strike, using Pavlina's own nascent empathy against him. Against them both. “You saw that,” Pavlina croaked, her voice raw, turning to Matyas. He hadn’t moved from the doorway, the faint, pale glimmer of the rune in his hand pulsing rhythmically, like a slow, deliberate heartbeat. His face remained a mask of weary sorrow, but his gaze was sharp, dissecting her. “I did,” Matyas replied, his voice a low thrum that seemed to vibrate through the cavernous room. He stepped inside, his soft leather slippers making barely a sound on the marble. “A most regrettable display.” “Regrettable?” Pavlina scrambled to her feet, fury suddenly eclipsing her shame. “I just… I *hurt* him! My body, my hand, used to attack the one person who isn’t running in abject terror from me! And you stand there with some glowing trinket, calling it regrettable? What is that thing? What do you know about this?” She gestured wildly, first at her tingling hand, then at the empty air where Orestian had been, finally settling on the ominous rune in Matyas’s grip. It was a disc of polished silver, no larger than her palm, etched with intricate, spiraling symbols that seemed to writhe with captured light. Matyas slowly raised the rune, turning it so the light caught its surface. “This is a vessel. A cage. For a soul.” His time-worn gaze met hers without flinching. “And I know far more than you could possibly imagine.” Pavlina faltered. The easy anger drained away, leaving a chilling void. “A cage? For… whose soul?” Her own voice was a bare whisper, a premonition of dread. “Yours, if it comes to that,” Matyas stated plainly, his tone devoid of malice, yet utterly resolute. “Or rather, for the part of it that is not *you*.” Pavlina stared, mouth agape. “Are you mad? You think you can imprison *my* soul?” “My duty is to prevent the full re-awakening of Lirazna,” Matyas said, his gaze unwavering. “And if her vessel cannot be purged, it must be contained. Forever.” He moved closer, the soft glow of the rune casting eerie highlights on his weathered features. “Long before you were born, before even your parents’ grandparents drew breath, the ancestors of Lord Orestian bound me to this mountain keep. My purpose: to serve the Lord of Gorycz, yes, but also to guard against the very thing that is now unfolding. Lirazna’s return. They knew she would try. They knew she would need a vessel.” Pavlina felt the blood drain from her face. “You… you summoned me here, didn’t you? The Sacrifice Chest, the village elders… that was all you?” The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. The strange recognition of the symbol on the chest. The whisper at the gate. The seneschal’s initial confusion, then his weary acceptance. Matyas inclined his head, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his face. “I observed the patterns. The old prophecies spoke of a new spirit, one untainted by Lirazna’s will, emerging in the village of Wloczek. I believed… I hoped… that your soul, strong and defiant as it is, might overwhelm the old one. That the curse could be broken from within, by a true soul.” He shook his head, the gesture heavy with disappointment. “But Lirazna’s grip is tightening. That raw burst of power you just displayed, that was not your doing alone. It was her influence, strengthening, demanding. She is preparing to claim you entirely, Pavlina Strzyga. And then, she will complete her dark ritual, using Lord Orestian’s endless agony to unleash unimaginable destruction upon this realm.” The ballroom, vast and echoing, seemed to shrink around Pavlina. This wasn't just about saving Orestian; it was about saving herself from an eternal nightmare, from becoming a puppet in Lirazna’s grand, horrific design. “But… how? How could you expect me to fight something I barely understand, something that’s part of me? I don’t even know where to begin to ‘sever’ this connection!” Her voice rose, desperation creeping in. “You just wanted to use me as a shield, and now that it’s failing, you’ll throw me into a metal prison?” “I sought a solution, one that offered a chance at salvation for all involved,” Matyas corrected, his voice firm. “But a plan, however well-intentioned, is only as good as its execution. And Lirazna’s power grows too swiftly. Her consciousness is beginning to flood your own. Soon, there will be nothing left of Pavlina Strzyga to save.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. The rune pulsed, a little brighter now. “You have three days, Mistress Strzyga. Three days to find a way to sever this bond. To excise Lirazna’s influence from your very being. I will assist you with every resource this stronghold possesses, every scrap of knowledge I have accumulated over these many long years. But if, at the end of those three days, her influence remains ascendant…” He lifted the rune higher, its radiance glinting in his pale irises. “Then I will have no choice but to ensure she can never complete her work. Even if it means imprisoning you, Pavlina, for the rest of eternity.” Pavlina recoiled, her heart plummeting. Three days? To undo what Lirazna had spent centuries planning? It was an impossible task, a cruel joke. Yet, the look in Matyas’s eyes was not cruel, only profoundly sad and utterly determined. He believed what he said. He would do it. “But how…?” Pavlina began, her voice cracking, but before she could finish, a deep, guttural rumble shook the entire citadel. The polished marble floor beneath her feet vibrated violently, the wall-hangings shivered, and a distant, crystalline chime echoed through the fortress, mournful and sharp. Dust rained from the high ceilings. The very air thrummed with raw, uncontrolled magic. Matyas’s grim composure shattered. He stared past Pavlina, fixing on a point somewhere high above. The rune in his hand flared, then dimmed, its soft light flickering erratically. A profound look of horror, stark and naked, contorted his face. “No,” he breathed, a sound devoid of all his usual weary calm. “Not now. It couldn’t be. The ward… the primary ward on the Srebrny Obelisk… it’s broken.” Another, more violent tremor ripped through the citadel, sending a cascade of stones clattering from a distant archway. The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of ozone and damp earth, as if a great, primordial barrier had just ripped itself apart. Matyas staggered, clutching at his chest, his face pale as death. His eyes, now full of terror, met Pavlina’s. “She’s free, Pavlina. Lirazna… she’s coming.”

The Seneschal's Gambit