Interlude XIII – Ashen's Smile
Ashen watched the citadel from the far treeline, her cloak blending with the night. From this distance, she could almost hear the shouts carrying over the stone.
"Mercy," she whispered to herself, savoring the word like a bitter wine. "Mercy in a world built on blood."
Her second-in-command crouched beside her, frowning. "Shouldn't we press now? Strike again while they're splintered?"
Ashen's smirk deepened. "No. Seraphine has already swung the blade for me. Her hesitation was sharper than anything I could cut. They'll eat her alive."
She stood, gaze fixed on the fortress gates. "The citadel will fall—but not from without. From within."
----
Interlude XIV – Noctis in the Dark
Noctis dreamed of chains.
In the dream, he was back in the lower levels, where the citadel still smelled of smoke and burnt flesh. Chains wrapped around his arms and legs, pulling him down, deeper into the black.
He fought against them, cursing, but they dug deeper, cold and alive, dragging him toward something vast.
Then he saw her.
Seraphine, standing just beyond reach. Watching.
She didn't move to help. Didn't cut the chains. She only stared, her face half in shadow.
And when she finally spoke, her voice wasn't her own.
"You chose me, Noctis. Now drown with me."
He woke in a cold sweat, hand already reaching for the knife at his bedside. The shadows of his room seemed to lean closer.
"…damn it all," he muttered, burying his face in his hands.
----
Interlude XV – System Log
[INFINITE REALMS – TRAITOR SEQUENCE ADVANCE]
Branch Progression:
— Player Leader spared suspect. → Suspicion escalates.
— True Traitor emboldened.
— Internal loyalty collapse event prepared.
Upcoming Event Flag: [BLOOD ON THE WALLS]
Warning: No path available for complete restoration of trust. Only survival probabilities remain.
----
The citadel was too quiet.
Seraphine knew the sound of a fortress breathing—boots on stone, steel against whetstone, laughter echoing in the mess hall. But today, silence stretched between walls like a wire ready to snap.
She walked the corridors with her hand on her hilt, eyes sharp. Paranoia clung to the stones. Every glance lingered too long. Every conversation broke off when she approached.
Word spread faster than fire: Seraphine had spared the traitor. Some said it was weakness. Others said it was proof she was compromised.
The whispers gnawed at her like rats.
By nightfall, the dam broke.
Shouts rang out from the barracks. Seraphine arrived to find two groups of players at each other's throats, blades drawn.
"He's the one!" one shouted, pointing at the same young guard she had spared. "I saw him near the armory—he's working with the enemy!"
The accused guard shook, eyes wide with terror. "It's not me! I swear it's not me!"
Steel flashed. A strike was coming, and if she hesitated again, blood would spill.
Seraphine stepped between them, sword raised. "Stand down!"
The clash of steel stopped inches from her. The players froze, eyes burning into her.
"This fortress will not rot from within," she growled. "If there's a traitor, they'll be unmasked with proof—not slaughtered in panic."
The room bristled with tension, but slowly, blades lowered. For now.
But then came the scream.
From the east wing.
They ran as one, boots pounding against stone.
The scene they found twisted Seraphine's gut.
A guard lay sprawled against the wall, throat cut clean. Blood smeared the stone in handprints where he'd tried to claw himself upright.
And on the wall above him, in crude strokes of blood, was a single word:
"LIAR."
Gasps rippled through the players. Some turned wide eyes to Seraphine, others stepped back in fear.
Valeria knelt, examining the wound. "This was quick. Professional. Whoever did this knows how to kill without noise."
Seraphine's jaw clenched.
The crowd's whispers started immediately. A warning. A message. The traitor walks among us still.
And this time, their eyes weren't just on the dead guard. They were on her.
The days blurred after that. The citadel turned into a crucible.
Food ran lower, suspicion higher. Groups split into cliques, each accusing the other. Patrols returned empty-handed, claiming sabotage.
Someone began carving marks into doors—symbols no one admitted to knowing. Some chambers were avoided altogether, like they were cursed.
Even Noctis kept his distance, lurking more in shadows, his easy grin gone. Valeria doubled her patrols, her sword hand never far from the hilt.
And Seraphine—she felt it every time she closed her eyes. The citadel was bleeding trust like an open wound, and she couldn't stop it.
The breaking point came three nights later.
The young guard—the same one she had spared—was dragged into the main hall, beaten and bound.
"We caught him," a soldier spat, shoving him forward. "Sneaking near the armory again. He's the one."
The crowd swelled fast, bloodlust hot in their eyes.
"Kill him.""End it before more die.""She's too weak to do it—then we'll do it ourselves!"
The guard sobbed, broken, his face swollen from fists. "Please—I didn't—I didn't—"
Seraphine's chest felt hollow.
She had spared him once. Chosen mercy. Chosen to believe in trust. And this was the cost—blood, chaos, the citadel turning into a feeding frenzy.
Her sword weighed heavy in her hand.
If she spared him again, she risked complete collapse. If she struck him down, she might kill the wrong man.
The mob pressed closer, voices rising.
Noctis watched from the shadows, eyes unreadable. Valeria stood beside Seraphine, hand resting on her sword—but she said nothing.
It was Seraphine's choice.
The citadel held its breath.
And then the firelight flickered, catching on steel—because from the corner of the crowd, someone else lunged.
A blade flashed.
Not at the guard.
At Seraphine.
The clash rang like thunder. She caught the strike an instant before it split her skull, steel sparking against steel. The attacker's hood fell back—one of her own lieutenants, face twisted with rage.
"You don't deserve this fortress!" he roared. "You'll doom us all!"
The crowd erupted, some screaming, some rushing to join, some retreating in terror.
Chaos tore through the hall.
And in the center of it, Seraphine met her traitor's eyes.
Not the beaten guard she'd spared.
Not the whispers in the dark.
But someone she had trusted—someone who had walked beside her.
Her sword trembled only once.
Then she struck.
Steel cut. Blood sprayed.
And as the traitor fell, Seraphine realized the truth: this wasn't the end of suspicion.
It was only the beginning.