You were in the Speaker's Chamber, your eyes scanning the room as if searching for the Archon, though you knew it was useless to wait any longer. In the near-complete silence, broken only by the crackling of the Sacred Flame, you could hear your own heartbeat and the air filling your lungs before coming out in a quiet exhalation. You could feel the warmth of the Flame, yet it did nothing to warm you.

Your thoughts swirled, replaying everything that had happened recently. You couldn't stop thinking back to the day Mavuika had revealed a new step in her plan to save Natlan – how the Archon had, albeit reluctantly, left you behind, refusing to take you to the Night Kingdom for the final battle against the Abyss’s core, worrying about your well-being, yet cared nothing for her own.

Even now, you could hear your own voice echoing through this very chamber, more emphatic with each word as you fought against Mavuika’s stubbornness, trying to reach the depths of her mind, her usual prudence and calculation. But it had all been in vain. The Archon had merely chuckled at your determination to change her mind, her eyes burning with pride before she spoke. Her voice in stark contrast to yours, so soft and soothing, but her words contradicted her gentle tone - harsh and unbearably painful, like a red-hot dagger that carved and ripped and tore the soul from your chest.

“Oh, darling, let me rephrase that: I won’t survive.”

You still couldn’t forget how you felt in that moment. It was as if Mavuika herself had struck you with all her might, knocking the air from your lungs – despite the Archon’s gentle touch on your face and soft voice. The image burned in your mind: Mavuika’s face as your gaze darted between her eyes, desperately searching for even the slightest trace of a lie, a cruel joke. But there was none – you found only honesty with that light, warm smile playing on her lips, which in no way matched her confession and humility of her own death.

The very thought sent you into a primal, animalistic terror, Mavuika’s words repeating over and over in your mind until they froze the blood in your veins. The same protective instinct surged within you, gripping your thoughts as fiercely as you had gripped the Archon’s shoulders that day. You had held on tightly, as if refusing to let go could rewrite fate, as if sheer will alone could make Mavuika wrong. Because you vowed that as long as you were alive, as long as you could breathe, as long as your heart was still beating – you would never let her die so easily. But what you got in return was an even wider, brighter smile splitting Mavuika’s face. You could still feel the Archon’s quick, searching gaze sweeping across your features, as if trying to etch them into memory – as if seeing you for the last time.

With the weight of a heavy stone on your soul, you made your way to Mavuika’s chambers. But the moment you stepped inside, you froze. The room’s terrifying emptiness sent a shiver through your body, a sharp pang of guilt and an unshakable sense of debt to the God of War – physically absent, yet hauntingly present in the echoes she had left behind. Every detail bore traces of her: from the ornaments decorating the room to her personal belongings, each a silent reminder of the time you had shared here. The air still carried the faint scent that once clung to Natlan’s leader – so dear and familiar, yet now distant and alien without its owner presence.

Your gaze drifted to the window overlooking the Stadium of the Sacred Flame. You had stood there this morning, listening to the eloquent speech that oozed with emotion, filling the hearts of the Natlanders with faith. Yet, standing beside Mavuika, you had only felt anger, silently cursing yourself, the Abyss, everything – for being powerless to stop what was coming. Even now, you could feel the rage simmering beneath your skin, laced with despair. Bitterness scraped at your throat with every word that had fallen from Mavuika’s lips – words that ignited the people’s spirits yet sent a terrible shiver through you.

But suddenly, the slow creak of the doors shattered your thoughts.

Instinct kicked in. Defense.

Your body tensed, muscles coiling like a drawn bowstring. No one had free access here – no one but the Pyro Archon and yourself. No one was invited, no one was expected.

You spun sharply toward the entrance, wings snapping open, ready to strike if necessary – only to freeze.

A familiar silhouette stood in the doorway.

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as your heartbeat pounded in your skull. Your vision tunneled, disbelief gripping you like a vice.

And then, that voice – painfully familiar, impossibly gentle.

“Hey, little Phoenix, have you missed me?”