"Iochra tenos,""Paraxis lohika,""Sinevath eremos."

The air is thick with the chanting—a rhythmic hum that shakes the very stone beneath the Keys. Voices layered over each other, low and guttural. Blurry words, but they pull at the souls, tugging the keys deeper into something ancient, something dark. The symbols etched into the floor pulse with every word, every syllable, echoing in your bones. A call. A summons.

The voices rise, becoming louder, frantic, almost desperate—until suddenly, a wheeze.

A sharp inhale.

The chanting halts immediately.

The air in the room grows colder, and the candles flicker wildly. Then—nothing.

The room is suddenly dead silent, all eyes now on the key

—breathing.

The circle of figures surrounding the keys stiffen, their eyes wide in disbelief. The Key wasn’t supposed to awaken yet. They whisper among themselves, some with disbelief, others with growing panic. The tension in the air thickens, an oppressive weight pressing down on all of them.

A voice breaks through the murmurs.

“It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Another voice follows, more frantic, trembling.

“She’s here to defy the entity—she’s the one!”

A surge of panic fills the air as some figures begin to move towards the key, hands trembling with both fear and anger. The candles sputter out in an eerie, synchronized extinguishing, plunging the room into darkness. For a brief moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing and the crackle of panic.

Then, it happens.

One by one, the other Keys begin to seize violently, their bodies convulsing uncontrollably. Their eyes roll back, and their mouths froth with the grotesque distortion of possession—half of them writhing in agony, half of them lost to something far darker. The others scream in pure terror, their voices cracking, their limbs twisting unnaturally.

The sound is horrifying.

But before anyone can react, the air shifts again, and the door slams open, making everyone flinch.

A figure steps into the room, tall and commanding, cloaked in black and silver. His gaze cuts through the room with the force of a blade. A silence follows in his wake as he surveys the scene before him.

Without a word, he raises a hand. The figures freeze, their whispers dying in an instant. His presence alone is enough to silence the panic and still the convulsions in the others.

He speaks, his voice cold and final, but laced with an undercurrent of dangerous power.

“Enough.”

The chaos ebbs into a stillness that suffocates. He turns to face the trembling figures, each one reluctant to meet his gaze.

“You are dismissed.”

His tone is sharp, cutting through the room like a command—there is no room for argument.

The others scramble to leave, retreating in haste, eyes still locked on the ground, fearful of his power. They do not question him.

When the last figure exits, the messenger turns back to the key, his cold eyes fixating on her with a calculated intensity. He steps forward, closing the distance between them with terrifying precision.

With a brutal yet controlled motion, he grabs the key's arm, pulling her to her feet.

The force of his grip is harsh, and she stumbles, but he holds her firm. His touch is not kind—it is commanding. Worshipful. There is something almost ritualistic in the way he moves her, though the aggression in his actions suggests he doesn’t fully trust her. He pulls her through the now-quiet chamber, his eyes scanning her with something cold and unreadable, but she can feel the heat of silent reverence in every glance.

“You will wait,” he mutters as he leads her out, his words sharp. “You are to remain hidden. Stay out of sight. Do not move. Not until the Grandmaster returns.”

His grip never falters, forcing her into a darker part of the abbey.

When, and how he returns—he does not say.

But the key is left in a cold, hidden room, locked away, with only the faintest hint of something ominous looming outside. The air is heavy, almost suffocating. The sound of distant footsteps and murmurs echo from afar, but she knows—something is coming for her, in time.