Sew
# Shadow of the Erdtwilight: The Eminence Reborn
## Prologue: The Twilight's Harbinger
The sky had been bleeding for seven years.
Not metaphorically—the heavens above the realm of Erdtwilight literally wept crimson tears that fell as rain upon the shattered landscape. The twin moons hung frozen in eternal conjunction, stitched together by golden scars that pulsed like infected wounds. Below, the world suffered in silence, caught in the liminal space between life and death, unable to truly perish yet incapable of healing.
In the ruins of what had once been the Grand Cathedral of Divine Ascension, a lone figure stirred amidst the debris. Consciousness returned slowly, painfully, like a reluctant tide washing over a desolate shore.
Cid Kagenou opened his eyes to a world he did not recognize.
"Where the hell...?" he muttered, pushing himself upright with a grunt. A piece of shattered marble dug into his palm, drawing blood that seemed unnaturally dark against his skin. He stared at it for a moment, then wiped it casually on his black cloak.
The cathedral around him had been magnificent once. Now, its walls were fractured like broken bones, and the grand dome that had once sheltered worshippers lay in ruins, leaving the interior exposed to the bleeding sky. Golden ichor leaked from massive roots that had erupted through the floor, like the veins of some vast, dying deity.
Cid's memories were fragmented. He recalled a confrontation with the Cult of the Crimson Aurora, a flash of arcane energy, then... nothing. Had he died? Was this some bizarre afterlife?
No. This felt too real, too tangible. The pain in his body was genuine, the air thick with the scent of decay and something else—something almost metallic, like old blood and ozone mixed together.
"Interesting backdrop," he murmured, rising fully to his feet. His black cloak billowed around him despite the absence of wind—a trick he'd perfected through years of practice with strategically placed weights in the fabric.
Surveying his surroundings with practiced indifference, Cid allowed himself a small smile behind his high collar. The aesthetics of this place—the gothic architecture, the perpetual twilight, the general atmosphere of magnificent decay—appealed to his sensibilities. If he were to design a realm for the Shadow to make his grand entrance, it might look something like this.
"Hmph. No matter where I am," Cid said aloud, his voice carrying the perfect timbre of casual menace that he'd rehearsed countless times before his bedroom mirror, "the Shadow perseveres. Eternal and unknowable, I adapt to any stage set before me."
As he spoke, something strange happened. The golden ichor seeping from the divine roots seemed to pulse in rhythm with his words. The very air around him grew denser, as if reality itself were paying attention.
Cid didn't notice. He was too busy ensuring his cloak draped dramatically behind him as he began exploring the ruined cathedral.
"First things first," he murmured. "Reconnaissance. Understand the terrain, identify threats and resources, establish a base of operations." The familiar routine of planning calmed him, even as he maintained his outward persona of unflappable mystique.
He made his way toward what remained of the cathedral's altar. Strange symbols were carved into the stone, symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed from different angles. The altar itself was stained with what might have been blood—or something else entirely, something that glimmered faintly with an inner light when shadows passed over it.
As Cid approached, the symbols began to glow, casting eerie blue light across his features. He paused, his instincts warning of danger.
"Well, well," he murmured, adopting a tone of knowing amusement rather than the wariness he actually felt. "It seems this realm acknowledges the Shadow's presence."
The glow intensified, and the air around the altar shimmered like heat above asphalt. A voice—or perhaps many voices layered into one—spoke, the sound seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF THE DIVINE CORPSE?"
Cid didn't flinch. Years of cultivating his Shadow persona had made him adept at concealing fear beneath a veneer of calculated indifference. He spread his arms wide, his cloak billowing dramatically.
"I am the Shadow," he declared, his voice carrying more confidence than he felt. "Master of the darkness between worlds, sovereign of the spaces between light and oblivion."
There was a long pause. The glow pulsed once, twice, then dimmed slightly.
"THE SHADOW?" The voice(s) seemed confused. "NO SUCH ENTITY EXISTS WITHIN THE DIVINE HIERARCHY."
Cid smiled behind his collar. "Precisely. I exist outside hierarchies, beyond the constraints of predetermined orders. I am the anomaly that proves all systems incomplete."
Again, the strange phenomenon occurred—reality itself seemed to shudder, as if adjusting to accommodate his declaration. The glow from the symbols flickered, then stabilized at a lower intensity.
"IMPOSSIBLE," the voice(s) stated, though with less conviction. "YET... YOU BEAR THE WEIGHT OF TRUTH IN FALSEHOOD. A PARADOX WALKS THE CORPSE-REALM."
"I've been called worse," Cid replied with dry humor.
The shimmer in the air condensed, forming a swirling vortex of golden light and shadow. From within it emerged what might once have been a human figure, though now it appeared more like an abstract sculpture made of broken glass and golden ichor. Its form shifted constantly, never settling on a single configuration.
"You are not of this world," the entity said, its voice now singular and more focused. "Not of any world we recognize."
"I contain multitudes," Cid replied enigmatically, mentally congratulating himself on how cool that sounded.
The entity circled him, leaving trails of golden light that faded slowly. "This realm—Erdtwilight—lies between life and death. The gods died screaming, yet their power lingers, refusing to dissipate completely. Divine rot spreads through reality's fabric, corrupting all it touches."
"And what are you?" Cid asked, genuinely curious despite his affected nonchalance.
"Once, I was the Oracle of Nineteen Truths," the entity replied. "Now, I am a memory of a memory, an echo preserved in dying divine light. I speak when the appropriate frequencies disturb the remnants of my existence."
"And I... disturbed you," Cid observed.
"Your presence creates ripples in reality's fabric," the Oracle confirmed. "You speak absurdities with the weight of fundamental truth. The realm responds to you as it would to divine command, yet you carry no divinity within you."
Cid absorbed this information, his mind working behind his carefully maintained expression of mild amusement. He had always cultivated his Shadow persona with fanatical dedication, imagining himself as a being of mysterious power moving unseen through the world. Now, somehow, he found himself in a place where his delusions seemed to carry actual weight.
"Tell me more about this realm," he commanded, deciding to lean fully into the role. If this world wanted to treat him as something special, who was he to argue?
The Oracle's form shimmered, parts of it briefly appearing more solid before dissolving back into abstraction. "Erdtwilight exists in the aftermath of divine war. The gods fought until they destroyed themselves, yet their power—bound to the fabric of reality itself—could not die completely. Now, their rotting essence infects everything."
"Abominations roam the land," it continued. "Creatures born from divine decay. The laws of reality fray at the edges. Time flows inconsistently. Space folds upon itself. And at the center of it all lies the Hollow Throne—once the seat of the God-King of All, now empty save for the pulsing heart of corruption that spreads divine rot throughout the realm."
Cid nodded sagely, as if this merely confirmed information he already possessed. "And the people of this realm? Those caught in this twilight state?"
"Most perished in the divine war," the Oracle replied. "Those who remain have either succumbed to madness or transformed into vessels for fragments of dead gods. A few enclaves of lucidity persist, protected by ancient wards or by beings of power who resist the corruption. But their numbers dwindle with each passing cycle."
"Cycle?" Cid inquired.
"The twin moons complete one rotation every seven years," the Oracle explained. "With each completion, the divine rot grows stronger, reality frays further, and more of what remains crumbles into chaos. Seven cycles have passed since the gods died. The seventh rotation completed when you arrived."
Cid glanced upward through the broken dome at the stitched-together moons. "And what happens after the seventh cycle?"
The Oracle's form destabilized further, parts of it dispersing into motes of light. "Unknown. No prophet foresaw beyond the seventh. Perhaps true death finally claims the divine corpse. Perhaps something worse arises from the decay."
As if triggered by these words, the ground beneath them trembled. The golden ichor flowing from the divine roots pulsed more rapidly, and in the distance, something screamed—a multilayered sound of agony and ecstasy combined.
"What was that?" Cid asked, his hand instinctively moving to the sword at his hip.
"An Abomination of Grace," the Oracle replied, its form growing fainter. "Former angels, twisted by divine decay. They hunt anything that still carries hope or purpose."
"Like me," Cid surmised.
"Perhaps." The Oracle was barely visible now, little more than a shimmer in the air. "You are an anomaly, Shadow. Your presence creates patterns that disrupt the corruption's flow. That makes you both a target... and perhaps something more."
"More?" Cid prompted.
"My existence fades," the Oracle said, its voice growing distant. "But remember this: in a realm where reality responds to belief, what greater power could exist than one who believes in themselves absolutely?"
With those words, the entity dispersed completely, leaving Cid alone in the ruined cathedral. The screaming in the distance grew louder, accompanied by the sound of massive wings beating against the twilight air.
Cid drew his sword—an ordinary blade by all appearances, though he had always imagined it possessed hidden powers beyond mortal comprehension. In this strange realm, who knew? Perhaps it did.
"So," he murmured, a smile spreading behind his collar as he faced the direction of the approaching threat, "the Shadow finds himself on a dying world, hunted by corrupted angels, with reality itself responding to his will."
He chuckled softly, adjusting his stance to ensure his silhouette cut a dramatic figure against the bleeding sky visible through the broken dome.
"Perfect."
## Chapter 1: The Holy Blade's Doubt
Artoria Pendragon—in this incarnation known as Saber Lily—had wandered the twilight wastes for what felt like an eternity. The summons had come unexpectedly, ripping her from the Throne of Heroes without explanation, without a Master, without purpose. She had manifested in this broken realm with her powers intact but diminished, Caliburn heavy in her hands in a way it had never been before.
For three weeks she had traversed the shattered landscape, encountering horrors that challenged her understanding of reality. Twisted creatures that might once have been human, landscapes that changed configuration while she watched, and always, always, the sensation of being observed by something vast and malevolent.
Now, kneeling beside a pool of what appeared to be water—though it reflected nothing, not even light—Lily cupped her hands and brought the liquid to her lips. It tasted of nothing, yet somehow slaked her thirst. Another inconsistency in a realm full of them.
The subtle shift in the air was her only warning. Instinct honed through countless battles caused her to leap backward, Caliburn materializing in her grip in a flash of golden light. Where she had knelt moments before, a spear of twisted golden energy now protruded from the ground, humming with malevolent power.
"Show yourself!" Lily commanded, her voice carrying the authority of kingship despite her youthful appearance in this form.
The air rippled, and from it emerged a creature that defied easy description. It might once have been humanoid, but now its form was a grotesque amalgamation of flesh, metal, and pulsing golden light. Wings sprouted from its back—dozens of them, overlapping and intertwined like a canopy of feathers and bone. Its face was a mask of gold, featureless save for seven eyes arranged in a spiral pattern.
"Child of man, child of legend," the creature intoned, its voice eerily harmonic, as if multiple beings spoke in perfect synchronization. "Your light offends the twilight. Your purpose disrupts the decay. You shall be cleansed in divine fire, your essence absorbed into the greater whole."
Lily raised Caliburn, its golden light pulsing in defiance of the corrupted divinity before her. "I am Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights. I have faced gods and monsters across countless realms. You do not frighten me."
The creature's response was to unfurl its wings to their full span, each feather igniting with golden flame. "Your titles mean nothing here, fragment of a foreign legend. Here, you are merely an impurity to be corrected."
It launched forward with impossible speed, golden spears of energy forming in its wake and hurtling toward Lily from multiple angles. She moved with the grace that had made her legend, Caliburn cutting through the air in precise arcs that intercepted the nearest projectiles. Those she couldn't block, she evaded with acrobatic precision, her armor flashing in the perpetual twilight.
But there were too many. For every spear she deflected or dodged, three more formed. One grazed her arm, burning through her armor and scoring the flesh beneath. The pain was intense, carrying with it a sense of wrongness that went beyond physical injury.
The creature pressed its advantage, closing the distance between them with another burst of impossible speed. Its hands, now transformed into golden blades, slashed at her in a flurry of strikes that drove her backward toward the edge of the unreflecting pool.
"Your legend dies here," the creature declared. "Your memory consumed by divine rot."
Lily gritted her teeth, parrying another strike that sent shockwaves up her arms. Her energy was fading faster than it should, the corrupt divinity of this realm interfering with her ability to draw mana properly. Without a Master to anchor her, she was fighting at a fraction of her true capacity.
The creature seemed to sense her weakening. Its attack pattern shifted, becoming more aggressive, more direct. One particularly powerful strike knocked Caliburn wide, leaving Lily exposed for the killing blow.
"Thus ends the King of Knights," the creature intoned, raising its blade-hand for the final strike.
"I think not," came a new voice—cool, confident, almost bored.
A shadow fell between Lily and the creature, resolving into the form of a man in a black cloak. He moved with casual grace, his blade—an ordinary sword by all appearances—rising to intercept the creature's attack with almost insulting ease.
"What is this?" the creature demanded, its harmonious voice faltering for the first time. "Another impurity? Another fragment of foreign legend?"
"Not quite," the man replied, his tone suggesting mild amusement. "I am the Shadow."
He moved again, faster than Lily's eyes could track, his form seeming to blur into actual darkness before resolidifying behind the creature. His blade flashed once, twice, three times—each strike leaving trails of darkness in its wake.
The creature screamed, the sound discordant and painful to hear. Golden ichor erupted from wounds that appeared across its form, wounds that seemed to spread and deepen of their own accord, as if the very concept of injury were expanding outward from the points of impact.
"Impossible!" it shrieked. "No mortal blade can harm Divinity!"
"An ordinary blade, no," the man agreed, adjusting his position with theatrical slowness. "But this is the Seventh Shadow Blade: Void Cleaver. It doesn't cut flesh or bone—it severs the connections between concepts."
Lily stared in amazement. The blade looked utterly mundane, yet it had wounded a creature that her own divine Caliburn had struggled against.
The creature backed away, its wings folding inward protectively. "What are you?" it demanded.
"I told you," the man replied, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper that nonetheless carried perfectly. "I am the Shadow. The darkness between stars. The silence between heartbeats. The void where divine light fears to shine."
Something strange happened as he spoke. The very air around him seemed to darken, and for a moment, Lily could have sworn she saw the twilight sky ripple, as if reality itself were adjusting to accommodate his claims.
The creature apparently saw it too. "Anomaly," it hissed. "Pattern-breaker. Your existence offends the divine corpse!"
"The feeling is mutual," the man replied dryly.
The creature gathered itself, golden energy coalescing around its form. For a moment, Lily thought it would attack again—but instead, it launched upward, wings carrying it rapidly toward the bleeding sky before it disappeared in a flash of golden light.
Silence fell over the area, broken only by Lily's slightly labored breathing. She straightened, Caliburn still held ready, and regarded her unexpected savior with cautious gratitude.
"I thank you for your assistance," she said formally. "That creature would likely have overwhelmed me had you not intervened."
The man turned to face her fully for the first time, and Lily was able to study him properly. He was of average height, his features partially obscured by the high collar of his cloak, but what she could see suggested a young man in his early twenties. His eyes, however, contained both amusement and a depth that seemed at odds with his apparent age.
"Think nothing of it," he replied with calculated nonchalance. "The Shadow often finds himself in the right place at the right time. Fortuitous coincidence, some might say. I know better."
Lily frowned slightly. There was something odd about this man—something that didn't fit the pattern of decay and despair that permeated everything else in this realm. His theatricality struck her as almost childish, yet he had dispatched a creature that had nearly defeated her.
"You called yourself 'the Shadow,'" she observed. "Is that your name?"
The man chuckled, the sound somehow both irritating and magnetic. "Names are chains that bind lesser beings to their fate," he said, flourishing his cloak dramatically. "But you may call me Cid Kagenou, though few have earned the privilege of knowing even that much."
Lily maintained her formal posture, still not fully lowering her guard. "I am Artoria Pendragon, though in this incarnation I am often called Saber Lily."
"Interesting," Cid said, circling her with theatrical slowness. "A legendary king reduced to her earliest form, before the crown's weight bent her shoulders. I sense great potential in you—a Holy Blade of the Shadow Vanguard, perhaps?"
Lily blinked in confusion. "I am no such thing. I am a Saber-class Servant, summoned to this realm for purposes I do not yet understand."
"Is that what you believe?" Cid asked, continuing his circle around her, his cloak billowing despite the lack of wind. "In this world of broken divinity, are you certain of anything? I see you clearly, Holy Blade. Your light is untested, but it shall cut through the corrupted veil of this world."
Something strange happened as he spoke those words. Caliburn seemed to lighten in her grip, and for a brief moment, Lily could have sworn it gleamed more brightly than it had since her arrival.
"What did you just do?" she demanded, both alarmed and intrigued.
Cid merely shrugged. "I speak only truths that the world has forgotten. Truths that existed before the gods died, that will exist long after their rot has been cleansed from reality's fabric."
Lily studied him with growing fascination and wariness. "You speak as if you understand this realm. Yet you do not seem to be of it, any more than I am."
"Perceptive," Cid acknowledged with a slight nod. "I am... new to this particular stage. But the Shadow adapts quickly to any backdrop against which he must perform."
"Perform?" Lily repeated. "You speak of deadly serious matters as if they were some kind of theater."
Cid's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, suggesting a smile hidden behind his high collar. "All the world's a stage, Holy Blade. Some of us simply embrace our roles more enthusiastically than others."
Before Lily could respond, another distant scream echoed across the twilight landscape—similar to the creature that had attacked her, but deeper, more resonant.
"Abomination of Grace," Cid said casually, as if naming a common butterfly. "A larger specimen than the one we just encountered. Probably drawn by the commotion." He glanced at Lily. "They hunt anything that still carries hope or purpose in this realm. Like you."
Lily gripped Caliburn tighter. "How do you know these things?"
"Because I am the Shadow," he replied, as if that explained everything. Then, perhaps sensing her frustration, he added, "I encountered an entity that called itself the Oracle of Nineteen Truths. It provided some... context about this realm before dissipating."
"The Oracle," Lily whispered, her eyes widening slightly. "I've heard whispers of such an entity during my wanderings. It's said to be one of the last uncorrupted fragments of divine knowledge in Erdtwilight."
"Erdtwilight," Cid repeated, as if testing the name. "A fitting designation for a realm caught between life and death, light and darkness."
The screaming grew closer. Lily made a decision.
"We should find shelter before more Abominations arrive," she suggested. "I know of a place nearby—an old temple with wards that still function, after a fashion. We can continue our conversation there."
Cid gestured grandly. "Lead on, Holy Blade. The Shadow shall follow your light, for now."
As they moved away from the unreflecting pool, Lily found herself studying her strange companion from the corner of her eye. His mannerisms were pompous, almost laughably melodramatic, yet there was no denying the effectiveness with which he had dispatched the Abomination. And there was something else—something in the way reality itself seemed to waver around him, as if adjusting to accommodate his presence.
"This temple," Cid asked as they navigated the broken landscape, "what deity did it honor?"
"From what I've gathered, it was dedicated to Aetheria, Goddess of Boundaries," Lily replied. "One of the few divine entities whose power remained somewhat stable after the cataclysm, perhaps because her domain included the boundaries between life and death."
Cid nodded, as if this confirmed some private theory. "Boundaries are important in a realm where reality frays at the edges. This goddess—she's dead too?"
"All the gods of Erdtwilight died in the divine war," Lily confirmed. "But unlike most, Aetheria apparently planned for her demise. She created anchor points throughout the realm—temples and shrines where fragments of her power remain, maintaining small bubbles of stability amid the chaos."
"Clever goddess," Cid commented. "Though ultimately unsuccessful in the grand scheme, it seems."
They walked in silence for a time, picking their way through a landscape that defied consistent description. Rock formations that resembled colossal bone fragments jutted from the ground at impossible angles. Pools of golden ichor collected in depressions, pulsing with internal light. Occasionally, they passed what might have been buildings once, now twisted into abstract sculptures of stone and metal.
"How long have you been in this realm?" Cid asked eventually.
"Three weeks, by my estimation," Lily replied. "Though time flows strangely here. It could be more, could be less."
"And in that time, you've encountered no other Servants? No Master?"
Lily shook her head. "I was summoned without a Master—an impossibility under normal circumstances, yet here I am. As for other Servants..." She hesitated. "I've sensed presences that might be similar to my own. Powerful entities that don't belong to this realm. But each time I've tried to approach, circumstances have intervened."
"Circumstances?" Cid prompted.
"Abominations appearing, landscape shifts cutting off my path, temporal distortions that send me miles from my intended destination," Lily explained. "Almost as if the realm itself were deliberately keeping us separated."
Cid considered this. "Interesting. The divine corpse plays games even in death. It fears what might happen if fragments of foreign power united against the corruption."
"That's my theory as well," Lily agreed. "Which is why—" She stopped abruptly, both in speech and movement, her posture tensing.
Cid halted beside her. "What is it?"
"We're being watched," Lily whispered, Caliburn materializing in her hand. "Something different from the Abominations. More... focused."
Cid's hand moved to the hilt of his ordinary-looking sword, his posture shifting subtly from theatrical to genuinely alert. "From where?"
Lily's eyes scanned their surroundings—a series of twisted stone arches that might once have been an aqueduct, now resembling a petrified serpent frozen in mid-writhe. "Everywhere," she murmured. "And nowhere specific. It's as if the landscape itself has grown eyes."
"The divine corpse," Cid suggested. "It senses changes in the pattern. Two anomalies traveling together rather than fighting or avoiding each other." He straightened, raising his voice to address the air around them. "Behold, dying divinity! The Shadow walks openly now, allied with the Holy Blade of Light! Your twilight era nears its end!"
Lily glanced at him with a mixture of alarm and exasperation. "Is antagonizing the very fabric of reality wise?"
Cid's eyes crinkled again in that hidden smile. "The Shadow fears no enemy, Holy Blade. Not even one as vast as a dying god. Besides," he added, his voice lowering, "sometimes the best defense is a confident offense. If it believes we are more powerful than we are, it may hesitate to act directly."
As if in response to his declaration, the ground beneath them trembled slightly. The arches around them creaked, stone grinding against stone as the petrified serpent-structure seemed to shift its coils.
"I think," Lily said with careful restraint, "we should proceed to the temple with haste."
"Agreed," Cid replied, dropping the theatrical tone momentarily. "After you."
They moved quickly now, Lily leading them through the increasingly animated landscape. Stone formations twisted to block their path, forcing detours. The ground occasionally became unstable beneath their feet, threatening to collapse into sinkholes filled with golden ichor.
Finally, they crested a ridge and beheld their destination: a small temple of white stone, seemingly untouched by the corruption that infected everything around it. A soft blue light emanated from symbols carved into its pillars, creating a visible boundary between the temple grounds and the chaos beyond.
"Aetheria's sanctuary," Lily said with palpable relief. "We should be safe there, at least temporarily."
As they approached the boundary, the blue light intensified, as if responding to their presence. Lily stepped through without hesitation, the energy washing over her like cool water. She turned, expecting Cid to follow, only to find him standing at the threshold, studying the energy barrier with curious eyes.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
Cid reached out a hand, letting his fingertips brush against the blue energy. It rippled around his touch, neither accepting nor rejecting him. "Interesting," he murmured. "Divine wards typically either admit or repel. This one... hesitates."
"Perhaps because you're an unknown factor," Lily suggested. "The wards were designed to admit those with pure intentions while repelling corruption. You seem to be... something else entirely."
"Story of my life," Cid replied with dry humor. Then, straightening his posture and adjusting his cloak for maximum dramatic effect, he stepped forward with deliberate confidence. "I am the Shadow, who walks between light and darkness. I seek sanctuary not for myself, but for the greater purpose of cleansing divine rot from reality's fabric."
To Lily's surprise, the energy barrier parted around him like a curtain, allowing him passage without resistance.
"It worked," she observed. "The wards accepted your declaration."
"Of course they did," Cid replied, his theatrical confidence returning now that the moment of uncertainty had passed. "I spoke truth, and even dying gods must acknowledge truth when presented with sufficient conviction."
Lily led him into the temple proper—a single chamber with a domed ceiling that somehow contained a miniature version of the twilight sky, though here the perpetual bleeding was replaced by a serene blue tinged with gold at the edges. A small altar stood at the center, surrounded by pillars inscribed with the same symbols that formed the outer boundary.
"I've used this place as a sanctuary several times during my wanderings," Lily explained, resting Caliburn against one of the pillars. "Time passes more... normally here. And the Abominations cannot enter."
Cid moved around the chamber, studying the inscriptions with evident interest. "These symbols—they're not just wards. They're fragments of divine language, concepts given form."
"You can read them?" Lily asked, surprised.
"Not precisely," Cid admitted. "But I... sense their meaning, after a fashion." He traced one symbol with his fingertip. "This one represents 'boundary.' And this," he moved to another, "signifies 'persistence through transformation.'"
Lily watched him with growing curiosity. "You're a strange one, Cid Kagenou. You speak and act like a theatrical performer playing at being mysterious, yet you possess knowledge and abilities that seem genuinely exceptional."
Cid turned to face her, and for the first time, he lowered his high collar slightly, revealing a young face with features that were handsome but unremarkable. His smile, however, contained both boyish mischief and something older, more calculating.
"Perhaps the greatest mystery is wondering which parts are performance and which are genuine," he suggested.
Lily sat on a low stone bench near the altar, finally allowing herself to relax slightly now that they were within the sanctuary. "Why don't we start with something simple? Where did you come from, and how did you arrive in Erdtwilight?"
Cid considered the question, then took a seat opposite her. "I come from a world very different from this one," he began. "A world where magic exists but is largely hidden, where gods—if they exist—keep their distance, and where most people live ordinary lives untroubled by divine concerns."
"Sounds peaceful," Lily commented.
"Boring," Cid corrected with a slight smirk. "At least, that's how I always saw it. I spent my life training, preparing, creating the identity of the Shadow—a being who walks unseen through the mundane world, fighting secret battles against hidden evils."
"And were there such evils to fight?" Lily asked.
Cid's expression turned momentarily grave. "There were some. Not as many as I would have liked, if I'm being honest. The Shadow's capabilities often exceeded the challenges available."
"So you were... looking for bigger challenges?" Lily surmised.
"Not actively," Cid replied. "My last memory before arriving here involves a confrontation with a cult that was attempting to summon some kind of interdimensional entity. There was a magical backlash, and then..." He gestured at their surroundings. "I woke up in a ruined cathedral beneath the bleeding sky."
Lily processed this information. "So you were brought here accidentally, just as I was."
"It appears so," Cid agreed. "Though there are no true accidents in a realm where reality responds to belief and intention. Something wanted us here—or at least, was open to the possibility of our arrival."
"To what end?"
Cid leaned forward slightly. "The Oracle spoke of cycles. Seven rotations of the twin moons, with reality fraying further with each completion. The seventh cycle completed when I arrived. Perhaps this realm, in its death throes, pulls in foreign entities as a final desperate measure."
"That... actually makes a disturbing amount of sense," Lily acknowledged. "I've encountered fragments of prophecy during my wanderings—references to 'outside saviors' who would either 'administer final death' or 'spark resurrection.'"
"Hmm," Cid mused. "Saviors plural. Which suggests you're not the only Servant pulled into this realm, and I'm possibly not the only... whatever I am... to have appeared."
"Others like us, scattered across Erdtwilight," Lily agreed. "Potentially prevented from finding each other by the realm's machinations."
"Until now," Cid pointed out. "We found each other despite those machinations. Which suggests either we're special in some way, or the divine corpse's control is weakening."
"Or both," Lily suggested.
Cid nodded. "Indeed. Which leads to an obvious conclusion: we should seek out these other fragments of foreign power. United, we might accomplish what the prophecies foretell—whether that's administering final death to this suffering realm or finding some way to spark its resurrection."
Lily studied him for a long moment. "For someone who presents himself as a dramatic loner obsessed with mysterious appearances and shadowy aesthetics, you're quite quick to suggest forming alliances."
Cid actually laughed at that—a genuine sound, lacking the calculated theatrical quality of his usual utterances. "The Shadow may walk alone, but he's not stupid. This realm is vast, its corruption deep-rooted. Even I recognize the value of appropriate allies in such circumstances."
Lily found herself smiling in response. There was something almost endearing about the way he balanced his clearly affected persona with pragmatic intelligence ## Chapter 2: The Queen of the End's Challenge
"We should rest here tonight," Lily suggested, gesturing to the temple's inner sanctum. "The wards will hold, and we both need to recover our strength."
Cid nodded, removing his cloak with a flourish and folding it with unexpected precision. "Even shadows require respite occasionally."
As night fell—or rather, as the perpetual twilight dimmed to a deeper purple hue—they sat across from each other beside a strange blue flame that burned in a brazier at the temple's center, requiring no fuel yet providing gentle warmth.
"Tell me more about this Shadow persona," Lily said, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. "It seems... well-rehearsed."
Cid's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Is that your polite way of suggesting it's ridiculous?"
"Not at all," Lily replied diplomatically. "Merely... elaborate."
This drew a genuine chuckle from Cid. "Fair enough. The concept of the Shadow began as childish fantasy—a way to make an ordinary life feel more significant. But over time, it became something more." His eyes took on a distant quality. "I trained relentlessly. Swordsmanship, stealth, observation, psychology. I crafted weapons, studied ancient texts, perfected techniques that had no practical application in my mundane world."
"All for a role with no audience?" Lily asked, tilting her head.
"The audience was initially unimportant," Cid explained. "The performance was for myself. The satisfaction of knowing I could be more than what the world saw." He gestured around them. "But now, it seems the universe has finally provided an appropriate stage."
Lily studied him with newfound interest. "You speak as if you always knew this moment would come."
"Not this specific scenario," Cid clarified. "But something. The opportunity to become what I always believed I could be."
"And what is that, exactly?"
Cid's expression turned serious. "A force that shapes events from the shadows. Neither hero nor villain, but something more complex—a catalyst for necessary change."
Lily considered his words. "In Erdtwilight, that might actually be possible. The Oracle told you that reality here responds to belief. And you," she observed, "believe in yourself with absolute conviction."
"Precisely," Cid agreed. "Now, enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Holy Blade. What drives a legendary king in her purest form?"
Lily sighed, looking down at her hands. "In this form, I am not yet king. I am potential unrealized, faith untested. The sword maiden who has not yet faced the trials that will forge her into Artoria the King." She glanced up at him. "Perhaps that's why I was summoned in this specific incarnation. This realm needs potential—possibilities not yet narrowed by fate."
"Interesting theory," Cid mused. "And what do you want, if I may ask? Not as a Servant, not as a future king, but as you are now?"
The question caught Lily off guard. Servants rarely considered personal desires beyond their inherent nature and purpose. "I... wish to prove worthy of the faith placed in me," she said finally. "To live up to the legend I am destined to become. Though," she added with a hint of melancholy, "knowing how that legend ends makes the journey somewhat bittersweet."
Cid leaned forward, his eyes intense. "But that's just it, Holy Blade. In this realm, legends are being rewritten. Divine decree no longer holds absolute sway. Perhaps your fate is no longer fixed."
Lily stared at him, the implications slowly dawning. "You're suggesting I could forge a different path? A different ending?"
"I'm suggesting," Cid replied, "that in Erdtwilight, belief shapes reality. And if you believe strongly enough in a different outcome..."
He left the sentence unfinished, but Lily felt something stir within her—a sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating. Hope, unconstrained by the weight of predetermined destiny.
"You're quite dangerous, Cid Kagenou," she said softly. "Not because of your sword or your shadow techniques, but because you plant ideas that could reshape much more than just this broken realm."
Cid's smile returned, enigmatic and knowing. "That, Holy Blade, is precisely what makes me the Shadow."
---
Dawn brought no sunlight to Erdtwilight, merely a slight brightening of the perpetual gloom. Cid and Lily emerged from the temple refreshed, their respective powers somewhat restored by the sanctuary's stabilizing influence.
"We should head north," Lily suggested, gesturing toward a distant mountain range where lightning flashed continuously among clouds that never moved. "I've sensed powerful presences in that direction before, though I've never managed to get close."
"The Land of Endless Storms," Cid announced with theatrical gravity. "Where divine wrath remains frozen in its final moments, neither dissipating nor fully manifesting."
Lily raised an eyebrow. "You named it just now, didn't you?"
"The Shadow must classify the unknown," Cid replied with mock seriousness. "It gives form to the formless, purpose to the chaotic."
"Of course," Lily said dryly, but found herself smiling despite herself.
They set off across the broken landscape, moving with greater purpose now that they had a destination. The terrain remained treacherous—shifting unexpectedly, occasionally revealing gaping chasms filled with golden ichor, or sprouting twisted formations that resembled both architecture and anatomy simultaneously.
Around midday, they crested a ridge and beheld a strange sight: an enormous castle suspended upside-down from massive chains, hovering above a chasm that seemed to have no bottom. The structure appeared to be made of dark stone veined with crimson, and occasionally pulsed with internal light, as if breathing.
"The Inverted Throne," Cid declared, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.
This time, Lily didn't question his naming. "Something powerful dwells there," she observed, her hand moving instinctively to Caliburn's hilt. "I can sense it."
"Indeed," Cid agreed, his playful demeanor giving way to genuine caution. "Something ancient. Something deadly."
As if summoned by his words, the air around them shimmered. Suddenly, they found themselves surrounded by crimson spears—dozens of them, all hovering in perfect formation, their points aimed inward.
Between the spears stood a woman of impossible beauty and terrifying presence. Her bodysuit was deep purple, her eyes red as fresh blood, and her expression that of a predator assessing whether the prey before her was worth the effort of killing.
"Trespassers," she said, her voice carrying the weight of countless battles. "You walk with purpose toward my domain. Either you're extraordinarily brave or catastrophically foolish."
"Scáthach," Lily whispered in recognition, her eyes widening. "Queen of the Land of Shadows."
Cid didn't even flinch at the display. "Scáthach, Warrior-Sage of Dún Scáith, Mistress of the Land of Shadows, Queen of the End," he recited, as if reading from an invisible script. "I've been looking for you."
The woman's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You know my name, yet I know nothing of you. What are you?"
"He calls himself the Shadow," Lily interjected before Cid could launch into one of his monologues. "He fights the corrupted divinity of this realm, as do I."
Scáthach's attention turned briefly to Lily, assessing her with cold efficiency. "Artoria Pendragon, in her maiden form. Interesting." Her gaze returned to Cid. "But you... you are something else entirely. Neither Servant nor native to this realm."
With a casual gesture, she sent one of her spears hurling directly at Cid's heart—so fast that even Lily had trouble tracking it.
"No!" Lily cried, but her alarm was unnecessary.
Cid simply wasn't there when the spear arrived. He had moved—or perhaps he hadn't been there at all.
"Impressive," his voice came from behind Scáthach. "The legendary Gáe Bolg Alternative, delivered with killing intent. Not many could avoid a conceptual death strike."
Scáthach spun, genuine surprise registering on her face for just a moment before her mask of cold calculation returned. "How did you—"
"Shadow Protocol Number Three: Phantom Displacement," Cid said with utterly unearned confidence. "A technique that allows momentary existence outside the boundaries of conventional space."
In truth, he had simply activated his extraordinary reflexes and ducked at precisely the right moment, getting extraordinarily lucky. But in Erdtwilight, where belief shaped reality, the line between luck and supernatural ability had grown increasingly blurred for Cid.
Scáthach studied him for a long moment, then did something unexpected. She laughed—a short, sharp sound like a blade being unsheathed.
"Interesting," she said. "You move like a warrior who has transcended the boundaries of life and death, yet your eyes betray a different truth." She dismissed her spears with a wave. "You are either the greatest fraud I have ever encountered, or something far more dangerous."
Cid bowed with flourish. "The line between deception and truth is where a shadow thrives, Queen of the End."
"Don't call me that," Scáthach said sharply.
"But it's what you are," Cid replied without hesitation. "In your world, you were the warrior who could not die, who trained heroes to face their end while being denied your own. Here, in this broken realm where endings refuse to stick, you are their antithesis—the Queen who brings true finality."
Something flashed in Scáthach's eyes—recognition, perhaps, or alarm at being so thoroughly read.
"And you," she said, taking a step closer to Cid, her presence intimidating despite her smaller stature, "claim to know me based on legends from your world?"
"I know many things," Cid replied, maintaining his composure despite her proximity. "The Shadow's knowledge extends beyond conventional boundaries."
Scáthach's lips curved in what might have been amusement or contempt. "Let's test that knowledge, shall we?" She moved faster than sight, her hand grasping Cid's throat in an iron grip. "Tell me, Shadow, what do you know of the divine corruption that infects this realm? What do you know of the true nature of Erdtwilight's decay?"
Despite the pressure on his windpipe, Cid remained calm. "The gods died screaming," he said, his voice somehow unaffected by her grip. "Yet their power, bound to the fabric of reality itself, could not dissipate properly. Divine rot spreads from their corpses, infecting everything it touches, twisting the laws of nature, creating abominations from what once was pure."
Scáthach's grip tightened slightly. "And what do you propose to do about it, little shadow?"
"End it," Cid replied simply. "Administer the final death that the gods have been denied. Cut the threads that bind this realm to its half-existence."
"How?" she demanded.
"By finding those like you," Cid said. "Powerful beings from other realms, drawn here by the divine corpse in its death throes. United, we can reach the Hollow Throne at the center of all things, where the heart of corruption pulses."
Scáthach released him suddenly, stepping back. "Many have tried. All have failed. The divine rot prevents direct approach to the Hollow Throne."
"Those attempts lacked the Shadow's guidance," Cid declared, rubbing his throat casually as if her grip had been nothing more than a friendly pat.
"Your arrogance is remarkable," Scáthach observed, though there was a hint of something like admiration in her tone.
"It's not arrogance when backed by capability," Cid countered.
Scáthach turned her attention to Lily, who had been watching the exchange with tense readiness, Caliburn half-drawn. "And you, King of Knights? Do you also believe this... Shadow... can succeed where countless others have failed?"
Lily hesitated, then nodded. "I've witnessed strange things in his presence. Reality itself seems to bend around his convictions. In a realm where belief shapes what is possible..."
"Hmm," Scáthach mused. "Perhaps." She circled both of them slowly, her predatory grace never faltering. "I have walked the wastes of Erdtwilight for what feels like an eternity, seeking worthy challenges, seeking an end to this twilight stagnation. None have offered a convincing path forward." Her eyes locked with Cid's. "Until, perhaps, now."
"Join us," Cid suggested, extending a hand. "Queen of the End, lend your spear to our cause. Help us administer the final death that this realm requires."
Scáthach looked at his offered hand, then at Lily, then back to Cid. "I do not join causes easily, Shadow. But I will observe your methods for a time. If they prove worthy of my interest..." She left the implications hanging.
"Fair enough," Cid agreed. "The Shadow asks no more than a chance to prove his worth."
"Then you shall have it," Scáthach declared. "The Land of Endless Storms lies three days' journey north. I was headed there myself when I sensed your approach. Something stirs among the lightning—something that may be relevant to your quest."
"Then we travel together," Lily said, finally relaxing her grip on Caliburn.
Scáthach nodded once, curtly. "For now. But be warned—I tolerate neither weakness nor deception. Prove either, and our association ends immediately."
"The Shadow deals only in strength and hidden truths," Cid replied with theatrical gravity.
Scáthach's expression suggested she was already regretting her decision. "We'll see."
---
The journey north revealed new dynamics within their small group. Scáthach moved with lethal grace, often scouting ahead or vanishing entirely for hours before reappearing without explanation. Lily maintained a formal politeness with both companions, though Cid occasionally caught her watching him with puzzled fascination when she thought he wasn't looking.
As for Cid himself, he balanced his theatrical Shadow persona with genuine strategic thinking, analyzing the changing landscape, noting patterns in the divine corruption's manifestation, and studying his companions with careful attention to detail.
On the second night, as they made camp in the ruins of what might once have been a village (though the buildings now resembled misshapen cocoons more than dwellings), Scáthach approached Cid while Lily performed a perimeter check.
"Your act is impressive," she said without preamble. "But unconvincing to one who has lived as long as I have."
Cid looked up at her from where he sat sharpening his sword—an unnecessarily dramatic activity since the blade never seemed to dull, but one that suited his aesthetic. "What act would that be, Queen of the End?"
"This 'Shadow' performance," Scáthach replied, crouching to meet his eyes directly. "The theatrical gestures, the grandiose declarations, the affected mystique. It masks something else—something potentially more interesting."
Cid's hands stilled on his blade. "You think you see beneath the mask?"
"I know I do," Scáthach stated with cold certainty. "I've trained hundreds of warriors, Shadow. I recognize the difference between natural talent and hard-won skill. You possess both, but in strange proportions. Your reflexes are supernatural, yet your technique, while effective, lacks the refinement of true mastery."
Cid considered her words. "An interesting assessment."
"It wasn't a criticism," Scáthach clarified. "Merely an observation. Whatever you were before coming to Erdtwilight, you've adapted remarkably well to its peculiar laws." She leaned slightly closer. "This realm responds to belief—especially belief in oneself. And you, for all your theatrical nonsense, believe in yourself absolutely."
Cid met her gaze steadily. "Is that unusual?"
"Extremely," Scáthach replied. "Most beings harbor doubt, especially those with intelligence enough to recognize their limitations. You seem to have transcended that particular constraint."
"Perhaps I simply recognize different limitations than most," Cid suggested.
Scáthach's lips curved in a small, predatory smile. "Perhaps." She stood in a single fluid motion. "Train with me tomorrow, before we continue our journey. I wish to test your capabilities more thoroughly."
It wasn't a request. Cid inclined his head. "As the Queen commands."
Scáthach's expression flickered with annoyance at the title, but she said nothing more, moving away as Lily returned from her patrol.
"Everything quiet?" Cid asked as Lily joined him by the small fire they'd built.
"For now," she confirmed. "Though quiet in Erdtwilight usually precedes calamity."
"Cheerful assessment," Cid commented dryly.
Lily smiled slightly. "Reality, not pessimism. What did Scáthach want?"
"To test my skills tomorrow," Cid replied, returning to his sword sharpening. "I suspect she's not entirely convinced of my worth as an ally."
"She tests all who cross her path," Lily said. "It's her nature. Be careful—she won't hold back simply because we share a common goal."
Cid's eyes crinkled in that hidden smile. "The Shadow welcomes worthy challenges."
Lily shook her head slightly. "Your confidence is either your greatest strength or a fatal flaw. I haven't decided which yet."
"Why not both?" Cid suggested lightly.
Before Lily could respond, Scáthach's voice cut through the night. "Something approaches from the east. Prepare yourselves."
They rose immediately, weapons at the ready. The night had grown unnaturally still, the perpetual distant thunder of the Land of Endless Storms suddenly silent. Even the air seemed to thicken, becoming difficult to breathe.
"What is it?" Lily whispered, Caliburn glowing softly in her grip.
"Paleborn Beast," Scáthach replied, materializing beside them with Gáe Bolg in hand. "A large one, judging by the disturbance."
"Paleborn?" Cid repeated.
"Creatures born from divine leftovers," Scáthach explained tersely. "Crawling out of dead roots and corpses of avatars. Fur laced with thorn-vines, jaws that open like gateways. Their howling causes madness in weaker minds."
As if summoned by her description, a howl shattered the silence—a sound that seemed to contain layers of agony and rage, echoing unnaturally long after it should have faded.
Cid felt the sound attempt to worm its way into his mind, seeking purchase on his sanity. His absolute confidence in his own identity, however, provided unexpected armor against the mental assault.
"It's trying to disorient us," he observed. "Separate us mentally before attacking physically."
Scáthach shot him an appraising glance. "You resist its influence well."
"The Shadow's mind is his own," Cid replied simply.
The beast emerged from the darkness with surprising speed for its size. It resembled a wolf in the same way that a nightmare resembles a dream—recognizable in basic structure but twisted into something profoundly wrong. Its fur was white but veined with golden ichor that pulsed like infected blood vessels. Multiple jaws lined its elongated muzzle, each filled with teeth that seemed to move independently. Its eyes—all seven of them, arranged in an asymmetrical pattern across its face—glowed with malevolent intelligence.
"Don't look directly into its eyes," Scáthach warned. "They induce hallucinations."
The beast charged, covering the distance between them with impossible speed. Scáthach moved to intercept, Gáe Bolg flashing crimson in the dim light. The spear struck true, puncturing the creature's shoulder, but instead of blood, golden light erupted from the wound, and the beast didn't even slow its charge.
Lily stepped forward next, Caliburn swinging in a perfect arc that severed one of the beast's many limbs. Again, golden light poured from the wound, and the limb began to regenerate almost immediately, bone and sinew reforming before their eyes.
"It regenerates," Lily called out, dodging a swipe from the beast's massive paw. "Conventional wounds won't stop it!"
Cid observed the battle for a moment, noting how the golden ichor rushed to repair damage, how the beast's movements followed patterns despite its chaotic appearance. Then, with deliberate calm, he stepped directly into the creature's path.
"Cid!" Lily cried in alarm.
"What are you doing?" Scáthach demanded, readying another strike with Gáe Bolg.
Cid raised his sword, which suddenly seemed to absorb the ambient light around it, becoming a silhouette of perfect darkness. "Shadow Protocol: Void Cleaver," he announced, his voice carrying that strange weight that caused reality to shudder slightly.
The beast lunged for him, multiple jaws opening wide to reveal bottomless gullets that seemed to contain miniature universes of suffering. Cid moved—not with the supernatural speed of Scáthach or the perfect technique of Lily, but with a strange, almost discontinuous motion, as if he briefly existed in multiple locations simultaneously.
His sword struck, passing through the beast with no apparent resistance. For a moment, nothing happened. The beast turned, preparing to lunge again.
Then reality caught up with Cid's strike.
The Paleborn Beast separated into two perfect halves, divided by a line of absolute darkness that seemed to consume the golden ichor attempting to bridge the gap. The creature made no sound as it fell apart, its regenerative abilities nullified by whatever principle Cid's sword had momentarily embodied.
Silence fell over the battlefield. The beast's remains began to crystallize, turning to a substance like black glass before crumbling to dust that blew away on a wind that hadn't existed moments before.
Scáthach and Lily stared at Cid with expressions of near-identical shock.
"What," Scáthach finally said, her voice unnaturally tight, "was that?"
Cid flicked his sword casually, dispersing the darkness that had enveloped it. "Void Cleaver. It doesn't cut flesh or bone—it severs the connections between concepts. In this case, the concept of regeneration from the concept of existence."
"Impossible," Scáthach stated flatly. "Even the divine weapons of this realm cannot sever conceptual connections so cleanly."
Cid shrugged, sheathing his sword with theatrical precision. "The Shadow operates beyond conventional limitations."
Lily approached cautiously, studying the dissolving remains of the beast. "I've never seen anything like this. Even my Caliburn, which can cut through divine protections, couldn't prevent its regeneration."
"Your blade is divine in nature," Cid explained. "It operates within the system of rules established by divinity, even if at the highest levels of that system. The Void Cleaver exists outside that system entirely."
Scáthach moved closer to Cid, her expression unreadable. "Tomorrow's training has become significantly more interesting," she said softly. Then, louder: "We should move. Where one Paleborn hunts, others often follow."
As they gathered their minimal supplies and continued their journey through the night, Cid noticed a subtle shift in how his companions regarded him. Lily's puzzled fascination had deepened into something like awe, though she tried to conceal it behind her formal demeanor. Scáthach's cold assessment had transformed into intense curiosity, her eyes following his movements with predatory focus.
The Shadow persona, which had begun as elaborate fantasy and become comfortable habit, was now somehow more than either. In Erdtwilight, where belief shaped reality, Cid was becoming exactly what he had always pretended to be—and perhaps something more.
The realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.
## Chapter 3: The Burnt Saint's Fury
The Land of Endless Storms lived up to its name. Lightning flashed continuously among clouds that never moved, striking the same points over and over with mechanical precision. Thunder rolled across the landscape in waves that shook the ground beneath their feet. The air tasted of ozone and something else—something bitter and metallic, like blood mixed with battery acid.
"Divine wrath, frozen in its final moments," Cid observed as they approached the mountain range. "Neither dissipating nor fully manifesting."
"An astute observation," Scáthach acknowledged reluctantly. "The Storm was unleashed by Kephros, God of Justice, as he died. His final judgment upon a world he deemed unworthy of continuation."
"Charming fellow," Cid commented dryly.
"The gods of Erdtwilight were rarely charming," Scáthach replied. "Merely powerful and convinced of their right to rule."
"Like gods everywhere," Lily added quietly.
They picked their way through a landscape increasingly dominated by glass—ordinary rock and soil transformed by divine lightning into smooth, black surfaces that reflected the storm above in disorienting patterns. The going was treacherous, the glass often breaking underfoot to reveal chasms filled with crackling energy.
Three days of travel had changed their group dynamic subtly but significantly. The training session between Cid and Scáthach had proven illuminating for both. He had demonstrated abilities that defied conventional explanation—not through raw power or perfect technique, but through a strange relationship with reality itself. His movements sometimes left afterimages that weren't quite illusions, and occasionally objects around him responded to his will in ways that suggested telekinesis without actually being telekinesis.
For her part, Scáthach had pushed him to his limits and beyond, forcing adaptations that even Cid hadn't known he was capable of. What began as a test had evolved into something more complex—a dance between two beings who operated outside normal constraints, each fascinated by the other's approach to transcending limitations.
Lily had watched their exchanges with growing interest, occasionally joining their training sessions but more often observing, analyzing, integrating what she saw into her own understanding of this strange realm's rules.
Now, as they crested a ridge of black glass that cut like razors despite their caution, they beheld their destination: a massive cathedral built into the side of the tallest mountain, its spires twisted like tortured fingers reaching for the storm above. Golden ichor dripped from stained glass windows that depicted saints being consumed by their own halos.
"The Cathedral of Ashen Prayers," Scáthach announced. "Once the holiest site in Erdtwilight, now a monument to betrayed faith."
"It reeks of false divinity," Cid commented, his voice pitched low for maximum dramatic effect. "The gods died screaming, but their worshippers refused to stop praying. Now those prayers sustain fragments of broken divinity—like feeding blood to corpses in hopes they'll dance again."
Lily winced at the imagery but didn't disagree. "What are we seeking here?"
"Not what," Scáthach corrected, "who. The Burnt Saint dwells within—a spirit of vengeance and contradiction. A holy woman who became the embodiment of heretical rage."
"And you believe she'll assist us?" Lily asked skeptically.
"I believe she'll either assist us or try to kill us," Scáthach replied with disturbing nonchalance. "Either way, we'll have our answer."
Cid adjusted his cloak for maximum dramatic effect as they approached the cathedral. "The Shadow fears no saint, burnt or otherwise."
"Your confidence may be tested shortly," Scáthach warned, her tone lacking its usual edge. Was that concern in her voice? Surely not.
As they neared the massive doors, heat became palpable—not the gentle warmth of hearth fires, but the scorching blast of a forge stoked beyond safety. The doors themselves appeared to be made of blackened metal, twisted into scenes of torture and transcendence simultaneously.
Before they could decide how to proceed, the doors swung open with a groan of protesting metal. Heat billowed out in a wave that forced them back several steps. Standing in the doorway was a woman with pale hair and golden eyes that burned with hatred. Her armor was blackened as if charred, and dark flames licked at her fingertips. A tattered battle standard hung from a pole gripped in her right hand.
"More pilgrims come to die," she said, her voice raw with contempt. "Have you brought offerings for dead gods, or merely your own worthless lives?"
Cid stepped forward, his cloak billowing behind him despite the lack of wind—a trick he'd perfected through years of practice with hidden weights in the fabric.
"We bring neither, Burnt Saint," he declared. "For I am the Blackest Shadow That Burns What Heaven Forgot!"
The woman stared at him, momentarily speechless. Then her face contorted with fury.
"How dare you!" she snarled, black flames erupting around her. "I am Jeanne d'Arc Alter, the Dragon Witch, the Vengeance of a Saint Betrayed! I am the final judgment of false divinity!"
"Really?" Cid asked, with infuriating calm. "Because it looks to me like you're just burning the same cathedral over and over while the real corruption spreads unchecked through the world."
Jeanne Alter's flames surged higher. "You know nothing of my purpose!"
"I know everything about your purpose," Cid countered, taking another step forward. "You were created to destroy what betrayed you—to burn away the lies of salvation that led only to suffering. But in this world, you've been reduced to guarding a monument to the very powers you despise."
The flames around Jeanne Alter flickered uncertainly. "Who are you to judge me?"
"I am the Shadow," Cid replied simply. "And I see you clearly, Burnt Saint. Your rage is magnificent, but misaimed. The true enemies aren't these stone symbols—they're the fragments of divinity that refuse to die properly."
Jeanne Alter's eyes narrowed as she studied the strange man before her. Her gaze flicked briefly to his companions—Scáthach, whom she clearly recognized with a slight nod of acknowledgment, and Lily, whom she regarded with immediate distrust.
"You speak as if you have authority over gods," she said, attention returning to Cid.
"Not over gods," Cid corrected. "Over what comes after them. This world is trapped in an endless twilight because its divine powers refuse to complete their death cycle. I intend to help them finish what they started."
A bark of laughter escaped Jeanne Alter. "You? A mere human?"
"Test me," Cid suggested, spreading his arms wide. "Strike me with your holiest flame."
Lily stepped forward in alarm. "Cid, no!"
Scáthach merely watched, her expression calculating. She had seen enough of Cid's capabilities to be curious rather than concerned.
Jeanne Alter's expression turned vicious as she summoned a towering pillar of black flame and hurled it directly at Cid.
"Le Grondement de la Haine!" she cried out.
The flames engulfed Cid completely, so intense that even Scáthach stepped back from the heat. For a moment, Lily feared they had lost their unlikely leader to his own arrogance.
Then the flames parted like a curtain, revealing Cid standing untouched, his expression hidden behind his high collar.
"Impressive theatrics," he commented. "But your flames cannot harm the Shadow. I exist in the void where light and heat cannot reach."
In truth, he had activated a combination of his extraordinary reflexes and what he now recognized as reality manipulation—willing the flames to pass around rather than through him, a feat made possible by Erdtwilight's unique responsiveness to his absolute self-belief.
Jeanne Alter stared in disbelief. "Impossible."
"Nothing is impossible for the Shadow," Cid declared. Then, his voice softening almost imperceptibly, he added: "I don't need a reason to destroy false gods. But if I had one... it'd be you."
The flames around Jeanne Alter dimmed slightly, though the fury in her eyes remained.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"This world has forgotten what true vengeance looks like," Cid said, his voice carrying that strange weight that caused reality to shudder. "It needs to be reminded that rage can be righteous—that destruction can be divine in its own way."
He extended a hand toward her. "Join us, Burnt Saint of Ruined Thrones. Help me administer the last rites to dying divinity."
Jeanne Alter looked at his offered hand, then at Lily and Scáthach standing behind him.
"You travel with a Knight of the Round," she observed, her tone making the title sound like an insult. "And the Queen of Shadows. Strange companions for one who claims to stand against divinity."
"I stand against corrupt divinity," Cid clarified. "Not against those with the power to challenge it. The Holy Blade and the Queen of the End share our purpose—to end this world's suffering, one way or another."
"And if I refuse?" Jeanne Alter challenged.
Cid shrugged. "Then continue burning this empty cathedral while the real war happens elsewhere. It's your choice."
For a long moment, Jeanne Alter stood frozen in indecision, black flames flickering around her form like a dark halo. Then, with a snarl of frustration, she grasped Cid's hand.
"I hate you," she declared.
"I know," Cid replied, utterly unfazed. "But you'll hate the false gods more."
As they turned to leave the cathedral—which burst into spectacular black flames behind them, Jeanne Alter's parting gift to her former prison—Scáthach moved closer to