the warped: Fragments of eternity

The next day had come and the group moved cautiously through Ragnar. The bustling town nestled on the edge of the dark sea. On the surface, it seemed lively—merchants hawking their wares, civilians bartering with casino coins, and children weaving through the crowded streets. But beneath the surface, a heavy unease clung to the air like an invisible fog.

"This place feels... off," Kieran muttered, his shield strapped to his back as his eyes scanned the bustling crowd.

"It's not like the safe zone," Rowan added, gripping her spear tightly. "People here are moving, sure, but no one's really living. It's like they've given up and just don't know it yet."

Aiden's gaze wandered to a market stall where civilians exchanged the same gleaming casino coins they'd seen in Capone's lair. He frowned, his chest tightening. "These coins—" he began, turning to Kieran, who nodded grimly.

"Yeah, I see it too. Capone's influence runs deeper than we thought."

Sylva floated beside them, her light subdued. "The Core's tendrils are vast, and its agents often work in ways we don't expect. But we must focus. Darya is this fragment's protector, and we should trust her."

"Trust her?" Rowan snapped, her voice low but sharp. "She's clearly in bed with the wrong people, Sylva. Look around. This place reeks of something rotten."

"She's still one of my chosen," Sylva replied, her tone steady but tinged with defensiveness. "The choices a protector makes are not always easy to understand. We should gather more information before passing judgment."

Kieran nodded, his expression unreadable. "I agree. But I don't like what I'm seeing. Let's keep our eyes open and learn everything we can."

In a dimly lit chamber deep within the town, Darya stood before an imposing figure cloaked in shadow. The Sentinel's presence filled the room, oppressive and suffocating. His glowing crimson ring pulsed in rhythm with the dark energy swirling around him, and his voice, deep and resonant, seemed to come from everywhere at once.

""You ask for much, Darya," the Sentinel rumbled, his words sharp with unspoken threat. "Fewer offerings to the sea mean less sustenance for the Core."

Darya's fingers curled tighter around the edge of her Victorian-style fan. She masked her rising heart rate with a slow, practiced breath. "The people are on edge. Push too hard, and they'll break. You don't want chaos, do you? Let me manage them my way, and I'll ensure you get what you need without drawing attention."

The Sentinel's eyes narrowed, glowing embers in a sea of pitch. His aura pressed against her like a phantom hand on her throat. "And what will you offer in exchange for this... leniency?"

Her throat tightened. She knew this part was coming. It always did. Her gaze flicked toward the coins resting on a silver tray at the table beside her—three stacks taller than they were last week. They shimmered faintly with that familiar casino glow, each one heavier than it had any right to be. Symbols of survival. Proof of her control.

Her control… right?

"I've already given you much," Darya said, forcing her voice into the same calm, even tone she used when addressing her people. "But if you insist on more, then one of my heroes will suffice." Her jaw tensed as she said it, the words sharp and bitter on her tongue. One of my heroes. My most trusted ally. My sword and shield.

Her thoughts stumbled on the face of one person in particular. Amara. She fought to crush that thought, smother it before it grew roots. Don't hesitate. Don't think. You're doing what must be done.

The Sentinel's laughter filled the room like thunder rolling in the distance, slow and rumbling. "You gamble well, Darya. Very well. But know this—failure will not be tolerated."

The glow of his ring flared brighter, casting sharp crimson lines on her face. For a moment, her shadow stretched long behind her, distorting into something unfamiliar—her silhouette twisted into something monstrous. She blinked hard and stepped back, but the image lingered in her mind.

The room grew colder as his presence receded, shadows slithering back into the cracks of the stone walls. Darya's shoulders loosened, her fan lowering just an inch as her breath escaped slowly. Her eyes flicked to the coins once more, their glow gentle but sickening in its persistence. Her fingers hovered over one stack.

It's for them. Her hand hovered but didn't move. For their protection. For their future.

Her fingers pressed down on one of the coins, feeling its cold weight. Her hands trembled as she gripped the coin tighter, her nails biting into her palm. Her gaze hardened.

This is what a protector does, she told herself. This is what it means to bear the burden alone.

"All for the greater good," she whispered, the words hollow as the clang of steel on stone. You have to believe it. If you don't believe it, they'll see through you.

Her hands trembled as she gripped her Victorian-style fan, its intricate patterns hiding blades sharp enough to cut through steel. "All for the greater good," she murmured to herself one last time, though the words rang hollow.

The central square was filled with murmurs and anxious glances. Civilians huddled together, whispering prayers and clinging to loved ones. On the raised platform at the center, Darya stood tall, her elegant Victorian-style gown swaying gently in the breeze. She exuded calm authority, her poised demeanor commanding attention. Beside her stood Amara, a sniper rifle strapped across her back, her expression stoic but uneasy.

Aiden's eyes lingered on the rifle. He recognized it as a heroic weapon, its faint glow a testament to Amara's bond with light. The sight of it beside Darya only deepened his unease.

The bell tolled, its mournful sound echoing through the town and silencing the chatter of the marketplace. People stopped in their tracks, their faces pale as they turned toward the central square. The group followed the crowd, tension coiling in their chests as they reached the gathering.

Darya raised her voice, projecting calm authority. "Citizens of Ragnar, the time has come to defend our town once more. The lottery ensures that we remain strong in the face of the darkness, that we may protect our home and our families."

Kieran's jaw tightened. "It's worse than that. Look at her. She doesn't believe a word she's saying."

Sylva's light flickered. "She's trying to protect them in her own way..."

Rowan shook her head, her voice low with anger. "Sylva, open your eyes. She's no protector—she's a tyrant."

Darya stepped forward, her voice smooth and confident. "My dear citizens," she began, her tone warm but firm, "today we fulfill our duty to this fragment. The lottery is not a punishment—it is a sacrifice we make for the greater good."

Her words were met with tense silence. Some nodded reluctantly, others looked away, their faces pale.

Aiden leaned toward Rowan. "Sacrifice?" he whispered. "What does she mean by that?"

"We're about to find out," Rowan muttered darkly, her fingers tightening on her spear.

Darya gestured toward a large brass bowl on the platform, filled with slips of parchment. Amara hesitated, then stepped forward and began drawing names. One by one, she called them out, her voice steady despite the growing tension.

As each name was read, the chosen individuals cried out, their protests echoing through the square. Some begged, others tried to run, but the guards moved swiftly, dragging them toward a caged wagon at the edge of the platform.

Aiden's stomach churned. "This isn't right," he said, his voice low but urgent.

Kieran's expression darkened. "We cant do anything yet, everyone stay calm."

the final names were called. Aiden, Rowan, and Kieran watched as the chosen civilians were dragged toward the wagon, their screams piercing the tense silence.

"This is insane," Rowan said, her voice shaking with barely contained anger. "We can't just stand here and let this happen."

"Not yet," Kieran said, his tone low but firm. "We need more information. Charging in now could put everyone at risk."

Darya stepped forward again, raising her hands to quiet the crowd. "To those who were chosen," she said, her voice smooth and practiced, "know that your sacrifice will protect this town and all who call it home. You are heroes."

At her words, Amara's eyes widened. She turned toward Darya, realization dawning. "No," she whispered, stepping back. "You can't mean me."

Darya's expression softened, but her tone was unyielding. "It is necessary, Amara. You understand that."

Amara shook her head, her hands trembling as she reached for her rifle. "You're sacrificing me to that thing? After everything we've done?"

Before she could raise her weapon, Darya's fan snapped open, glowing faintly with the light before a burst of dark energy. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a wave of force toward Amara, knocking the rifle from her hands. Amara stumbled, but she didn't fall. Her instincts kicked in, and she lunged for her weapon.

The two women clashed, Darya's fan weaving intricate patterns of energy as she blocked Amara's strikes. The sniper fought fiercely, her movements precise and desperate, but Darya's experience and calculated ruthlessness gave her the upper hand.

With a final strike, Darya sent Amara sprawling to the ground. The rifle skidded out of reach, and the guards moved in to restrain her. Amara struggled, her voice raw with betrayal. "Darya, please! Don't do this!"

Darya's expression remained calm, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps, or resolve. "Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," she said quietly.

As Amara was dragged toward the wagon, the bell tolled again, marking the end of the lottery. The chosen civilians sobbed, their pleas fading as the gates of the wagon slammed shut.

Aiden watched in stunned silence, his fists clenched. "We can't let this continue," he said, his voice trembling with anger.

"We won't," Kieran said, his jaw tight. "But we need to be smart about it."

Sylva floated beside them, her glow dim. "Darya is still a protector. There is more to this than we can see."

"Yeah," Rowan muttered, her voice hard. "And I don't like what we're seeing."

The wagon creaked as it rolled away, the chosen civilians screaming inside. The crowd dispersed slowly, their faces etched with fear and despair.

As the group turned to leave, Aiden glanced at the glowing coins in a nearby merchant's hand. The faint symbol of the casino gleamed mockingly back at him.

"Whatever's happening here," he said quietly, "it's all connected."