The next time Saint opened her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar pce. One moment, she found herself crossing the strange portal at the top of the mountain, and then finding herself deep within it.

  There, darkness and silence reigned. Judging by Shifting Star's words, she must have been transported into the memory of a past event, with the goal of resolving the conflict and earning the right to ascend. However, uncertainty was already great from the start.

  Knowledge about the so-called second nightmare was already scarce, and there was no guarantee that the spell would recognize her, but not only that. They were supposed to inhabit someone else's identity and body, but she remained the same... or maybe not.

  Looking at herself more closely, she found slight differences in her armor. Slight ornaments had changed, and the dark hue she had previously dispyed was no longer as deep. She was the same inside, but not entirely the same outside. She inhabited the body of another of her sisters.

  Resolutely, Saint took a step forward, scanning her surroundings carefully. In her right hand, an intact stone sword materialized, while in her left, a heavy, round copper shield gripped tightly around her arm.

  She could recognize the pce, even if her memories were scattered and clouded by the centuries spent under the effects of the horrible corruption. It was one of Nether's strongholds, the main one, where her father managed to refine a being of perfect life. The Stone Warriors.

  The memory touched her more than she expected, as if she felt genuine happiness at returning home. But she strangled that feeling instantly, allowing nothing to affect her mind.

  At her feet, the shadow of her master crept cautiously, enveloping her body and strengthening its power.

  The walls, the floor, and everything around her showed no signs of life, nor of Nether's vaunted craftsmanship, but she was aware of her father's practicality. If she didn't consider a matter important, she wouldn't bother changing it, but if it was a matter of interest to her, she wouldn't stop until she achieved the perfect result.

  Before long, the fearsome statue, now without the weaver's mask, reached a rger chamber, where the uneven stone floor was repced by a cobbled surface of the same material.

  Around her, gigantic stone columns rose into the sky, carrying torches of perpetual blue fire. Shadows danced slowly, as if afraid of being discovered by something else.

  The pce was completely silent, as if she were the only one alive in the world… but she wasn't. Around her, hundreds, if not perhaps miles, of stone figures rested motionless in the gloom. They were an army of stone, the children of Nether.

  She had found her people, a part of the heart of the demon army of the underworld. Her eyes shone with a magenta light. Interest sprang up in her heart, soon to be consumed by cold indifference.

  These warriors were nothing more than illusions of Weavel's spell, and even if they were real, it would be of no concern to them. Each of them had been born with the purpose of ending the war and achieving perfection. She herself, along with a hundred-year-old of her brothers, followed one of her seven transcendent generals with that purpose, entering where a fallen angel had consumed the light of her star.

  Her legs never stopped, ignoring her companions as she ignored them. Among the ranks were warriors, some reflecting their former appearance, others like her former companions. It was like an army of lifeless, emotionless clones, all facing in the same direction.

  Beyond all gazes, a massive bck iron gate rose embedded in the mountain, with intricate carvings alluding to some unknown battle. Heavy, gigantic chains kept them closed, but a faint light filtered through their edges as if a fme still burned within.

  It was impressive and terrifying, making the air itself feel more oppressive, but for her and everyone else, its meaning was different. On the other side of that door, y Nether's workshop. The origin of her life.

  Finally, in front of the door, the familiar figure of an imposing bck knight loomed with a vast presence. It was the bck knight from the cathedral… but different. Now cking the madness, but, more importantly, the imperfection that pgued the copy. This was the true warrior from whom that being was molded.

  Their steps halted, oppressed by a feeling completely natural. They were proud warriors, whose greatest thrill y in fulfilling the purpose entrusted to them. They had been created to achieve perfection. To that end, they had followed their father's teachings, and the strongest had led their own in search of trials to surpass their own strength.

  Those who remained were those who waited for that same opportunity. For their father to open that heavy door and point their way forward. So, they waited, she waited.

  The light in her eyes weakened, and her movements ceased. The shadows that accompanied her became disturbed with panic, then were expelled from her body. Only the shadow of her master remained, clinging to her own shadow with a worried expression.

  Her mind remained calm, and her heart as still as a frozen pond. Now, she had truly returned.