It was unknown how much time had passed, in a pce where change was a rare event, the passing of days and years difficult to perceive, but the tranquility remained uneventful until the sound of footsteps sounded again from the depths of the mountain.

  Saint turned his gaze, more out of habit than desire. Beside him, the shadow of his master flinched, unexpectedly moved by the stranger's arrival.

  From between the jagged edges of the ptform, the figure of a stone doll rose. Beautiful like all Nether creations, but bearing the mark of imperfection typical of his father's mistakes.

  A feeling of contempt emerged in his heart.

  The broken doll looked around, seemingly studying each of them closely, its cold stone eyes glowing with a strange white fme, sharper than they should have been.

  The broken doll remained silent for a few moments, observing the heavy door and the imposing knight with a glimmer of interest that soon faded with resignation. With a silver sword drawn, she advanced with firm steps until she stood before the fearsome stone army.

  “Warriors…” Her voice began, not beautiful, not imposing, but like the whisper of wind against rock. “True darkness has emerged. With a force to devour all and a malice to accomplish it. My brothers and sisters have been the first to suffer its malice, and we have survived only in the face of its apparent boredom.”

  She paused for a moment, as if waiting for someone to respond, but she received only silence and indifference in reply. Even Saint, who had initially been drawn to that spark in the broken doll's eyes, returned to her state of indifference. Only the shadow of her master remained attentive, trembling with suppressed emotions.

  With a sigh, the broken doll continued.

  “The threat grows with each day, and the darkness will soon swallow up the entire legacy the Nether left behind. Give me your aid, and let's end this before it's too te…”

  Her words seemed to echo off the cavern walls, carrying an unspoken weight, but indifference and apathy drowned out the vain attempt to get the attention of the little stone army.

  The broken doll stared at the motionless group for a long time before turning and leaving. Her gait was dignified and showed no sign of shame or defeat.

  So once again, silence returned to her little world.

  …

  How many times had it been? Saint wondered with disinterest. The mere fact that a stray thought had been born in her mind was a rare occurrence, but doubt had perpetuated her thoughts.

  Six, ten, or maybe twenty times since that broken doll had appeared? That imperfection's futile attempts hadn't stopped since they began, trying different approaches and different words in an attempt to provoke some reaction from the stone warriors. But the results were always the same: absolute indifference.

  Whether they were words filled with hope, attempts to appeal to compassion, or ignite the fmes of fury, the mention of their purpose, the dangers, or even insults to their own patron deity, they showed not a single sign of emotion. As if the beings that poputed that abyss had truly succumbed to Shadows' embrace long ago.

  Saint sometimes paid some attention to the broken doll's speeches, for no specific reason. Sometimes she looked at it with disgust, sometimes with contempt, and other times with simple indifference. But more and more, a faint thread of emotion drove her to await the arrival of that strange being.

  It was with the sound of muffled footsteps that the figure of the broken doll returned. But this time, it was different. Her already imperfect body was shattered, with cracks that shone with a soft, white glow. The shining silver sword seemed to have dulled. And her eyes, once full of strength and sharpness, seemed tired. Like a fme about to go out, the brilliance of the broken doll seemed to burn with despair.

  Saint tilted his head in confusion. How had they extinguished that fme?

  Meanwhile, the broken doll stood once more before the little stone army, its eyes burning with pain and fury.

  "You... You damn idiots!" Starting as a murmur, her voice rose sharply.

  "What do you think you're waiting for? An opportunity that will never come? That your father will return to show you where you should go? That some god will tell you to act like living beings?!"

  Her sword struck a rock, throwing sparks and stone fragments to the ground.

  “They don't seem like warriors to me, they don't even seem like living beings. Those imperfect beings you seem to despise so much are far better than you could ever be. They who have nothing, who struggle to obtain something. They who feel loneliness and pain and can support others. They are truly living beings. I don't care what the spell and the gods say. Nether left behind its true creation... and when you all disappear, I want you to remember that the world will lose nothing, because you were never part of it.”

  Her eyes shone with venom. With barely contained resentment. They weren't words meant to move anyone or to finally provoke a reaction. They were simply words of relief, aimed at releasing the pressure that had fallen on that forgotten doll.

  With heavy footsteps, the figure with the broken doll disappeared, now without the dignity that characterized it.

  The world fell silent again, and the army remained motionless, unchanged, or at least except for one.

  Still, next to the figure of hundreds of her kind. The eyes of a statue taller than the others glowed with crimson fire. The shadows around her, even though she didn't get close, danced furiously. For the first time in too long, Saint took a step forward.