Lea sank into the unfamiliar softness of the bed, letting the fine sheets swallow her for the first time in weeks. Her back pressed into the mattress, her head pillowed in clouds of down, and she let out a quiet, almost ashamed sigh.

  "This... this is fancy.", she murmured, letting her fingers trace the intricate embroidery of the bedspread, "I've never... rested like this."

  Her eyes drifted to the polished wood of the headboard, the carved patterns of vines and mythical beasts, and the faint scent of vender lingering in the room. It was... overwhelming. She felt both out of pce and indulgently alive.

  Yet her thoughts quickly turned dark.

  "The Third Step...", she whispered to herself, tightening her grip on the parasol leaning against the nightstand. The goal loomed in her mind... drive someone to the point of suicide. She wasn't done yet.

  Her mind ran over possibilities. Corrupt noble families, politicians hiding behind veils of w, merciless merchants exploiting the weak. Every candidate she imagined felt distant, unreachable, and yet she knew she needed the right target. Someone whose ruin would resonate enough to satisfy the ritual.

  Lea groaned softly, "Ugh... It's not just about finding them. I can't do it alone."

  She begrudgingly acknowledged the truth: if she wanted to complete this Step, she needed access—contacts, influence, the kind of reach she didn't have in a foreign country. And the one person who could grant her that access... Auger.

  Lea rolled onto her side, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts bitter, "I hate needing him. I really hate it. But... fine. He has the connections. He knows people. If I'm going to make this ritual happen... I have to use him."

  Her golden light flickered faintly across the room as her resolve hardened, "Akasha Monodrama is my enemy. That woman will wait. But first... I have to walk this path. And if that means leaning on Count Maxwell's... resources, then so be it."

  Lea pressed her palms into the mattress, letting the luxury around her contrast with the ruthlessness of the pn forming in her mind. Fancy sheets, warm pillows... and yet, her heart was sharpening, preparing for the darkness she must unleash.

  She sat up slightly, letting her fingers curl around the handle of Hastur. Even in this softness, she could feel the weight of her ambition, the duality of comfort and cruelty.

  "Alright.", she muttered, lips tight, "Let's see what this world can really do for me... and what I can do to it."

  The parasol gleamed faintly in the moonlight, waiting silently as if it understood the storm brewing in its wielder's mind.

  Lea closed her eyes and let herself rest, even if just for a little while, knowing that tomorrow, the real pnning and the real darkness, would begin.

  =0=0=

  The northern wind bit into Priest Frayman's skin as he thrashed through the icy waves, each stroke leaving him numb and gasping. Saintess Olivier, sitting unflinchingly on her skiff beside him, looked like a vision carved from moonlight, golden eyes calm, robe perfectly still despite the storm-tossed sea.

  Priest Frayman swallowed hard, gncing at her, "Y-Your... Eminence... we could... take the boat... or anything else... swimming... really?"

  His teeth chattered, partly from cold, partly from the sheer unease that gnawed at him.

  She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes followed him like twin suns, unnervingly steady, "Discipline is necessary, Priest Frayman."

  Her voice was calm, precise, almost pleasant... and yet it made his stomach churn. "Madness does not forgive weakness."

  He shivered, spshing water into his face in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts.

  Every measured motion, every word... carefully designed to unnerve him.

  "I... I'm trying, Your... Eminence!", He kicked harder against the relentless current , "This is... cruel, even for the Pilgrimage!"

  Her golden eyes never wavered, "Survival and faith are two sides of the same coin, Priest Frayman."

  She flicked her wrist subtly, and the waves shifted, nudging him forward, "Consider this practical training."

  His heart pounded so violently he feared she could hear it. Each stroke was a battle against exhaustion, against hypothermia, and against the gnawing sense that one wrong move, or one moment of weakness, would earn her disappointment.

  And for someone like her, disappointment could be... painful. He was lucky his chosen Paths augmented his body better than anything.

  Hours ter, the northern coast finally loomed as a jagged ribbon of frost-coated cliffs. Priest Frayman's lungs screamed for air, every muscle trembling, yet he forced himself forward.

  Saintess Olivier stepped onto the shore before him with effortless grace. He felt like a child being examined by a being that could destroy him for sport, or worse, toy with his mind.

  "Next time, anticipate the challenges, Priest Frayman.", she said, calm as a still ke, voice carrying over the waves like a whisper from beyond, "The ocean will not always be forgiving."

  He coughed, shaking water from his hair, his legs threatening to colpse, "Y-Yes... Your... Eminence."

  He stammered, trying to keep his composure. A Sixth Step Pathstrider, a Cardinal... the things she's done... and she watches me like this... His thoughts raced in panic.

  She tilted her head slightly, evaluating him. The weight of her gaze pressed down on him like a physical force, and he realized, with a shudder, that this was only the beginning.

  Even now, drenched, freezing, and trembling, he felt he had already failed in some fundamental way, failed to meet the expectations of a being who saw everything he did as trivial.

  Finally, his feet hit solid ground, and the Saintess followed, stepping as if the earth itself respected her presence.

  "Rest... briefly.", she murmured, golden eyes fixed on him, "Then we move to the Throne of Blood."

  Priest Frayman sank to his knees, shivering, heart racing not from the cold, but from the unnerving certainty that Saintess Olivier was enjoying this.

  And he knew, with a cold dread, that swimming across the ocean at her insistence was only the first act in a series of trials designed to break him, mentally and physically.

  =0=0=

  Lea found herself pacing one of the endless corridors of the so-called manor. The air was still, the sconces lit with steady fme, and every wall hung with ndscapes, maps, or curiosities Auger had gathered over centuries. No portraits, no heraldry, no carved visages of dead lords.

  Because there were none.

  Zangrill had no ancestors, no family tree to weigh upon its master. The fiefdom had existed long before the current age, and Auger had held it since the st Era. He was the beginning and end of its legacy, the only name etched into its history.

  Lea's hand tightened around the parasol. Third Step. The requirement gnawed at her every waking moment... drive someone to suicide, unseen and unknown. A cruel condition, yet a necessary one.

  But the truth was bitter; she couldn't do it alone.

  Jaw set, she stopped before the heavy oak door of Auger's study. She could hear the faint scratching of a quill, the rustle of parchment, and once, the gentle clink of gss against wood. He was always working. Always calcuting.

  She lifted her hand, hesitated, then knocked.

  "Enter.", his voice called, deep and unhurried.

  Lea pushed the door open. Auger sat behind his desk, hunched slightly over his ledgers. At his side leaned his cane, a silent reminder of power condensed into something so deceptively pin. He didn't look up at first, but she could feel his attention shift all the same. He always knew.

  "What is it, Lea?", His tone carried faint amusement, "You've got the look of someone about to confess a crime, or commit one."

  Her brows twitched.

  "I need your help.", she said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her, "It's about my Path's next Step."

  Auger leaned back, fingers steepled, "Ah, Advancement. The curse of every Pathstrider."

  His crimson eyes glinted, "Tell me, what condition has Fate chained to your ankle this time?"

  Lea swallowed, hating the words even as she spoke them, "I must drive someone to suicide... without them ever knowing it was me."

  Silence fell, heavy as stone. Auger didn't flinch, didn't frown; he only studied her, as if weighing her soul on some invisible scale. Then, finally, a low chuckle slipped free.

  "Delightful.", he murmured, "And you've come to me because... You ck the reach? Or the subtlety?"

  Lea's grip on the parasol whitened her knuckles.

  "Both.", she admitted.

  Auger's smile curved, sharp as a knife, "So the Avenger admits she needs a Hero to make someone commit suicide? Refreshing."

  Her gaze hardened, "You're the only one with the connections. The only one who can point me to someone who deserves it."

  "Deserves it...", he echoed, almost savoring the word. Then he ughed softly, "Lea, in Ryteline, the noble houses are filled with pigs fattened on blood and coin. Half of them would drink poison gdly if it meant leaving their debt behind. The trick, my dear, is choosing the right one. One whose absence won't spark storms I'd rather not weather."

  She looked away. It burned, needing him like this. Depending on his centuries of rule, his web of influence. But her Path demanded it.

  Finally, she muttered, "So will you help me?"

  Auger leaned forward, cane sliding into his hand. His eyes glowed faintly, the weight of centuries behind them, the weight of a man who had seen countless lives rise and fall within the palm of his hand.

  "Of course, Lea.", he said, smooth as ever, "But remember this, Third Steps are never clean for the Annihition Series. They leave scars that stay long after the victim is gone."

  But as an Avenger, Lea knows that would not be the case. Righteousness and unrelenting pursuit of justice, to transform a curse into something better...