Into the Wolf's den

*Ostiarium*

The Misty Ward of Ostiarium was cloaked in the fog that rolled in from the sea every evening. It was here, in the harm, but spartan Rectory, that Voah waited. The small house had been her refuge for the last few hours, but it felt more like a cage. Every creak of the wooden floorboards or distant voice carried the weight of judgment, reminding her of the peril she now faced in Ostiarium. The other acolytes gave her a wide birth. They had no love for the edicts of the Purger but she was an heretic after all.

She sat near the hearth, her form concealed beneath a heavy hood and scarf, the faint flicker of the dying embers casting her shadow against the stone walls. Her fingers brushed the scarred table beneath her hands, the same hands that once held the authority of an Inquisitor, now marked with the brand of heresy. She could only imagine the moment when The Purger, seething and uncompromising, had publicly declared her a traitor to the faith. It wasn't just exile that had followed, but a bounty on her head. She had done the same to others before.

The door creaked open. Sir Zane entered quietly, his armour muted but still carrying the weight of his status as a Knight of Salos, the very symbol of order and authority in the colony. His face, calm and composed, gave away little of the struggle he had surely faced in the Duke's court.

"The Duke will see you now," Sir Zane said, his voice a steady rumble that cut through the oppressive silence of the Rectory.

Voah exhaled slowly. She had half expected him to retunr with worse news, that her audience had been denied, or worse, that the Purger had called for her execution on the spot. Yet, here he was, her only remaining ally in the city, ready to escort her through the streets that now view her with hatred.
"How did it go?" she asked, pulling the hood tighter over her head, her eyes downcast.

"Not as smoothly as I had hoped," Zane admitted, "but the Duke is willing to listen. The Purger..." he left it hang in the iar.

The mention of the man's name sent a shiver down Voah’s spine. She recalled her last encounter with both men, none had any reason to tolerate her much. Now, as they prepared to walk towards Stoneshade Keep, the thought of facing both the Duke and the Purger in the same room felt like stepping into a lion's den.

"Let's not delay," Zane said, and together they stepped out into the night.

The streets were quieter now, though the usual hase of mist clung to the buildings and cobbled paths. Voah kept her face obscured, moving swiftly by Zane's side. The weight of her situation bore down heavily with each step.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the fabric of her hood brushing against her skin as she kept her head low. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the posters nailed to stone walls—her face sketched in sharp, accusing lines, the word "heretic" emblazoned beneath. Each image was a stark reminder of her status, a symbol of the hate she had picked because of love. She knew all too well that there were many within Ostiarium who would relish the chance to see her brought down, to claim the reward for her capture.
As they passed a small group of townspeople, her breath caught in her throat. One man glanced their way, his eyes lingering for a moment. Voah felt the icy grip of fear in her stomach, certain that recognition would dawn at any moment. But Sir Zane’s steady, unhurried pace, and his quiet aura of authority, seemed to deflect any lingering attention. He led her through the streets as if they were on a routine mission, his calm, pragmatic demeanor a lifeline she clung to.
"You've done well to survive this long. lass," Zane said quietly, his voice only for her ears.
"I had no choice," Voah replied, her tone edged with a mix of bitterness and resignation. "The desert teaches you that. You survive, or you die. And death... wasn't ready for me yet."
Zane gave a soft grunt of agreement. "You will need that strength tonight. The Duke is a pragmatic man, but The Purger… he’s waiting for a reason to strike you down."
Voah swallowed hard. She had always been prepared to face the consequences of her actions, but the thought of standing before the Purger again, knowing how deep his hatred ran, filled her with a dread that was hard to shake.
As they neared Stoneshade Keep, the massive fortress loomed above them, its red walls piercing the mist, dark and foreboding against the night sky. The thick walls were lit by the faint glow of torches, and the sound of boots echoed as guards patrolled the perimeter. Every step toward the Keep felt heavier, the weight of the moment pressing down on Voah as the night deepened.
At the foot of the Keep's grand staircase, Sir Zane paused for a brief moment, glancing at Voah. "Remember," he said, his voice low and firm. "You've faced worse than this. And will face even worse when that horde descends on us all. The Moon Mother is with us."

Voah nodded, though her heart raced, her pulse a pumped with of fear and anticipation. She pulled her hood tighter around her face as they ascended the steps. Despite her efforts to remain composed, she could not ignore the gaze of the guards at the gate or the whisper of suspicion that seemed to hang in the air. Sooner or later she would be revealled to all.
Finally, the heavy wooden doors insde the Keep groaned open, revealing the austere hall within. Not much had changed she her last visit. She recalled the Festival of Hoi, a year ago on the month of her arrival. So much had changed. It was vast, lined with tapestries and banners of Salo's crest. Torches flickered on the walls, casting long shadows that danced across the stone floor. At the far end of the hall sat Duke Stoneshade, a stern but intelligent man, looked at the roaring fireplace, his back towards them.

And there, sitting near the flames, not far from the Duke, was The Purger.
Voah’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. His cold red eyes were locked on her, his presence a looming shadow in the room. She felt the weight of his hatred and judgment before a word had been spoken. The light of the fire seemed to dance across his albino skin and his shaved head, giving him an almost demonic visage.
Sir Zane stepped forward, his posture respectful, though his presence carried the unmistakable aura of command. His hand at the hilt of his sword. Voah followed, her steps careful and deliberate. The path forward was set, and with each passing second, she knew that her fate would soon be decided in this very hall. And maybe the fate of the city. She drew her hood back.
Duke Stoneshade’s gaze fell on her, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

And so, Voah’s reckoning had arrived.