For Tristessa, the first minutes after nightfall had become a precious calm before a storm that would never come. Now that she didn't have to worry about being hunted by an extra-dimensional dark knightess, she could close her eyes as the last rays of sunlight faded and wait for nothing to happen. A moment of peace, a breath of fresh air for her troubled soul.

Back in the room of Bolton & Barker Inn, she opened the window and leaned against the edge. Watching Entrana embrace the nightlife by turning on the thaumaturgically energized streetlights, and the military presence taking over every urban road in the epilogue of that last day of the week.

The squad patrolling the street at that moment consisted of a troll—or better known as a Gigas in Nekrom—wearing black steel plates on his limbs and carrying a large war-hammer, escorted by three dragoons: three soldiers wearing light armor, with rifles slung over their shoulders and mounted on large aracrosses that also wore armor to protect their front legs and heads.

"…Vergil wasn't very happy in the stable," the girl thought as she watched those aracrosses pass by, meters below. "Poor thing, he misses his mom so much."

And by mom, she meant herself, after having forced Severus to go with her to visit Vergil at the stable. They ended up being tackled by that black-furred aracross with a burning, affectionate tongue.

Tristessa considered that perhaps she had had a pet on Earth, as she didn't realize how much she had missed the beast's company until she had its heavy weight on top of her and copious amounts of saliva showered on her face.

"A dog, or a cat? Or something more unusual, like a terrarium?"

It was a daily occurrence, the disappointment of thinking about the past and finding emptiness, even when there was a small thread of insight to cling to. Whether it was memories of her mother in prison, the owners of those voices that wandered in the shadows of her mind, or more mundane details about ordinary life, there was little or nothing to solidify a coherent judgment.

And the worst part was that, with her mind palace invaded by the abnormal frost, she couldn't put it to the use she would have liked now that she didn't have to worry about the Dullahan. It was a matter of opening the door and being pinned against the table of the Negative Altar, unable to do anything but listen to the broken and distorted words of the invader who was rendering her [Divinity of the Dark Room] useless.

"That presence inside my mind…" she wondered, speaking out loud. "It must be related to…"

Knock knock knock.

Startled, Tristessa turned away from the window and looked over her right shoulder, at the source of the noise. She closed the window and turned around and gave her full attention to the door at the other end of the room.

"Who could it be? We already talked at dinner about everything that happened today and each other's progress... Well, I won't complain if any of the guys want to chat with me before bed. After all, it was a great day as far as the main quest goes. Or maybe it's the neighbor, who finally decided to kill me for being so loud..."

She had taken off her trench coat, but she was wearing her shirt, albeit with several of the top and bottom buttons undone. It was a bit revealing, but not so blatant that she wouldn't welcome someone into her room.

"Oh well…"

Without further ado, Tristessa opened the door and found... No one. She poked her head out and looked down both sides of the hallway, finding absolute void. Not a soul, not the sound of footsteps retreating from a possible prankster. Not the breathing of the tormented soul of someone who had been violently murdered in that establishment's past.

"..."

The silence was eerie. It had substance, purpose. The paintings of historical events and Nekromian landscapes on the hallway walls became disturbing in that oppressive atmosphere with the play of shadows produced by the dim magical lamplight. Then, the sound of the hinges as she closed the door, and the click of the handle as it returned to its original position.

"Huh…"

Sighing required effort from Tristessa, as if her lungs were resisting expansion and contraction. Crushed by that newborn feeling of restlessness.

Turning around, she didn't know what to think, what reasoning or interpretation to explain those knocks against the door. Or perhaps it was better to pretend she didn't know what to attribute that action to; rather than consider terrifying options that would feed her persistent insomnia.

She walked to the middle of the room and stopped. Suddenly, infected by a devastating feeling of ill-omen.

"...!"

The palpitations increasing, the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong... Tristessa felt it, the hairs on her arms standing on end, and the pressure of the room's internal atmosphere weighing on her shoulders.

Slowly, she turned around again. And with almost bulging eyes, she saw that she wasn't alone in the room. She forgot how to breathe, unable to react when she saw a person standing in the corner, as if she'd always been there. Watching her.

Dressed in black and hooded, with a white, porcelain mask decorated with a dark bird on her right cheek.

"AH!" The shock caused the girl to take quick, clumsy steps backward, stumbling and falling backward. Luckily, she didn't hit her head, but the impact knocked the air out of her lungs. Recovering it hurt, almost as much as her stiff back muscles. "S-Stormcrow!"

The memory of the hunt in the fourth loop returned to her, irremediably, alongside the poisoned knives she must have hidden inside her black garb. Their slightest touch could gelatinize her blood within her own veins; destroying every protein, leaving her unable to do anything but feel an inhuman and unbearable pain. And to be found the next morning, transformed into a source of pestilence and irremediable decay, her soul dragged by chains to the beginning of a new loop…

"…"

The Wraith didn't utter a word, but something much worse: she began walking toward her. Her footsteps, which should have made the floor creak, were silent, as if the splinters and the wood were paralyzed with fear. Tristessa crawled backward, panicking, her hands trying to force herself to stand and at the same time dragging herself through the floor to get away from that woman, resulting in a futile and fruitless effort.

"W-wait, please!" the girl begged, on the verge of tears as the assassin's shadow covered her. The light from the ceiling behind her, obscuring her figure, cornering her against the legs of the chair and the desk. The darkness in her eyes, much darker and devouring every particle of light that dared to come near. "Did you come to k-kill me?"

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"If you were any other being capable of breathing, rest assured you would have stopped doing so hours ago… You are fortunate, Miss Tristessa, to be the only exception."

With that guttural voice capable of causing irreparable damage to anyone's mind, Stormcrow stopped beside her and offered his right hand. That rough palm and fingers, with sharp black nails, emanating a contradictory aura of mortal danger and help.

Tristessa wanted to burst into tears with relief, feeling that she had dodged the sword of Damocles that had been hanging in the balance over her head. Missing it by a couple metaphorical inches.

She took the hand the assassin offered her and with brute force, she was lifted off the ground as if her own weight was insignificant.

"S-so, about my proposal…?"

"Come with me."

Believing Stormcrow was going to guide her to the bed, Tristessa felt a violent jolt of her heart, so strong it hurt. But the Wraith's target was actually the two stored sofa, just as dangerous as the first option. She was tugging at the arm of the nervous girl with gray eyes with some impatience, trembling with... excitement? Tristessa felt her restless fingers intertwined with hers, filled with the typical nerves of a first date.

"Here, on my lap." Stormcrow sat down and invited Tritessa to sit on her thighs, something that seemed to become a habit when she interacted with Nekromian women. She swallowed and accepted, fully aware that she had no chance of refusing. She didn't seem to have the free will to do so. "Good... Ah, you are truly intoxicating, lass. You'll drive me insane."

The assassin let herself go, sighing in relief as she wrapped Tristessa in a waist-high hug. She forced her body closer to hers, wanting to be as intimate as possible with her in this safe environment for both of them. Without witnesses or anyone disturbing them.

And ignoring the traumatic disgust that flashed across the girl's face.

"S-Stormcrow?" she called, having to slip her right arm behind her back to be more comfortable in that position, feeling the athletic solidity of her muscles beneath the protective layers of her uniform. "Have you made up your mind?"

"…I searched every record for your name and found nothing. You're a ghost, you don't exist, at least not in this Dominion. Whoever you are, wherever you come from... I don't care. For now. Only your dark soul brimming with Discord."

The Wraith sounded strangely defeated as she said that, overpowered in her own territory where information could change the fate of nations.

And then she said, with a bit more morbid enthusiasm in her dark voice:

"Yes, Miss Tristessa. I can't believe I'm saying this, but yes. I will be your lover."

The black-haired girl found herself in the difficult position of not knowing whether to smile or grieve, seeing her absurd plan bearing fruit. Her gaze focused on the assassin's mask, wanting to imagine something more than what the nonexistent past offered her: undead yellow eyes and a cloud of gore as her head exploded after an attack of blood thaumaturgy.

"But I want you to understand the degree of exceptionality you're facing. Wraiths aren't like that; we shouldn't come into contact with people other than those we're going to kill," the assassin explained. "We are living shadows, destined to practice the art of assassination against the Shadow Realm, and to find and hunt Strangers in our territory. There is no other Wraith who would dare do what I did… My behavior should be punished with a painful death, and my soul cursed forever and ever."

"In that case, let's do our best to keep that from happening, shall we? You can relax within these four walls… Besides, aren't you uncomfortable with the hood on?" At that mention, Stormcrow partially released Tristessa to lower her hood, revealing her black hair tied in a small bun. "And the mask, can't you take it off?"

"There is a temporary way, but… Right now, it's not possible. My soul would be torn apart if I were to remove it under the current conditions."

"Mmm, I see," she whispered, her fingers brushing the bare skin beyond the edge of the Death-cold mask by accident. Reaching to touch her neck and moving down to her collarbone. All to get a bit more comfortable herself and almost falling backwards. "Oh!"

"Ah, if you touch me like this…" The bumpy interaction sent a pleasant shiver through Stormcrow, marked eerily in her dark voice. "I shouldn't be doing this…but I can't stop. It's impossible. Not even when the Evil Dream falls do I feel this ridiculous level of pleasure."

She leaned against the back of the sofa, taking Tristessa with her and practically resisting the weight of her entire body against hers. More contact, more Discord surrounding her and crushing her soul with delight, while Tristessa suffered in silence.

"This must be a secret between you and me."

"I know, but… My allies already know about you."

A truism that didn't hurt to make clear now that all the cards were being played. One after another, seeing how high the risk was becoming to lose everything.

"Are you talking about Astoria Silverthorn, Auron Casimir, and Severus Malak Drakan? That's nothing new for me; I heard them speaking to you in code. I value discretion," the assassin explained to her unsurprised new lover. "You want that meeting with Lady Eramisaptor to give her the information you have about the Coven, don't you?"

"That's right. With that information and Her military support, I'm sure we can deal a mortal blow to those fucking witches."

Stormcrow was silent for a moment, thoughtful. Weighing the pros and cons. Naturally, it couldn't be the first time someone had come forward with information so valuable it could be real. Spies, servants of the Great Evils, seeking to sabotage the Night's Watch Empire from within, just like the Wraiths in reverse.

"Tell me, do you have what it takes to convince the Lady of the Dominion?" the assassin finally asked. "She won't be easy to charm like you did to me... Besides, she has a particular taste for certain types of men. She'll have no special treatment for you."

"I believe you..." Her voice weak, on the verge of breaking, she recalled the last loop and how it ended. Everyone dead, brutally destroyed by that bloodthirsty woman. "I've heard too many stories about the She-Dragoon of End-World."

"...I don't like the idea of ​​leaving you at the mercy of Lady Eramisaptor, but a deal's a deal. I'll get you that audience." With that, Stormcrow hugged her a little tighter. Jealously, like a child refusing to share her favorite toy. "I just hope you know what you're doing. If something happens to you… I'll lose my mind if I don't feel your soul again from now on."

"Madness, huh… Did that happen to you in the previous loop? After my Death…" Tristessa thought, imagining a brutal past in which Aurelia and Stormcrow, both fallen into the abyss of insanity, wanted to kill each other. In that execution yard dominated by the smell of Death, trampling and falling over entrails, pools of blood, and dismembered remains. Unprovable, but possible. "Don't worry, I'll leave that Castle with all my limbs in place, Stormcrow… No, wait, what's your name? If I may know, of course."

The Wraith chuckled, muffled by her mask and sounding like the wail of a demon from the depths of the vilest hell, but… In that context, it didn't generate the same dread in Tristessa as it had in the cell in the Lord's Castle.

In fact, it sounded somewhat cute. Without that extreme level of lust that frightened her to the point of nearly destroying her mind.

"My name is Vektra Malak Nergal."

"Vektra?" Tristessa repeated. "That's…a cute name."

"Making fun of me already? You're walking on a thin line, lass." Stormcrow partially released Tristessa again, leaving one arm around her waist and using her other hand to tuck a few strands of hair behind her ears. "Don't provoke me. Let me enjoy my lover's company."

"That's fine, but…"

"…and about my task, soon you'll hear more about it. Just be sure to seduce me with that beautiful dark soul of yours, Miss Tristessa…" the Wraith purred, like a hungry lioness from Earth, moving those clawed fingers to her left cheek and meeting the girl's, who managed to form a smile and gifting it to her.

"Irandell. My name is Tristessa Irandell," she said, with an intrusive thought lurking in the frozen dark within her head. "A [Stranger]. One of those you promised to destroy."

Knowing she would be curled up on that sofa with Vektra for hours, she intertwined her fingers with hers, feeling the warmth of hidden memories that had yet to surface. That warmth that came from an astronomical distance, like the first rays of light from a star that had already died.

"I will do my best to seduce you, Miss Vektra Malak Nergal."

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