The Lions' Den

An eternity seemed to have passed in the endless trudge. Despite their grueling efforts, the eight companions had made scant progress since crossing the river. The vast expanse of Reverie unspooled before them, a seemingly infinite tapestry of untamed land, and in the far distance, Cera could still discern the silhouettes of towering trees—a silent, mocking testament to the immense journey that still lay ahead to the north.

"I’ve had enough," Red grumbled, stooping to avoid a gnarled branch bristling with thorns. "Isn't there some trick one of you Zephyr Clan members can perform? Does no summoning magic apply in a situation like this?"

"That isn't how it functions, you imbecile," Ignis shot back with characteristic scorn. "For a summons to work, I would require an anchor—someone already present at our destination. Not that anyone from the Ignis Clan, such as yourself, could even begin to comprehend the principles."

A disdainful snort from Ventus signaled his agreement.

As had become a familiar pattern in recent days, the last thread of Cera’s already frayed patience finally snapped. "What is so fundamentally wrong with walking?" she demanded, her voice escalating to a pitch that bordered on a shriek. "Can we not simply press onward?"

"In the event it has escaped your notice," Red retorted dryly, shooting a wary look at his volatile commander, "the north remains as distant as the sun." He appeared to be genuinely mulling over Ignis's explanation. Tapping a finger to his chin, he ventured a new proposal. "What if you were to launch us all over there? We could then perform the summons for you."

"I have never in my life heard a suggestion so monumentally stupid!" Ignis exclaimed. "If I were to hurl you over such a distance, the force alone would ensure you all perished from ruptured organs and shattered ribs. The dead, I can assure you, are incapable of summoning anything."

"I'm grateful to have your official assessment on the matter," Red returned with a sharp edge.

"Listen," Argent interjected, his serene tone a welcome balm against the rising heat of their bickering. "The Seeress's warning was specific to the lions' den. It strikes me that we are on schedule to reach it in good time."

"And you believe the Seeress would have seen fit to mention if Perla were already dead?" Cy challenged, his voice laced with a menacing undercurrent. A slight tremor ran through his hands as he unfolded the global map, his eyes searching for their route. "Somehow, I doubt it."

"She would have," Argent insisted, his composure unwavering. "It is a detail of critical importance. Its omission would have been unthinkable for her."

"Some of us lack your degree of faith," Cy muttered, his somber gaze drifting upward toward the overcast sky.

Argent merely shrugged. "Believe as you wish. We will discover soon enough which of us is correct."

"I don't want to—" Cy began, before cutting himself off with a profound sigh. "I just want my sister returned to me, safe and whole."

"We all share that wish," Cera affirmed, her voice softening as she attempted to pacify her lieutenant. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on Red and Ignis, a hard, warning glare. "Every one of us."

They resumed their laborious march just as the sun commenced its slow descent, leaving perhaps an hour of daylight. The sucking mire of the swamp slowly relinquished its grip, the squelch of their boots against mud replaced by the solid crunch of firmer earth. The ground continued to harden beneath their feet until it felt as resilient and unyielding as paved stone.

"The dens, I would venture," Red observed with a wry twist of his lips, as their collective gaze fell upon a series of caverns that loomed before them. The entrances were carved into a sheer rock face, each one an unnervingly similar, dark, and gaping maw that seemed to devour the fading light.

"And what is our plan for crossing?" Cera inquired, a clear note of disbelief coloring her tone.

Cy studied the map once more. "There is no alternate path. The only route forward is through one of the caves. Our task is to choose one and pray it is the right one."

"And endeavor not to step into the lions' den," Argent added. Simultaneously, Red mimicked the words under his breath, an act that earned him a sharp scowl from Argent.

A sudden, poignant wave of loss washed over Cera. "I wish Hana were here," she said, the sentiment hanging heavily in the quiet air. It was the first time she had permitted herself to voice the true depth of the void their recent loss had created. "She could have analyzed these caves from a distance, discerned which path was safe."

"Could she have truly done so?" Cy wondered aloud, his question soft. "Even her remarkable strength had its boundaries."

"Regardless of our choice, our first step must be to smoke out any lions," Argent declared, his voice firm and supportive.

Slowly, Astra lifted her arm. "I will volunteer," she offered, her voice quiet yet unwavering. "As a way to make amends for my failures." Her eyes fell to the ground, her features clouded by a palpable guilt.

Cera gave a single, decisive nod. "Very well. But we require a strategy."

"Why can we not simply engage whatever lions we encounter?" Ignis asked, the curiosity in his voice genuine. "We certainly possess the necessary firepower. What is there to fear from them?"

"I do not know," Cera responded coldly, turning her gaze to Argent, expecting an answer.

The boy's expression soured instantly. "Ignis, you know better than to question the prophecies of the Seeress. Her visions are consistently, lethally precise. You do not want to be the one who puts that to the test."

"At times, we require something more substantial than faith to proceed," Ignis countered, his words echoing Cy's earlier skepticism.

"Can you make contact with her? Request a clarification?" Cera pressed, now looking toward Ventus.

He shrugged, a gesture of helplessness. "From my understanding, the communication is strictly one-way. My role is simply to receive the messages and disseminate them."

Cera felt a scream of pure, unadulterated frustration building deep within her chest.

"If no better method presents itself," Cy proposed, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere, "we could construct a large bonfire at the entrance of one cave. The smoke should drive them out. We could then pick them off individually as they emerge."

Cera bared her teeth in a grimace that was more snarl than smile. "I suppose that is our only viable option, then. Let us hope the lions are neither too large nor too powerful." In the privacy of her own thoughts, an image flashed—the powerful tigers that had mauled Perla when she was just a child. It seemed their fates were inexorably entwined with savage, predatory beasts.

"There is one additional matter," Cy added, his voice lowering. "This particular area is known for… ghosts."

Cera let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. "What?"

The others stared at her, their expressions a mixture of shock and unease. It was considered terrible luck to laugh at such warnings.

"Krysta's army massacred the villagers who lived here," Cy elaborated, his face utterly devoid of humor. "It would hardly be a surprise if their tormented spirits still lingered."

"Similar to the sirens, then?" Cera mused, speaking almost to herself. "Hmm. Do you imagine fire will be sufficient to frighten them away?"

Red shrugged. "If these spirits have been trapped in this place for years, I sincerely doubt a little fire is going to trouble them."

"Wonderful," Cera muttered with heavy sarcasm. Their entire war effort had been a relentless cascade of one disaster after another; she was not in the least surprised that this leg of the journey promised to be no different. For what felt like the hundredth time that week, she silently cursed the old sage who had set them upon this perilous path. "Where is an exorcist when you need one?" she whispered.

"The Zephyr Clan has some proficiency in that domain," Ventus offered. "At the very least, we possess the ability to communicate with them."

"Well, that is something, I suppose," Cera conceded. "So, I am unable to speak with them directly? You will all have to serve as my translators. And I expect you not to offend them." She cast a deeply suspicious glare toward Astra and the Cheng boys.

"Hey, I take exception to that," Ventus retorted with a theatrical flourish. "Who is to say we are not master ambassadors from the mortal realm of Reverie to Ghost Central?" He let out a chuckle, and even Ignis managed a faint, sardonic smile.

Ignoring them, Cera strode forward, coming to a halt just shy of the line of dark cave mouths. The rest of the group fanned out in an arc behind her.

"It is time," she announced, giving Astra a sharp nod. "I will leave this part to you wind-folk."

With a grunt of exertion, Cera conjured and launched a massive sphere of fire high into the twilight sky, where it detonated in a brilliant, silent cascade of shimmering light. Cy watched its ascent, a scowl creasing his brow at the inefficient expenditure of energy; his own fireworks were substantially more effective. Still, he had not yet shown her that particular technique, so he supposed she deserved some credit for devising it on her own.

In fact, now that the thought occurred to him, he hadn't taught her very much at all. He had covered the fundamentals that every novice of the Ignis Clan was expected to master, but the war had descended upon them with the shocking speed of a thunderclap, a violent surprise for which no one had been adequately prepared. He had intended to teach her one final, deadly maneuver—a move that would complete her foundational skillset and grant her the power to incapacitate multiple opponents single-handedly. But she had absorbed his lessons so quickly, recovered from her own ordeals faster than he had thought possible. He truly could not recall a student so intensely focused, so preternaturally aware, who had advanced at such a rapid pace. And she had more than held her own against Krysta's forces, had she not? She had two kills to her name, no less.

It was a sobering realization, but Cy had to concede that Cera would not be standing here now if she were anything less than extraordinary. They would require more miracles if they were to have any hope of surviving the final battle. Reduced to a meager force of eight, they would likely be slaughtered the moment they set foot in Krysta's stronghold. What could possibly shift the odds in their favor? Cy did not delude himself into believing victory was even remotely probable. Yet, turning back was not an option. Krysta was infamous for hunting down any who dared to defy her. And if not the Ignis Clan—the only strong, cohesive faction left in all of Reverie to oppose her—who would prevent the world from collapsing entirely into her despotic grasp? As dearly as Cy valued his own life, he had no choice but to see this through to its bitter end.

As the final embers of Cera's firework drifted lazily downward, a stirring began at the mouths of the caverns. Shapes started to emerge from the oppressive darkness—the hulking, powerful silhouettes of bears, the sleek and deadly forms of lions, and mingling among them, the distinct, shimmering translucence that unmistakably signaled the presence of spirits. Before any of the creatures could advance, two figures, clad in the tattered grey and white remnants of what once were official robes, soared directly toward the group. They were men of a short and portly build, their spectral faces still bearing the unmistakable stamp of lifelong bureaucrats—those who grow plump taxing the wealthy while turning a blind eye to the suffering of the poor. Though their forms were ethereal and their clothes in ruins, one of them called out with an air of insufferable pride, his voice a reedy, echoing command. "You there! Minions of the living! We require your assistance."

"What did he say?" Cera demanded, her hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of her sword.

"He says they need our help," Ventus translated.

"What could we possibly offer to a collection of ghosts?"

Ventus relayed her question, though he took the liberty of phrasing it with a delicate sprinkling of courtesy.