The tower loomed ahead—jagged, cold, and silent. A place built not to house, but to condemn. Heilay crossed the narrow bridge from the Manse of the Hallowed Brothers, wary of its treacherous edges. The wind howled around her, but it was the sudden clash of steel that stole her focus. From the mist, a massive figure lunged forward—Blessed Carrion Knight Sanisho.
There was no room to maneuver, only resolve. Heilay ducked low, sidestepped the spear, and swung her flail in a brutal arc. Poison hissed in the air. She danced between the stone and sickness, relentless. When Sanisho finally fell, she stood over the defeated knight, her breath steady, the bridge eerily silent again.
But the Tower had only just begun to reveal its cruelty.
She found no sanctuary within—no Vestige, no warmth. Only the remnants of those cast out by the Sentinels, twisted into shadows. Through broken stairways and decaying wooden platforms, she climbed and fell, soulflaying paths with her lamp, unlocking secrets hidden in death. The wind here was colder, the silence louder.
Deeper inside, Ardent Penitents waited in ambush, bursting through rotted planks in fits of madness. Avowed stood like silent judges, their spiked maces raised in blind devotion. One jail cell after another, filled with nothing but rot and regret. Sometimes she wondered how many innocent voices had echoed through these walls before they fell silent forever.
Then came the final descent—the heart of the Tower. The foul stink of centuries soaked the stone. And at the end: Tancred, Master of Castigations. He greeted her with holy fire and fanatic fury, his strikes as merciless as the sentences he once passed. She shattered his shield, broke his rhythm—and when he fell, she knew better than to celebrate.
The true horror emerged then: Reinhold the Immured, a grotesque being twisted in form and essence. Its movements were unnatural—its rage, boundless. She stayed close, relentless, whispering prayers not of faith, but of focus. After a long, grueling clash, Reinhold too collapsed into the dark. Tancred’s Key trembled in her hand.
Among the belongings of the slain duo, she found the Flickering Flail – a weapon that pulsed slightly in her hand. Was she destined to punish… or protect? Even now, she wasn’t sure.
At the top of the tower, she does not light the fourth Holy Guardian Fire, but watches as its red light flickers against the grey sky. She stands motionless, the wind blowing her scarf around her, the weight of memories weighing heavily on her breath. Heilay is uncertain and has decided not to make a decision.
There had been no redemption in this place. Only echoes of pain. But she had endured. And beyond the Tower, the Abbey of the Hallowed Sisters awaited.
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Accompany the partisan Heilay on her journey: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQRPy70pDgKXsdb4gtFobn-vOZqhx2QGS
