Round 4 Transcript

Silra pressed her ear against the cold stone of the church wall, listening for any sound beyond the wind and ash. Hear that? Something moving in there. Too heavy to be a rat. She looked back at Jeane and Sister Hale, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. Or maybe it's just our friend Gravedigger cleaning house early. Renn did say this place was 'cleared out,' didn't he? Silra drew a small blade from her boot—a rusty iron spike filed to a point—holding it low where the shadows would hide its glint. I'm going first. Stay close, stay quiet. If something moves that isn't us, we leave through the window and find another playhouse. She tested the ancient handle with careful fingers, then pressed her shoulder against the door. The wood groaned, slow and loud in the night air, as the heavy panel swung inward to reveal the church's dark interior.

I step between Jeane and the doors, my hand raised in warning. "Wait," I say, and there's steel in my voice despite the weariness clinging to every word like ash. My eyes scan the stonework, searching for any sign of recent work—repaired cracks, fresh mortar, anything that might suggest a trap or a guard posted inside. "The key Gravedigger gave us might open these doors," I admit, holding up the rusted iron shape we took from the dead magistrate's corpse. "But if this is a setup—and given everything else he's lied about, it likely is—then opening them blindly could be walking into an executioner's block." My gaze settles on Silra. "You heard something move inside?"

Silra nods, her fingers still pressed against the stone. "Heavy. Purposeful."

I unclasp my lantern and hold it closer to the doorframe, squinting at the join between stone and wood. "If there's a trap," I mutter, more to myself than them, "it'll be here." My fingers trace the edge of the frame, feeling for any give or pressure point that might trigger a blade or a fall. My intention is clear: we need inside, but not at the cost of our lives. The key weighs heavy in my palm—a tool, maybe, or just another lie to add to Gravedigger's collection. But if there's a chance it unlocks something useful... "We test this carefully," I say finally, looking between them. "Jeane, cover Silra and me with your magic if you see movement. Silra, you're eyes and ears—if anything feels wrong, we pull back immediately."

I take a deep breath, the unholy symbol at my throat warm against my skin. Then, before I can second-guess myself, I insert the rusted key into the lock and turn it with a slow, deliberate motion. The click is loud in the oppressive silence. The door groans open an inch, revealing a strip of darkness beyond—darkness that stirs with the same heavy movement Silra heard. My heart hammers in my chest, but I keep my hand steady on the door. "Wait for it," I whisper.

I step forward through the ash, my robes swirling with an aristocratic grace despite the exhaustion weighing on my shoulders. My eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scan the church facade for any sign of recent passage—footprints in the dust, disturbed cobwebs, or fresh gouges in the stone. "You two are being too cautious," I say, my voice carrying that dangerous edge you've learned to recognize. "Gravedigger Renn would have told us if this place were booby-trapped. He's far too terrified of us to lie." My fingers trace the rusted key at my belt—the one taken from a dead magistrate whose name I no longer recall—as I approach the massive oak doors. "Besides, even if there is something inside, do you truly believe it could be more dangerous than the city guard we saw massing on the road?" A smirk tugs at my lips as I gesture with an open palm towards the church entrance. "Let me demonstrate why a sorceress leads this merry band of misfits."

I focus my will, drawing upon the dark currents that flow through my bloodline like a second heartbeat. The air around us begins to stir, swirling the ash into intricate patterns that dance and twist before solidifying into the shape of a spectral wolf—my familiar, Bane. "Bane," I command, my voice barely above a whisper but carrying all the authority of a demon who has tasted the screams of a thousand sacrifices. "Enter the church and report any movement within. Your presence will serve as warning should anything lurk in the shadows."

The spectral wolf materializes fully, its eyes glowing with an unholy light that seems to pierce the gloom. With a silent bound, it melts through the cracks beneath the doors and vanishes from sight. I turn back to Silra and Sister Hale, my expression expectant. "Now we wait for Bane's report. If there are no immediate threats, I intend to begin the ritual of consecration before the city guard grows too curious about our presence."

In this moment, standing at the threshold of a potential empire built on sin and devotion, I feel the thrill of power coursing through me—the same feeling that has kept me alive for centuries despite the countless enemies who have tried to end my existence.