Amara stood entirely alone in the cramped, dimly lit confines of a supply closet—a secluded space she had technically "requested," though, given her frantic state, she had more accurately demanded to be left alone inside it. She was finally dried off and fully dressed, but the physical toll of her month-long stasis lingered heavily. Her legs trembled with severe weakness, and her very bones felt like they were cast in lead. Despite the exhaustion threatening to buckle her knees, she forced herself to stand at rigid attention, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the communication device.
She took a series of rapid, shuddering breaths, trying to steady her racing heart. "I-I have to apologize as soon as possible," she muttered feverishly to herself in the dark. "She will be furious. She will be so deeply disappointed, she will disown me completely. I have to apologize the absolute second she answers."
Steeling her fractured nerves, Amara raised a trembling thumb to activate the device. But before she could even activate the device, it hummed to life in her hands, emitting a sudden, pulsing glow.
Caught completely off guard, Amara fumbled clumsily, nearly dropping the communication device from her weakened grip before frantically accepting the incoming connection. The ethereal projection flickered upward, and the face of The Succubus immediately materialized.
"Amara? You actually answered!" the demoness breathed. Genuine, visible relief washed over her striking features, and her voice was thick with worry.
But Amara, completely blinded by her own spiraling panic, neither saw the relief on the screen nor registered the warmth in her mistress's tone. Instead, she instantly launched into her desperately rehearsed script.
"I profusely apologize, Mistress! I am so incredibly sorry for not answering or communicating with you!" she blurted out in a breathless, frantic rush. "It is entirely my fault for falling into that coma after—"
"Cease your apologies, Amara. I don't want them, and you don't have to give them," The Succubus cut her off with a heavy, long-suffering sigh, looking as though she had fully expected her to react exactly like this.
"I am so sorry, Mistress. I will not apologize again, but it truly is my fault for not—"
"Amara."
The Succubus's voice dropped into a dark, commanding register that carried an absolute, suffocating weight, instantly snapping Amara's jaw shut.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, The Succubus slowly shook her head, reigning in her patience. "Firstly, explain to me exactly what happened. What is this coma you keep mentioning? How did that happen?"
At the direct question, the raw panic in Amara's expression dissolved, violently twisting into a mask of pure, venomous hatred. Clara had filled in the missing pieces while Amara dressed, telling her exactly what had transpired that night and, more importantly, exactly who was responsible.
"Crow," she spat, the name dripping with absolute disgust. "That treacherous ghoul shot me in the back with a necrotic bullet."
The Succubus's eyes went incredibly wide. For a fraction of a second, absolute shock paralyzed her beautiful features. Then, a terrifying, infernal rage violently flared in her gaze.
"He what?!" she snapped, the sheer ferocity of her roar causing the magical projection to physically distort.
Amara's own anger instantly evaporated, replaced by a cold spike of pure terror that made her fragile heart skip a beat. In all her time serving, she had never, ever heard her mistress yell in anger before.
"That treacherous little snake! That undead cur! I'll rip him to shreds! Where is he!?" The Succubus roared, the magical projection flickering wildly as her infernal rage distorted the connection.
Amara flinched, her voice trembling violently as she forced the words out. "H-he was t-taken, mistress. T-they took him to Veridiania t-to... extract information directly from his brain..."
"What!?" The Succubus shrieked.
The background of the projection suddenly pitched and spun dizzily, prompting the demoness to snap her attention away from the screen to look around her immediate surroundings. "For the love of Michael, let me land first, because I'll fly straight into a cliff getting this angry."
The image blurred with a rapid, sweeping descent.
"You're flying, mistress? You're not at the castle?" Amara asked, her terror briefly eclipsed by genuine confusion as she watched the chaotic movement on the screen. The projection shook with a heavy thud as The Succubus touched down, the rushing wind silencing as the scenery behind her finally stilled into an unknown, rugged landscape.
"No, I'm not. I'm out of the castle looking for something," The Succubus muttered, appearing to brush herself off before bringing the communication device back up to eye level. "The Sage is suffering from a terminal condition, and I'm looking for a certain something to prolong his life before we find the cure."
It was Amara's turn to be completely paralyzed by shock. "The Sage is in a terminal condition?" she whispered, the remaining color draining rapidly from her pale face.
The Succubus gave a grim, heavy nod. "Yes, he is. But first, Amara, explain to me everything. Everything that happened in Arcadicia. I want to know all of it."
Amara rapidly nodded her head, her ingrained loyalty and discipline finally overriding her lingering physical exhaustion. "Yes, mistress! Whatever you say, mistress!"
Closing her eyes for a brief second, she took a deep, fortifying breath, steadying her fractured nerves as she prepared to recount every single detail of the disastrous events that had unfolded in the City of Greatness.