The chamber slept.
Not silence — confidence.
That was the mistake.
The leader of the Faithful of the Broken Star stood alone now, others dismissed to prepare contingencies aboveground. The containment prism rested where it always had, its pearlescent glow dimmed to a compliant pulse.
Everything was proceeding exactly as intended.
That was when the prism… shifted.
Not physically.
Spatially.
The leader frowned beneath the hood.
They stepped closer, eyes narrowing as sigils along the silk drape flickered — not failing, but briefly… misaligned.
A hair's breadth out of place.
Impossible.
The leader extended a hand, hovering just above the prism.
The glow inside brightened.
Then—
Elsewhere.
Not gone.
Not moved.
Elsewhere.
The leader froze.
"What—"
A sound echoed through the chamber.
Soft.
Light.
Almost musical.
"♪ Oops~ ♪"
The voice did not come from any direction.
It came from between them.
The sigils along the floor spasmed, grooves glowing erratically as the ancient geometry of the chamber struggled to maintain relevance.
The leader spun, cloak flaring.
"Who's there?"
A ripple passed through the air, like someone dragging a finger through water.
"Mm… wrong question~" the voice chimed."You should ask where~"
The prism pulsed again.
For one terrifying moment, the leader thought it was about to shatter.
Instead, it stabilized — but not before something unmistakable happened.
The glow inside responded.
Not to the chamber.
Not to the ritual.
To the voice.
The leader staggered back half a step.
"No," they hissed. "That's not possible."
A laugh followed — bright, childish, utterly unconcerned.
"Possible's a biiiiig word~"
The air bent.
Not warped violently — just folded, like a page corner being turned.
For a fraction of a second, the leader saw something reflected in the prism's surface:
A ring.
Gold.
Impossible.
Then it was gone.
The sigils settled.
The prism returned to its steady pulse.
The chamber was still again.
The leader's breath came fast.
They approached slowly, reverently, placing both hands on the pedestal.
"…You are contained," they whispered. "You are bound."
The glow inside dimmed.
But not in submission.
In patience.
From nowhere at all, the voice drifted again — closer now, almost conspiratorial.
"Y'know~ if I wanted her…"
A pause.
A hum of amusement.
"…you wouldn't have a box anymore~"
The leader spun.
Nothing.
No distortion.
No intruder.
Only the chamber — ancient, loyal, suddenly feeling very, very small.
The leader swallowed.
"This changes nothing," they said aloud, voice steady by force alone."Darkrai is awake. The city trembles. Balance is broken."
A soft giggle answered.
"Mm~ maybe~"
Another pause.
Then, gently:
"…or maybe you just borrowed the wrong star~"
The presence withdrew — not retreating, not fleeing.
Losing interest.
The leader stood frozen long after it was gone.
Hands trembling.
Because for the first time since the ritual succeeded, a new truth had settled in their bones:
They had not stolen a goddess from the night.
They had been allowed to hold her.
And whatever had just passed through their sanctum…
…was watching everyone play pretend.
Including them.