Niko woke up hazy, his limbs heavy and bound at the wrists and ankles with thick iron clasps. His back ached from the awkward position he'd been left in, and his throat was dry like he hadn't spoken in hours. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the dim room around him—bare stone walls, dust on the floor, and a single chair sitting in front of him. Just one.
No windows. No sound.
He tugged lightly at his restraints—no give. His memory crawled back, sluggish and piecemeal. Burnout had hit him. Hard. Harder than it ever had before.
I thought it was just paralysis, he thought bitterly, his head slumped forward. Not full-on fainting. That's… misleading.
Before he could do more than register that, the iron door creaked open with a hiss and a tall, robed figure entered. Niko recognized him instantly—the same cloaked Speaker who had stood at the center of the auditorium. The one who spoke of gods and holy wars. But something was off.
At the assembly, the Speaker had been stoic, distant. Now, as he glided into the room, there was an air of… irritation around him. His movements were less grand, more agitated. He clicked his tongue softly, almost like a scolding parent catching their child sneaking around.
"Well well well," the Speaker said, his voice oddly light, almost sing-song. "You've really been busy, haven't you? Stirring up the guards, messing with schedules, breaking things."
He sounded more like a mischievous teenager than some divine emissary of fate. His tone didn't match the suffocating pressure that still radiated from him in waves—inhuman, overwhelming, thick like oil in the air.
Niko narrowed his eyes. "You're not how you were before."
"Oh, that?" the Speaker laughed, walking around Niko in a slow circle. "That's just for the crowds. Gotta look the part when you're preaching to the faithful, you know? But in private?" He leaned forward slightly. "I can be myself."
Niko scowled. "What do you want?"
The Speaker leaned back, folding his arms. "Honestly? I want you to stop being such a pain. That loop should've killed you, you know. The guard I gave it to—he was perfect for the job. But noooo, fate just loves you, doesn't it?"
Niko stiffened. "You gave him the ability?"
The Speaker tilted his head. "Of course. You think everyone down here just finds their powers in a cereal box?" He made a mock explosion sound and mimed fireworks with his fingers. "Boom! Congratulations, here's your new reality-bending gift. No, no—I give them. Sometimes."
Niko's eyes narrowed, uncertainty flickering beneath his exhaustion. "You can just… hand out abilities?"
"Duh." The Speaker rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, not to everyone. Not everyone's worth the trouble. But I pick who gets what. Sort of a… divine hobby."
He turned and began walking toward the door again, muttering as he reached for the handle. "You're annoying, but interesting."
Then, without looking back, he added over his shoulder, "Stay here. Don't break anything. Don't touch anything. Don't even think too hard."
With a low hum, the door slid shut behind him, and Niko was alone again.
Chained. Confused. And now deeply unsettled by the fact that the Speaker wasn't just some cult figurehead—but someone with the authority to shape powers like pieces on a board.
And fate… seemed to be his favorite toy.
Niko was left tied up, the room still dark and quiet after the Speaker's strange exit. He took a slow breath, reflecting on those mocking, childish words: "Fate seems to favor you." He scoffed. "That has to be a lie," he muttered aloud, voice dry. "With all I've been through?"
He let his head fall back for a second, staring up into the dark. The Speaker was completely different from how he had acted in the auditorium—then, he had spoken with reverence, fire, and madness. Now? He was playful, petulant, like a child poking at ants for fun. The contrast set Niko's nerves on edge.
With a sigh, he decided to check his energy reserves. Just in case.
And that's when he felt it.
His eyes flew open. Full. Not just recovered—overflowing. Every nerve, every tendon, every fiber of his body was buzzing with power, fresh and sharp like an overcharged current waiting to be unleashed. "What…?" he whispered. "There's no way…"
He thought back—burnout. The paralyzation. He had assumed that was it. A punishment. But this…
A grin crept across his face, and a low, breathy laugh escaped him. "It restores after…" he whispered, realization dawning. "So that's the catch. If I live through the paralysis, I get it all back…"
His smirk widened. "Guess I can use this."
He concentrated, flicking a small thread of energy to his fingertips. A tiny blitz charge snapped to life—just enough—and snap! The rope gave way with ease, curling off his wrists like it had never been secure at all. He stood, rolling his shoulders, letting the warmth of full energy flood him. His body felt new.
Carefully, he made his way to the door, each footstep quiet despite the adrenaline rising in his chest. He cracked it open.
Another hallway.
Stone walls, faint torches, and the same ominous quiet. He let out a breath through his nose, almost laughing again.
"This underground cult is way too damn big," he muttered, before breaking into a run. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, each step sharper than the last—ready for whatever came next.
Niko shot through the corridor like lightning—literally.
By chaining small blitz bursts and flinging his tendrils into walls and corners, he was zipping through the underground like a pale-blue comet. He didn't care about stealth anymore; any guard who caught a glimpse would only see a fleeting flash of white-blue light, like a star streaking by. Even if they had time to chase, they'd never catch him.
Eventually, something caught his eye mid-swing—a grand archway framed in dark stone, with a worn plaque above it: Library.
Niko skidded to a halt, boot scraping against the stone floor as he turned back and stared at the doorway. A laugh bubbled out of him. "Another library?" he muttered, grinning to himself.
He remembered the last one—Uriah the Calm. He hadn't forgotten how much that story shifted his understanding of the House, of fate, of gods. If there was more hidden knowledge, more pieces of the puzzle waiting to be found, they'd be in a place like this.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the air shifted—cooler, older. Dust floated in still air. The library stretched up like a cathedral, its walls lined with shelves of books in various conditions, some glowing faintly, others rotting where they stood.
Niko cracked his knuckles. "Alright… let's find another secret, shall we?"
And so began the search
…
He pulled a dusty tome titled "The Proper Etiquette of Slaying Gods" and raised an eyebrow. "Useful. Probably. Psychotic? Definitely."
Next: "Alchemy for the Mentally Stunted." He gave that one a flat look and tossed it over his shoulder.
He reached for a glowing red book labeled "Screaming in Silence: A Study on Void-Speech", opened it, and immediately slammed it shut when it started whispering back.
"How to Unkill a Rat." He opened it with hope—only to discover it was literally about rodent necromancy. "…Gross."
He found one titled "Treatise on Minor Gods and Greater Soup Recipes." He skimmed it, confused… but then noted it had an actual divine soup recipe halfway through. "Okay, I'm copying this later."
After what felt like an hour of alternating between ridiculous, creepy, and unhinged literature, his fingers brushed against a dark-blue cover tucked in a high shelf, almost hidden behind another book. It was old, but well-kept. Gold-inked lettering spelled out a single word on the spine:
Chalice.
Niko pulled it down slowly. There was a feeling about it. Like the book itself knew it was important.
He whispered the name under his breath. "Chalice…"
And with that, he cracked it open—ready to discover what secrets it held.