For Hecuba, it was the necessary solution—one she had embraced with a fierce thrill, despite the challenges it brought. Binding her soul had proven far more difficult than she had anticipated. She had been shocked by her own resistance, fighting against herself with a desperation she hadn't expected. But through cruel schemes and ruthless manipulation, she had finally succeeded.
She crafted a prison of obsidian stones—rare, nearly indestructible—and fortified it with layers of dark enchantment. Within this cell, an overwhelming, unparalleled darkness reigned. There, she locked away her soul, relocating her mind into a hidden compartment within the prison's walls. No matter how much light flooded her eyes, no signal could ever breach the impenetrable cell to reach her consciousness.
Yet this act came at a cost. Her soul grew wild and furious, burning and freezing against her body's consciousness, attaining a level of defiance so fierce it seemed no longer hers to command. But in the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter. As long as the chains held firm, she would always have the means to maintain control.
Now, as she examined the lock on the cell door, she tugged at it with force. Satisfied with its resilience, she nodded. The locks had been forged to withstand even forces greater than her own. No intruder into her body—no matter how skilled in the dark art of fetishism—could breach the door and reach her soul without the key she had hidden away, accessible only to her.
Even as she observed it, she knew: her soul would never wither. It could endure beyond the normal bounds of life, lingering like an immortal that would not die. It was one of the great advantages she had seen in mastering the forbidden art.
Turning from the cell, she floated toward her left chest, hovering over her steadily beating black heart. Clenching her hand into a fist, she tapped out a secret rhythmic pattern only she knew. Instantly, her heart stuttered, pausing just long enough to thud back in perfect response. Then, slowly, it split open like a pair of blackened doors, revealing a shadowy pouch and a dark key nestled within.
It was a sight so strange, so unnerving, it would send shivers through the bravest of souls.
Without hesitation, Hecuba reached in and retrieved both the pouch and the key. Turning her attention back to the cell, she stood before it once more. Opening the shadowy pouch in her hands, she poured a fine, dark powder into her palm and blew it toward her raging soul. The powder spread across the cell like a creeping mist. As it settled, the rattling of chains and the furious struggling ceased, replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence.
Satisfied, Hecuba inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, revealing her soul, now standing obedient and blank-eyed before her. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she stepped forward. There were no more choices—and no way back. If she wished to devour Dahlia's memories, only her soul could be sent into the memory orb to do it.
But therein lay the danger: the orb was infused with pure light, while her soul was a creature of the deepest darkness. If the two collided, they would annihilate each other—leaving behind nothing but a void.
To survive this inevitable suicide, there was only one path left to her: she would have to split her soul. One half would remain, tethered safely, while the other half would be sent to carry out the task.
Fortunately, soul-splitting was a simple matter for her. With a single thought as she willed, and her soul cleaved in two—one half remaining shackled, the other free. Now, three versions of Hecuba were in the cell: her consciousness, one bound soul, and one unbound.
Time was slipping away.
In order to move her soul around, she had to merge her consciousness with the unchained soul, fusing to become a spirit body which was capable of slipping beyond her body. She did instantly and a small, ghostlike version of herself emerged—barely visible to the eye and unhurt. In this world of absolute darkness, her soul was perfectly at home.
She glanced at her giant body, seated still atop the stone table, and then at Dahlia, still unconscious nearby. A flicker of elation crossed her face at the sight of her future body, but it was quickly eclipsed by doubt. If this failed, the price would be unbearable: the body lost, her powers diminished, and her efforts in vain.
There was no room for hesitation. She vanished into Dahlia's forehead, diving into her mind like a shadow slipping through cracks. Through nerves and neurons she traveled, until she reached the orb of memory that kept glowing. As the spirit body made contact, her soul trembled violently and she intuitively took a step backwards. The light radiating from the orb lashed out at her, trying to rip her apart. Even with that she didn't falter. There was no time.
With a final surge of will, she entered the orb of memory, where Dahlia's events of the past played in a continuous loop. All she had to do was consume them, eat them up to the very root.
She saw the first year of Dahlia's life, and it was easy. She had been a baby then, with a blank mind and minimal awareness. Hecuba's mouth warped into a monstrous maw—wide enough to seem it could swallow the entire world of the orb of memory. Her shark-like teeth shredded the memory in an instant.
She moved on. The second year, also shredded. Then the third, fourth—they fell quickly, though each was starting to take a toll progressively. With every memory she ate, a sliver of Hecuba's soul dissolved.
It was a horrific process. Had Dahlia been awake, she would have fought to her last breath to protect even her most painful memories. Even if she had once wished them forgotten, she would never have given up so easily.
But as Hecuba progressed, the devouring slowed. From the fifth to the tenth year, the memories had more depth—laughter, rebellion, curiosity. Dahlia had by those years begun to form an identity, a sense of self. So these years resisted, clinging harder to existence. It took longer. More effort than her starting years.
Yet, she did not stop once and as the devouring went on, Dahlia did not awaken.
Still, something stirred.
From her closed eyes, silent tears escaped, tracing gentle paths down her side eyes—unexplained, unnoticed. But perhaps, on some level, maybe she could feel her fading memories.
—---------
Ravenna sat quietly on the mountain ridge, the same spot she had shared with Dahlia just days ago. It had now been seven days since the Master had summoned Dahlia, and she hadn't returned.
A furrow of worry creased Ravenna's brow as memories stirred within her. Long ago, she too had been summoned to Master's lair under similar circumstances—or so she thought. Master rarely called them there. She usually observed their drills, supervised their training, and conducted her experiments on them elsewhere, never inside her lair or near its surroundings. In fact, Ravenna could count on one hand the number of times she had entered the Master's lair. The others were no different.
Except for Dahlia.
Dahlia had been summoned repeatedly since her arrival, a clear sign of the hope and importance Master placed on her. It was this special treatment that had sparked envy among the others, a jealousy that kept them distant from Dahlia. But not Ravenna. She had drawn close to Dahlia, even though Dahlia herself never once sought their attention or friendship.
Now, Ravenna's breathing quickened, panic creeping into her chest.
Seven days ago, when Dahlia had departed, Ravenna had whispered a silent prayer—something she never did, not even for herself. When she had been summoned in the past, there had been no fear in her eyes. She had gone willingly knowing fully the reason for her summon, a show of how devoted to Master's cause she had been. But fate twisted, and Master had failed to find the compatibility she was looking for in her. The master, then extended her search, one by one, more girls were brought in—potential vessels, as she had come to know them. Even in the long run all of them had failed to meet the master's compatibility. It had seemed she was looking for the right source in their body that meets the demands of her soul, which none of them had.
But Dahlia differed from them on her arrival. Ravenna knew this too and she couldn't help the worry gnawing at her, the fear that Master might finally succeed with Dahlia. That fear was what had driven her to pray—that Dahlia would be spared, that Master would fail again.
Ravenna pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop them, lost in thought.
Is it wrong to feel this way? she wondered. Am I developing a rebellious heart? She shouldn't, she knows this. Master was the utmost in their hearts
She had always pushed herself harder than anyone, enduring every brutal experiment and every harsh lesson, all to win Master's approval. Yet, deep down—beneath the violence, the endless drills, and Master's constant preaching about the strong preying on the weak—she had longed for something else. A peaceful life. A quiet one. Maybe even a life where she could care for someone… or be cared for.
That hidden longing was what had drawn her to Dahlia when she first arrived. She had cared for the girl, at first out of duty, but eventually, a gentle affection bloomed—something tender and unfamiliar. Like a mother to a daughter, or an elder sister to a younger one. This was her true heart, the part of her Master had never touched.
The drills, the trials, the endless pain—though she endured them without complaint—had never truly come from within her. They felt hollow, meaningless. After all, there were no enemies, no threats. Only the nine of them in the dark hollow: eight disciples and their Master. Who were they really preparing to fight? Who were the weak they were meant to prey upon?
If there was a point to it, that should lie beyond the overcast sky. But none of them even knows what lies there, they had never been above it… and perhaps never would.
Now, sitting alone on the ridge, Ravenna found herself caught in thoughts she had never dared entertain before. Her gaze drifted to the overcast above, recalling Dahlia's question from days earlier:
"Do you remember having any of your relatives?"
"Relatives…" she murmured aloud.
Did I ever have any? She shook her head, dismissing it. But the question lingered, pulling at her with unfamiliar curiosity.
Is this because I miss Dahlia? Or is it just being here alone, on the mountain she loved?
She had never cared about such things before. Never asked. Never wondered. But now, these thoughts clung to her.
Did I really assent to Master taking my memories? What if they had held something… beautiful? Someone I loved?
Her face grew cold. Why is this bothering me now?
Am I… changing?
She slapped herself suddenly, trying to snap out of the spiral.
"No," she whispered. "Master is kind. She's good. I don't need the memories she took away."
But even as she said it, another voice inside her rebelled.
But why should she erase our memories? What right did she have?
Her face flickered between anger and sadness, the emotions clashing within her. She didn't understand what was happening to her. Her thoughts were tangled, her heart at war with itself.
"Why… why… why!" she cried, grabbing her hair in frustration. Her head spun, clouded by contradictions.
She collapsed onto the ground, clutching her head, curling into herself. Her teeth clenched, her body tense—as if something inside her was breaking, or awakening.
She lay there, trembling.
One moment silent.
The next, whispering over and over:
"No… no… no…"