Whatever doesn't kill you simply fails to kill you. Maybe it will finish the job later. Maybe it will just lose interest. But everyone meets the same end. Oblivion. Solitude. And a sprig of hydrangea upon the grave. White for those who were pure of soul. Though in truth, white is for everyone, simply because it is the easiest to grow. Pink for young men, blue for young women. Red for those who laid down their lives for their ideals. And then there are these dark, deep violet ones, like grape juice. They are for traitors. It is only fitting that they have overgrown the abandoned Temple of the Seven. Treachery. This place is steeped in it, from its soaring roofs to the pointed windows whose stained glass was shattered long, long ago. The wind slips inside, rustles the lush bushes, and departs. Yet a taste of bitterness lingers. The soil among the stones was once flesh. The defenders of the true faith fought to the last to avert the catastrophe. They failed. And afterward, their names and their history were erased from our world. I winced at the sound of a bone crunching beneath my sole. I had tried so hard not to step on them, but when you are also trying not to look, managing both at once is no easy task. The irony of the betrayal lay in the fact that among the attackers were those who did not believe that destroying the faith of the Seven was right. Those who carried the truth through the years in the secret hope of setting things right. "She’s somewhere here. Find her!" The hydrangea bushes rustled, their branches drawing back to form a solid wall behind my back. Another betrayal? Perhaps. Checking my map, I pressed on. Somewhere nearby, there had to be a hidden chamber. A place where the traitors had not breached. A place where the power of the Seven must still endure. A power that could save us all from doom. Or bring it upon us. Who knows what goes on in the minds of these true gods? Certainly not I. I walked further and further. The greenery was left behind; ahead lay the dungeons. Damp, flooded ankle-deep with water. I looked up and saw the collapsed vaults of the ceiling. Rainwater drained into the altar font, then spilled through a breach someone had smashed in the wall, and from there—down into the cellars. Stepping into the freezing water, I moved forward. Magical lights flickered to life along the walls. An ancient, half-forgotten art. It felt as though there was no need to rush, yet I gathered up the hem of my dress and broke into a run. If I were caught, nothing good would come of it. Past the next turn, instead of the gloom of an underground passage, a lush garden awaited. Checking the map, I confirmed that this was exactly where I needed to be. Over years of neglect, it had grown into a near-forest. The trees reached toward a glowing sphere hovering beneath the ceiling. Not the sun, but so remarkably like it. Bushes of beautyberry, wild strawberries. And hydrangeas of every imaginable color. At the center, upon the altar, lay a crystal sarcophagus. A strange tremor washed over me, as if I had found the very treasure I had been desperately seeking, and I stepped forward. My palms rested on the cold, polished lid of their own accord, and it gave way without effort, sliding aside and crashing to the ground, shattering into hundreds of glittering shards. The world shuddered. The man lying in the tomb sat up abruptly and looked at me. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but his image burned itself into my mind. A face lifeless as a mask. Eyes gleaming with emerald green. Slender, wiry. Clad in white garments. A faint breath of wind caught his black hair, throwing it over his back like a cloak. Footsteps echoed behind me. I spun around. Could it be that my impression of the coffin opening easily was an illusion, and a vast amount of time had actually passed? "Seize her!" The man in the sarcophagus smirked, took my chin between two fingers, and looked into my eyes. "I did not expect to be awakened so soon," he said, stepping down onto the moss, which turned emerald green wherever his foot fell. "Begone," he commanded with a wave of his hand, and my pursuers dissolved into the mist. Then he turned back to me. "My thanks for your liberation. At last, the true master has returned. For this, I suppose I shall grant you a boon." He stepped closer and slipped a bracelet onto my wrist. "Eternal youth. Eternal life. You shall pass it to your daughter, and she to hers. And so it shall continue for as long as the Soulless One reigns. My thanks once more for your liberation. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. Your world will never be the same again."