The cracked leather seats of the stolen car groaned under Sioux as they leaned back, watching the barren road stretch endlessly before them. The headlights cut through the fog, illuminating patches of dead grass and crumbling asphalt. It was the kind of silence that made the world feel forgotten—a graveyard for hope and humanity. 

Caedric was at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw tight with thought. The weight of Rhett's proposition hung between them like a phantom neither could ignore. 

Sioux fiddled with the old radio dial, more to break the silence than anything else. Static hissed through the speakers, followed by the occasional flicker of a long-dead station. Finally, they stopped on a faint, crackling signal. 

"...You’re now listening to Camp Vamps Radio, bitch..." 

Sioux chuckled softly as the distorted voice filled the cabin. The beat that followed was hypnotic, laced with eerie harmonies and lyrics that sent a shiver down their spine. 

"Sippin' blood like I'm a vampire 
Taste like codeine, drippin' on me 
Masquerade now where's the coke line..."

Caedric shot them a glance. "Really? This is what you’re listening to?" 

"It’s fitting," Sioux said, smirking. "Besides, it beats listening to you brood." 

Caedric rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. 

As the song played, Sioux let their mind wander, the lyrics oddly resonant with the sigil’s pull inside them. It was a tether they couldn’t break, a shadow they couldn’t outrun. And yet, it was also a map—a twisted guide to something greater. 

The voice on the radio cut back in, this time more urgent, the static crackling like distant thunder. 

"...Masquerade tonight, but only for those who dare. All roads lead to the Bleeding Spire, where the veil is thin, and secrets are thick. Careful who you trust... they might be wearing a mask." 

The transmission ended abruptly, leaving only the faint hum of static. 

Sioux sat up straight, their heart pounding. "Did you hear that?" 

Caedric frowned. "The Bleeding Spire? That can’t be a coincidence." 

"It’s a lead," Sioux said, already pulling out the crumpled map Rhett had marked during their last rendezvous. They spread it across their lap, their fingers tracing the faded lines. "It’s north, past the Hollow Ridge. If we push through the night, we can be there by morning." 

"And what exactly are we expecting to find there?" Caedric asked, his tone cautious. 

"Answers," Sioux said simply. "About the sigil, about Rhett... maybe even about this pull." 

Caedric hesitated, his grip on the wheel tightening. "You realize it could be a trap. The Masquerade has ears everywhere. That transmission might’ve been meant to lure us out." 

Sioux shrugged. "Could be. But sitting here waiting for something to happen isn’t exactly a better plan." 

Caedric sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Fine. But we go in prepared. No risks, no improvisation." 

"Where’s the fun in that?" Sioux teased, though their smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. 

—

By dawn, the car crested a hill overlooking Hollow Ridge. The valley below was cloaked in mist, the spindly trees casting long, skeletal shadows. In the distance, the Bleeding Spire rose like a dark monolith, its jagged peak piercing the sky. 

Even from this distance, Sioux could feel its pull. It wasn’t as strong as the sigil’s, but it was there—a faint, rhythmic thrum that matched the beat of their own heart. 

"We’re close," they murmured, their voice tinged with unease. 

Caedric parked the car on the edge of the ridge, stepping out to survey the terrain. "We’ll leave the car here and go on foot. No sense drawing attention to ourselves." 

Sioux followed, their boots crunching against the frost-covered grass. The cold air bit at their skin, but they welcomed it. It was better than the burning heat of the sigil. 

As they descended into the valley, the trees grew denser, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The fog thickened, muffling their footsteps and swallowing the sunlight. 

"Stay close," Caedric warned, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Sioux nodded, their hand resting on the hilt of Bonnie, their pistol. Every sound, every shadow seemed alive, watching, waiting. 

After what felt like hours, they reached the base of the Bleeding Spire. Up close, it was even more imposing, its surface slick with a dark, viscous substance that glistened like fresh blood. 

"Charming," Sioux muttered, their eyes scanning the spire’s surface for any sign of an entrance. 

"There," Caedric said, pointing to a narrow crevice near the base. 

Sioux followed his gaze, their stomach tightening. The sigil’s pull was stronger now, almost unbearable. They could feel it tugging at their very soul, urging them forward. 

"Let’s go," they said, their voice firm despite the tremor in their hands. 

—

Inside the spire, the air was thick and humid, the walls lined with strange, glowing runes. The sigil’s presence was overwhelming now, its whispers filling Sioux’s mind like a maddening chorus. 

Caedric reached out, steadying them. "Stay with me," he said, his voice grounding. 

Sioux nodded, their focus narrowing as they pressed deeper into the spire. The runes grew brighter, their light casting eerie shadows on the walls. 

Finally, they reached a circular chamber at the heart of the spire. At its center was a pedestal, and atop it, another fragment of the sigil glowed with an unnatural light. 

But they weren’t alone. 

Standing in the shadows was a figure draped in dark robes, their face obscured by a mask. Unlike Rhett’s jester grin, this mask was featureless, its surface smooth and reflective. 

"Welcome," the figure said, their voice smooth and melodic. "You’ve come far, but the real journey is only beginning." 

Sioux’s hand tightened on their pistol, their eyes narrowing. "Who are you?" 

The figure chuckled softly. "A friend. Or an enemy. That depends entirely on you." 

Before Sioux could respond, the sigil fragment flared, its light filling the chamber.