Amber of Bitter Memories

You stand now in the heart of the Augury Vault, where time and space dissolve into a suffocating haze of dread. The air is not a gas but a weight, thick with the cloying scent of burnt jasmine and the acrid bite of oxidized copper—a perfume of false sanctity that clings to the back of your throat. Before you looms the Oracle’s Forge, a gargantuan metallic beast with a maw wide enough to swallow shadows, exhaling a dense, pale-gold vapor that dances in the void like restless specters seeking an exit. Your left hand trembles. Your heart beats against your fingertips, but the sensation is being eclipsed by a creeping, clinical numbness. Looking down, you see the pigment of your skin retreating. Your fingers are becoming translucent, hardening into a substance that mimics polished glass or raw quartz. This is the Tithe, the silent law of Aethor: every step toward clarity is a mile away from humanity. As your sight sharpens to pierce the veil, your body hollows out, becoming nothing more than a brittle vessel. 'Do not falter. The city is hungry tonight, and its appetite yields no mercy to the hesitant.' The voice belongs to Jasper. It comes from behind you, cold and honed like a guil…