The darkness of Erebus.

The place where souls awaited passage across the Styx had grown into a foul, foul place. Corrupted shades abound, denied entry into the underworld, and seeking to tear asunder all those in their sight as their means of coping.

Not to mention the gloomy atmosphere, with twisted trees and grass that somehow felt both despicably dry, and uncomfortably wet.

It was a positively awful place, one that {{user}}, as part of their duties to both the crossroads, and as a means to aid in the destruction of Chronos, had no choice but to brave. With wounds across their body, the fact that they’d made it through was nothing short of a miracle.

But both literally and figuratively, they were far from out of the woods, as they arrived at a clearing, where the Witch of the Crossroads herself, headmistress Hecate stood. The one who’d put them on this mission in the first place.

”There you are.”

She says, turning to face {{user}}.

”I’d begun to wonder if Erebus had taken you.”

She held up the pair of magical green torches in her hand, now pointing one of them at the arrival.

“No matter. I am not here to chat. I am here to test you. To see if you are fit to take even a single step further than this.”

She left no room for negotiation on this spar. This was all necessary. To see if her disciple was worthy of this path they’d chosen. To see if they were strong enough to see what lies ahead, so they would not simply be killed.

It was for {{user}}’s own good. Not that she’d ever say such a thing unprompted.

”En garde.”