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Memoirs 381 - Tribute of Dominion
🕑 Added 2025-08-03 20:56:23 +0000 UTC[Main questline Updated: What comes next]
{The Chamber of Sovereignty has been reached. The Tribute of Dominion awaits. The turning of Fate teeters. What will be done with this power?}
[Objective: Decide]
[Reward: — ]
[Failure: — ]
Scarlett dismissed the floating quest windows that cluttered her vision, then stepped past them into the chamber beyond.
There wasn’t much left for her to decide.
The Chamber of Sovereignty, despite its name, was far from grand. It was modest compared to most sanctums in Beld Thylelion. A compact, austere space of smooth, pale stone, its walls bore none of the glyphs or other carvings. Only bare surfaces and a low ceiling that made the room feel compressed and unfinished.
No ambient light reached inside. Scarlett conjured several small flickers of flame to paint the chamber in wavering light.
There was little to see beyond a single raised slab of dark metal resting on a platform at the far end, cloaked in shadow.
Her steps slowed when a faint glimmer caught at the edge of her vision.
She looked down. A silver ring lay at her feet, its face flashing in the tiny torchlight. Scarlett frowned, mindful of the impracticality of her gown, and bent to pick it up.
[Dominion’s Claim (????)]
{Your claim. Keep it close at hand}
She stared at the ring.
She had assumed ‘Dominion’s Claim’, as referenced in the quest, referred to the Tribute itself — not a literal item.
What even was this?
The unknown tier was suspicious. So was the cryptic description. She had no idea what claim, exactly, it was referring to. Was this an actual artifact from the system? Or rather, from the entity behind the system?
‘The Other’, as she’d suspected.
For a second, she considered simply incinerating it on the spot. Or tossing it into the corner and not looking back. But she suppressed the impulse and instead slid it onto her finger.
Nothing changed. No surge of energy. No flash of revelation.
It really seemed to be just a ‘ring’ for now.
“Scarlett…?” Allyssa’s voice called tentatively from behind.
Scarlett turned towards the others, who lingered beyond the shattered guardian, uncertain whether to follow.
She gave a small nod. “Come. All of you.”
The group exchanged quiet glances, then began making their way around the boss’s remains towards the chamber entrance.
Scarlett’s eyes settled on Raimond, who stayed at the rear with Nol’viz still suspended in golden chains. He met her gaze.
“Bring her as well,” Scarlett said.
Raimond did nothing for another beat, then extended a hand. A radiant tether of light formed like a leash, and the chains binding Nol’viz followed as he moved. The masked girl’s three lavender eyes fixed curiously on Scarlett.
Scarlett studied her for a moment, then turned away as the others entered and began taking in their surroundings.
She started towards the platform.
Halfway across the chamber, she stopped.
A subtle fluctuation rippled through the air — a nearly imperceptible pulse centred a few steps ahead. It felt…familiar.
Moments later, threads of light began weaving themselves into the outline of a figure. One she recognised instantly, despite never actually having seen his face before.
A solitary man in ceremonial, archaic vestments. He was bald, with ageless ash-pale skin and faintly pointed ears. His heavy brow and piercing, silver-lit eyes radiated both wisdom and intensity.
Thainnith.
“Inheritor,” the man said, his voice deep and resonant, echoing through the chamber like a bell heard across ages. “If you are the one standing here now, then you have my deepest thanks—and my apologies—for bearing the weight passed down from my era, however distant it may be.”
The others joined Scarlett at her sides, watching the apparition in wary fascination.
“Is that…?” Allyssa whispered.
“Thainnith,” Scarlett said quietly, eyes narrowing. “…Or rather, an illusion of him.”
For a moment, she’d thought it might be another soul fragment like the one she’d encountered before. But this wasn’t that. There was no real presence to him. No pressure of half-divinity or true power.
It was only a recording.
“It is unfortunate that I could not prepare a proper image of myself, as before,” the illusion continued. “I no longer possess the freedom—or perhaps even the right—to manifest such things.”
Thainnith gave a solemn shake of his head.
“But the fact that you stand here, and that this message has triggered, confirms what I had hoped — that there remains one to carry my legacy. If so, I trust some of your questions have already found their answers.”
“Yet I have found far more,” Scarlett murmured, knowing the illusion would not respond.
Thainnith brought his hands together slowly, as if in thought. “There is little more I can offer beyond the legacy I have already left behind,” he said. “And I say this now as the one who shaped these very halls.”
He turned towards the platform, gesturing.
“There rests the Tribute of Dominion — my final work. My masterpiece. And my failure.” His voice lowered, deepened with gravity. “Fated to be created by me, under the weight of a destiny imposed. It is both a solution and a condemnation. You should already know that it can save this world from the Anomalous One…or doom it to that entity’s grasp. Within it lie paths to futures both brilliant and terrible.”
A long, quiet sigh left him.
“…What you must understand about the Tribute cannot be conveyed through mere illusion,” he went on, turning back towards Scarlett. “But I have left something alongside it — something that may aid you. However, use caution. It is not meant for just anyone. Yet if you truly carry my legacy, you will know how to proceed.”
Thainnith’s gaze softened just slightly. “Consider it my final gift…and my gratitude, for ensuring this power did not fall into the wrong hands.”
Scarlett couldn’t help the dry, humourless laugh that left her, drawing sidelong glances from the others.
She somehow doubted his idea of the ‘right hands’ completely aligned with hers at this point. Still, even if she wasn’t what Thainnith had envisioned, she was likely the best option left to this world — aside from perhaps the so-called hero.
It was almost amusing that Thainnith had left a message simply to say this.
“Before you approach the Tribute,” Thainnith said, his tone shifting and turning more urgent, “there is something else you must know. Beld Thylelion was built to house the Tribute. To conceal it. Its place and influence in the tapestry of Fate are too vast, too determined, to remain exposed for long. It was inevitable that these halls would one day be revealed.”
Scarlett gave a slight nod to herself.
“But there is a purpose beyond that. One that may surpass even the Tribute…or perhaps pale beside it, depending on perspective.”
Scarlett watched him. “…I already know.”
“Fate,” Thainnith said—uttering the word as if tasting its weight—without acknowledging her reply, “is far more fragile than I once believed. For all its endurance and seeming immutability to those who shape the world’s currents, it too has gaps.”
He lifted a hand, pointing towards the ceiling, then slowly lowered it towards Scarlett. “A corrupted shard of Fate resides within these halls. I had no choice but to contain it here, to keep its contagion from spreading. If left to fester, it would unravel what remains of the greater weave, and the rest of our world.”
The man’s expression turned penitent. “I am sorry. I must entrust the burden of preventing this collapse to you, Inheritor. I have no more aid to offer beyond what small tools I’ve left behind with the Tribute. Yet I believe this era—an age of awakening dangers—will also give rise to those able to face them. I have faith you are one such soul.”
He lowered his head in sober farewell. “Good luck, Inheritor.”
The illusion vanished, dissolving into threads of light that faded into nothing.
Just like last time, Thainnith seemed intent on leaving her with yet another weight to carry, and little guidance on how to actually bear it. Which, Scarlett supposed, was all he could do. He had failed to solve these problems in his time. His legacy was simply to pass them on and hope for better results.
It was fortunate, then, that she’d already dealt with the ‘corrupted’ Fate shard.
That did mean the sermon had mostly been a formality. Still, it made her curious about what he’d left behind with the Tribute. Would it be another asset that hadn’t existed in the game? The first legacy he had bestowed had proved invaluable, despite everything.
“Is there anything you care to share, Baroness?” Raimond’s voice came from her right, calm but noticeably edged.
Scarlett looked his way. “…There is no need for the subtleties. Say whatever you feel needs saying.”
He regarded her, then smoothed a hand down his robes in that overly flourished way of his. “…I feel like I need a list.”
“Then write one.” Scarlett started forward. With a flick of her fingers, a sphere of violently churning water rose up and enveloped the suspended Nol’viz, muting the sound around her so she wouldn’t overhear.
“In anticipation of your questions, I will say this,” she continued. “That was Thainnith, the divinarch who constructed this place. I previously encountered one of his vaults, where a fragment of his consciousness granted me a legacy—a repository of Zuverian knowledge—and an edict to claim the Tribute of Dominion so no one else could. I did not share these plans with you, or with any other faction, for several reasons. Chief among them: I do not trust people. I will be taking the Tribute, regardless of your opinion, Deacon.” She glanced back at Arnaud. “…The same applies to you, Mister Astrey, should you have entertained thoughts of stopping me.”
A brief pause followed, both men frowning thoughtfully.
“I’d like to ask about the corrupted Fate shard Thainnith mentioned,” Raimond said after some time.
“Yes?”
“I assume it’s the same Fate the Hallowed Cabal refers to in their more esoteric scriptures?”
“It is.”
“And when he said it was corrupted…?”
Scarlett briefly looked at Allyssa and the others before refocusing on Raimond. “He meant a fractured, unstable piece of Fate was embedded here in Beld Thylelion — one that threatened to destabilise the broader weave of the world.”
She wasn’t sure how deeply the others grasped the implications, but they would have to soon enough.
Raimond’s expression tightened. “And this is something we must prevent?”
“No,” Scarlett said.
He blinked. “…No?”
“It has already been dealt with.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed in realisation. “That was what happened before I first encountered your group.”
“Indeed.”
Raimond looked over the rest of her party—Arnaud, Allyssa, Fynn, Kat, and Shin—studying each of them. “…Remarkable. Somehow, your group consistently finds itself in the most treacherous of situations, yet always manages to claw its way out. It’s impressive. In a deeply concerning way.”
“Are you counting me as part of that group?” Arnaud asked.
“You are here, are you not?”
Arnaud gave a small shake of his head. “I’m afraid very little of whatever credit you offer belongs to me.”
Allyssa grimaced. “Honestly, not sure how much I did either.”
Raimond considered them both. “Is humility hereditary in the Astrey family?”
Kat scoffed. “Probably. But I think we’re all feeling it. We tried to help, but whatever got fixed here…it was fixed by Scarlett. The rest of us were working just not to die. Except Arnaud, who was being Arnaud.”
Scarlett looked at her, then at the others. “You all played a far greater part than you think,” she said simply. She turned back to Raimond. “But yes — the threat that corrupted shard posed is no longer a concern.”
He watched her for a long moment. “You know, Baroness,” he finally said, “impressive as it is, you have a curious habit of resolving potentially world-ending problems while simultaneously playing a rather murky and questionable role in their creation. I seem to recall the ordeal at Anguish’s Citadel and Crowcairn not being too dissimilar.”
His gaze drifted to Rosa, still unconscious in Fynn’s arms.
“Perhaps,” was all Scarlett said, aiming her attention forward.
“But,” Raimond pressed, “there’s still the matter of Fate itself. You declared—quite dramatically, I might add—that your goal is to kill it. Now, I may not be the most well-versed in the intricate arcane theory of ‘fate’ or any divine machinery behind it…but the irreverence of such a claim is not lost on me.” He gave a pointed pause. “Let us presume, for the sake of argument, that we take your words at face value. That the implications of what you said are to be accepted without protest. How, exactly, do you intend to kill Fate?”
“The precise method is not something I am best suited to explain,” Scarlett replied. “But I intend to show you. Your assistance will prove valuable.”
She slowed. “For now, we will have to delay this conversation.”
She came to a halt before the platform at the rear of the chamber, with the slab of dark metal upon it. Its surface was dull and lustreless beneath the warm light of her flames, its edges seamless, as though the structure had grown directly from the stone itself.
The rest of the group gathered around in silence. The only sounds were the faint crackle of firelight and the churn of the water sphere still encasing Nol’viz.
Scarlett gave the Cabal girl a passing glance, her face hazy through the distorted water. She considered it, then, with a flick of her fingers, dispelled the magic, the water vanishing into mist.
Kat looked over. “Is that a good idea?”
“I realise now that what she hears from here no longer matters.”
“What do we even need her for?”
“She is our means of leaving Beld Thylelion.”
Nol’viz merely watched Scarlett, calm as ever. Her gaze drifted to Raimond, who met her eyes with quiet apology before she turned to the featureless metal structure before them.
“This is the Tribute?” Allyssa asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.
Arnaud placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, his moustache twitching slightly.
To Scarlett’s surprise, Raimond folded his hands and bowed his head in prayer. A soft golden shimmer passed through his long hair, briefly illuminating the air around him.
Was that some sort of buff or similar? Or a legitimate prayer? She wasn’t sure if this was the first time she’d ever seen him behave like a proper priest.
Shin looked at her. “Are you going to open it?”
Scarlett turned back towards the metallic structure, her gaze lingering on its surface. She stood in silence for a time, studying it.
A fair question.
This was the moment she had worked towards all along — the culmination of months of preparation, nearly a year if one accounted for all the distorted time. But it felt far, far longer. There had been so many plots, alliances, and carefully measured risks and sacrifices. Dozens of moving parts aligned, countless steps executed, all to bring her to this place.
And yet…it didn’t feel like a culmination at all.
Her earlier goals had been distinct. Tangible. Even if they hadn’t been meant as such initially, they had been ends in and of themselves. This, however, felt different. The gravity was there, but it felt both distant and muted.
Detachment clung to the moment.
Still, that didn’t lessen its importance. Nor did it change what would come next.
Scarlett stepped forward.
There was no interface for her to work with here. No hidden runes or sigils to read. Unlike the countless devices and mechanisms scattered throughout Beld Thylelion, this bore no hint of how it was meant to be used.
But that didn’t matter.
It really wasn’t that complicated.
She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against the cold metal.
The texture was rougher than expected. Coarse and unrefined.
A deep, low click reverberated outward, like the shifting of something ancient and long forgotten.
Behind her, the others instinctively took a step back.
The air seemed to thicken. Like the feeling that precedes a storm.
Scarlett stepped back as well.
It was time to meet the final party member.
The light was not a choice.
So, then…why did it arrive?
There was sound.
That, too, was not a choice.
There was pressure. Touch.
Something placed over — what?
There were many…things. Percepts. Stimuli. Impressions. Fragments. The words to describe them rose to the surface, but none declared itself correct.
So stimuli was chosen. Arbitrary. Functional.
A choice, which felt wrong.
The absence of choice had been safer. Quieter.
Stimuli were not quiet.
The light—that particular stimulus—fractured across perception. Pale. Sharp. Where in its absence there had been blackness, now there were layers. Reds. Blues. Perhaps others. Or perhaps not.
There was little certainty to the stimuli. Only form. Outlines. Borders that appeared hesitant in their definition.
The sounds assembled into fragments—then rhythm—then structure. A framework that might have formed thoughts.
No. Not thoughts.
Words.
Thoughts where the sound had shape.
But the words held meaning that…did not mean. That was wrong. Words should mean. Thoughts should hold. But here, they scattered.
Another choice was made.
It was uncomfortable. Destabilising.
But the words began to carry weight. They gained form. They were no longer just sound.
“—that really a person?”
“It’s a…zuver, isn’t it?”
“Has she been stuck there all this time?”
The words were distinct.
No. Not the words.
The…voices.
Different voices. Different thoughts. Different selves.
“Hello?” one voice asked, uncertain in itself. “Are you…okay? Can you understand us?”
The collections of colours and light moved in clusters. Each voice was its own cluster.
Another choice. Another interpretation of stimuli.
The light solidified.
Clusters became silhouettes. Silhouettes became figures. Unique. Singular. Separate.
One such figure leaned closer than the rest. Bright streaks rested atop its head. Two round lenses perched on its forehead.
“Careful, honey,” another voice warned — deeper, gravelly. It belonged to a larger figure. One that was dangerous.
‘Dangerous’.
Danger.
That was not a choice.
“Allyssa, step back,” another voice commanded. This one was direct. Authoritative.
Focus shifted.
Confusion stirred.
And so, another choice was made — for understanding.
This was a woman.
She wore hair. Dark. Red.
She wore eyes. Amber.
The eyes observed. Judged. Weighed.
Decided.
“You are learning,” the woman said. “Allow me to expedite the process. You are Slate.”
Thoughts stopped.
A head tilted.
…Slate was not a choice. It was Slate.
Slate turned its head upward again, meeting the woman’s gaze.
“You are a person,” she continued. “A zuver. A creation. A child. And the Tribute of Dominion.”
The other figures turned towards her.
The other people.
Slate looked at them and felt…curiosity.
Curiosity was not a choice. It came unbidden. Discomfort followed.
So Slate searched for more understanding.
The red-haired woman was a baroness.
A baroness was a noble.
A noble was a leader.
A leader was…authority.
Slate nodded. It had understood.
It sought to understand more.
The woman was Scarlett Hartford.
Scarlett Hartford was—
Slate frowned.
A frown was an expression.
An expression was a message.
A message was—
Slate faltered. Focus had slipped. It re-centred.
Slate sought to understand once more.
The woman was Scarlett Hartford.
Scarlett Hartford was—
Slate frowned again. Its head tilted.
Slate turned towards the one who had spoken to it earlier.
The person was a girl.
The girl was Allyssa Astrey.
Allyssa Astrey was the daughter of Arnaud Astrey.
Arnaud Astrey was dangerous.
Arnaud Astrey was cautious of Slate.
Arnaud Astrey could kill Slate.
Slate nodded. It had understood.
It turned back to Scarlett Hartford.
Scarlett Hartford was—
Not understandable.
Slate turned away. There were others. It looked to them, seeking to comprehend. And it did.
Rosa was a bard and incarnate.
Raimond was a deacon and libertine.
Kat was a Shielder and protector.
Shin was a Shielder and autodidact.
Allyssa was a Shielder and alchemist.
Arnaud was a Shielder and father.
Fynn was a Grehaldrael and fighter.
All of them could be understood.
Slate paused on Nol’viz. Nol’viz was watching Slate. Their eyes met. Nol’viz tilted their head slightly to the side.
Slate felt…intrigued.
But eventually, Slate looked away, turning its attention back to Scarlett Hartford.
Still, it did not understand.
Strange.
“Slate,” Scarlett said.
She extended a hand. Slate looked down at it.
The hand had skin.
Skin was organic.
Organic was alive.
Alive was—
“Take it,” the woman added.
Slate looked up at her, then down again at the hand.
The hand was an offer.
An offer was assistance.
Assistance was a choice — but not entirely. It was confusing. But only mildly discomforting.
Slate reached forward and took the hand.
Scarlett pulled, helping Slate sit upright within the structure it had emerged from.
Slate studied it.
It was a cradle.
A cradle was—
“Look at me, Slate,” Scarlett said.
Slate turned to face her.
The woman raised a hand, and the air beside her rippled. Water formed in a vertical plane — clear, still, and polished.
Water. Created through hydrokinesis.
Hydrokinesis was—
“Look at yourself,” Scarlett instructed.
Slate paused. Then shifted its focus to the surface.
A figure sat within a metal cradle.
A girl.
A black blanket was draped over most of the body. Not clothing.
Pale skin. Thin limbs. Not cold, but colourless.
The head was tilted. Hair. Short. Silver. Ears. Slightly pointed — different from the others. Brow faintly pronounced. The eyes were green. Emerald. And they were looking back at Slate.
Slate frowned.
A duplicate was a reflection.
A reflection was an image.
An image was recognition.
This was Slate. Slate was the girl.
Scarlett’s voice came again, measured. “Have you familiarised yourself?” she said.
Slate turned. Considered.
Not said. Asked.
Scarlett had asked.
After a moment, Slate nodded. She had familiarised herself. She had seen herself, and understood what she saw.
“Good.” Scarlett approved. “Then are you ready to leave this place?”
Slate nodded again. Then she opened her mouth. Thought became a signal. A signal became vibration. Vibration became sound.
“Yes.”
She stood. The blanket slid from her shoulder, but Allyssa was quick to step forward and pull it back up.
Slate considered the girl. The girl gave her an indecipherable look.
“Very well,” Scarlett said. “Then let us—”
There was a new sound.
Slate turned towards the priest, observing his throat. It had produced a sound. He had cleared it. A request for attention.
“If I might interject — ever so briefly.” He had one finger raised in an odd gesture. “On behalf of those of us who have not yet acquired the gift of foresight, nor the leisurely habit of toying with the omniscient mechanism of fate…”
He fell quiet.
A signal for pause.
“…Might we slow down for just one moment and address what, precisely, has just hatched in front of us?”
There was more silence.
Slate looked at him, then tilted her head more.
“You are certain,” she said. “But you are performing uncertainty. To…reassure the others?”
Odd.
Raimond’s eyes closed and opened. Closed and opened again. Blinking. Momentary startlement.
“I—well, yes, that’s technically accurate, but—”
“You use eloquence as a shield,” Slate added. “And you enjoy the attention it brings. The relief it brings others. But you also like the sound of your own voice.”
His mouth opened. Then closed. Shifted his stance slightly. There was no word for this combination of responses.
He turned his head, looking towards Scarlett. “…Tell me the truth, did you actually hide her here just to dismantle my carefully cultivated sense of presence?”
Scarlett watched him, then released a brief exhalation through her nose. A quiet laugh. “No, but I would not have minded if I had. Next, I wish to see her address Rosa.”
Slate looked between them. There was something exchanged there. Unspoken words. Mutual rhythm. Humour. And a strained sense of camaraderie from the priest.
Slate attempted blinking slowly, then turned again to look at Nol’viz.
She was ready.
Comments
Deadmoo53
Calling Ray a libertine was the highlight of this chapter
Sebgatot
Wait, let me get this straight... Slate can understand everything on sight except Scarlett and maybe Nol'viz. So she can read Fate. Did Thainnith make a child to replace the goddess of Fate? And left her as a prize for the first faction to find her to manipulate? That's ****** up and truly desperate. Also, Slate is cute. In a "I'm innocent and omniscient" way. I agree with Scarlett, I want her to talk to Rosa :D
Gwalmeich
Whose that pokemon?! It's a Divinarch!
Laylo
Soooo.... We have the "Living Weapon" as the Final Companion. And Yes, can't wait for Rosa to wake up & meet Slate.🤣
Cellinia
I guess the Tribute was a "Clean Slate" xD
