With how often she experienced an avalanche, Waverly became extra cautious of standing too close to any rock face. She had spent an unknown period of time on the run, trying to find a way out. Oftentimes, her eyes would travel to the haze above in hopes that it part and let someone down; someone that could be of help. But from the look of things, she gathered that she would have to wait longer, working to survive meanwhile.

Her new aim was to cross over to the massive mound of rock on the opposite side without being spotted. Stealthily sticking to the precipice beside her, she measured the distance in between. If only she could make it back to the plateau she had fallen onto when she first arrived, something assured her that she would figure things out from there.

After a quick count of twenty, she sprinted swiftly across the opening. Reaching the middle, a violent force knocked her sideways and sent her tumbling.

Hekate tsked as she approached. Unlike Etonian women, who wore decent robes - with an exception of Vanita - she fancied dark hued and sultry dresses; appearing with a different kind whenever she came to taunt and torture Waverly. They pair had been at an unpleasant game of hide and seek since the latter's arrival.

"Are you yet to realize, silly girl, that you have nowhere to run to?"

With a groan, Waverly rolled over, thankful that the ground no longer boiled as it had once done. She pushed herself up and let out a big breath.

"I don't know if you know this, Hekate, but I don't give up so easily."

"Oh, I do know." Hekate sniggered. "It's all the more reason why this is so much fun."

Surreptitiously, she looked onward and glimpsed the towering rock not too far from where she stood. Hekate had flung her right out of the gorge to a better spot from which she could descry her intended destination properly.

"Go to it!" The goddess prompted calmly, flexing a finger. Her eyebrows arched in taunting. "Go on!"

Waverly stared in uncertainty for a second before making a dash forward. When she had drawn nearer to the spire, she halted with a surprised gasp. The distance between herself and the spire suddenly elongated, pushing all the way to the horizon. The ground at her feet cracked and depressed, creating a deathly cliff drop. Being unable to find her footing quick enough, she fell over the side, and in the next moment, found that she was tumbling roughly, until she was sprawled before Hekate again.

It felt like she never left.

"How very entertaining!" Hekate laughed and clapped once, then strode forward. "Even if you made it up that rock, you cannot leave."

"I'd get away from you." Waverly groaned tiredly. The whole of her body ached with exhaustion.

"All of Nys is subject to me. There is no getting away from me, filth."

Hekate pulled her to her feet, rather roughly, and pinioned her to the rock face. Waverly stretched a hand out to feel about and her fingers closed over loose stone.

"You cannot hide." The goddess sneered.

"I wasn't hiding."

With a forceful swing, Waverly brought the stone to Hekate's face, earning a shriek from the goddess, who staggered back from being disoriented. But before Waverly could make another run for it, she was grabbed by the arm and tossed. The ground quivered as she made to rise and her upside-down vision outlined a monstrous creature approaching. In the very next minute, it stood near her and placed an extraordinarily large foot on her chest, snatching all the air from it.

Waverly grabbed the foot and tried to pry it off, but the creature was too heavy and put in more pressure on its leg. It was a humanoid thing with bulky arms and even bulkier legs. A flurry of prominent bones protruded from its cheekbones up to its frightening eyes, where a flat, ugly face and a wide mouth made it two times uglier than anything she ever saw. In short, it looked like an abominable cross between a Carkness and a Qoi. Only much smaller than the latter.

Hekate strolled to meet it then gestured to Waverly. "Behold our newest rival, Tars. She is a stubborn little thing. Do tell your brethren that wherever anyone encounters her, they have my orders to do with her as they see fit."

The creature, Tars, grunted in agreement. He glanced down at Waverly, whose blurring vision did not permit her to see the snarl of hatred on its face.

"You may go now, Tars." Hekate permitted. "You can have her after I'm done."

Again, Tars bellowed a grunt. Begrudgingly, he took his foot off Waverly's chest. The latter heaved and coughed, gasping for air as she watched the creature leave. From behind, Hekate unexpectedly grabbed a large fistful of her hair, and as if on instinct, she swatted the goddess's hand away.

"Don't touch my hair!" Her growl was raspy, her chest still heaving.

"Oh! Oh, no?!" Hekate chuckled, providing a dagger. "How about I cut it off?"

Waverly shot to her feet and disarmed the goddess the moment the latter was within reach. She brandished the flashing blade, twirling its hilt between her fingers. The mild expression of shock on Hekate's face could not outmatch the excitement on hers. Collecting the dagger had filled her with a sense of triumph.

Hekate launched, surprisingly, in an attempt to retrieve the dagger. Waverly moved it out of reach and cut across her exposed arm. The goddess winced and stared at the cut, growing visibly angry. A few more launches and she received zigzag slashes on her chest and arms.

Waverly stepped back, watching Hekate writhe in anger.

"How dare you?!"

"Come on then!" She urged, exhilarated. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to inflict more injuries on the goddess.

Again, Hekate drew in. Waverly caught her arm, pushed it up and, with unimaginable speed, buried the dagger twice in her side, drawing blood. Hekate exclaimed in pain and clutched at the wound, yet her show of weakness only lasted a millisecond. She straightened and lunged at Waverly, catching her in a toss so that both were pressed against each other to the rock and the goddess had a blade point hovering between her eyes.

Waverly, being the oppressor, strained against the blade, pushing with all her might and both arms. Even if she could not exactly kill the witch, it would be thrilling to pluck out an eye. Unfortunately, a little energy surge from the goddess unglued her from her position and replaced Waverly there. Still, she held the dagger up in defense, struggling against Hekate's weight as it pressed down on her wrist.

Suddenly, the air hummed. A growing aura enveloped them both and began to seep into Waverly. She panicked at once, recognizing the presence to be malicious darkness. It streamed in and rendered her limp, coaxing her fingers to come loose around the dagger which clattered to the ground. The rocks rattled noisily as the energy grew stronger, weakening every sense within her.

It was Hekate's turn to grin in triumph.

Waverly's knees gradually buckled, her vision began to tunnel and her insides rattled like the rocks. But, from deep within, she felt a different aura rise. It fought against the foreigner that was using force to take hold of her spirit. She felt her eye sockets grow cold, and the sudden gasp Hekate gave confirmed that they had turned silvery white. She leaned up, feeling utmostly strengthened and placed both hands just above Hekate's chest. With a single push, the goddess sailed backwards and smashed into the rock face, creating a gaping hole in it.

Waverly melted to the ground, feeling ultimately exhausted.

In the Edge of Nys, there was no such thing as hunger or thirst - she noticed - but there was an abundance of weariness. Her white dress sported several stains and black holes from escaping fires and soot from a blasting volcano. There was never a time she did not feel fatigued, but Hekate never allowed her even a moment of rest.

Just as she regained her bearings, the goddess appeared and pinned her to the rock, growling. When she was angry, Waverly thought she looked like an ungodly thing. All of her beauty faded and exposed the real monster within.

"There is light in you still." She hissed. "I will snuff it all out."

The air hummed a second time and Waverly found herself being weakened by a great influx of darkness. The little burst of power she showed before did not happen again and it frightened her. She recoiled visibly as the energy became unbearably painful, filling her so much that she felt a drowning sensation. When at last she was let go, she fell face flat to the ground.

"Tars!" Hekate called out.

Tars reemerged from within a different cluster of rocks, huffing as if he had run a long distance. He glanced down at Waverly, who laid sprawled out on her face, oblivious to all.

"Your turn." The goddess offered and dematerialized.

The creature puffed as it approached, its footsteps shaking the ground under Waverly. The sound roused her to full consciousness just before it reached for her head. She screamed as he picked her up, closing large fingers around her skull. She kicked and wiggled, fearing that her head would be squashed in the creature's grasp. As soon as Tars brought her to his face, she kicked him in the nose. His grip loosened and she dropped to the ground, staggering back and constantly falling in a bid to escape.

From where he had emerged, a number of creatures of different kinds began to stream out.

Waverly recognized most of their kind because she had fought them once before. None of the creatures were armed, but neither was she and it meant she would have a most difficult time putting them down. Her eyes darted in wild search of Hekate's dagger, but the goddess had knowingly taken it with her.

Without much of a choice left, she rose and balled her fists. She would have to master the art of hand-to-hand combat. Ever since she was first taught how to do it, she never really practiced because of Calaire. The thought made her miss her wristband terribly, but she blotted thoughts of it from her mind in order to focus. With heavy pants, she repositioned into a better stance when the first creature approached.

A young Jag.

It roared and made a lunging grab with both arms. She threw herself to the ground to avoid it then hurriedly stood again and pushed it with great force. It crashed to the ground. Two more approached, but she swerved quickly and tricked them into bonking their heads together. When a Hag attacked, it clawed her nonstop and drove her to fury. Eventually an opening came that allowed her grab hold of the hag's wings. Unhesitatingly, she ripped them right off her back as one would rip paper. The creature wailed and cried out in pain, staggering into the crowd. The gesture seemed to strike fear into the group because some began to voice their uncertainty.

"She's powerless, you morons." A different Jag snorted. "And without a weapon. She cannot prevail against all of us at once."

Egged by his words, the crowd gave a shout and surged.

Sudden anger had already filled her with new strength and she felt driven to use it before it faded again. She glanced in the direction of the gorge and beelined it, startling the crowd. Nonetheless, they chased her into the middle. When she halted, she spun to face them.

The first attacker was slammed into the rock face, breaking it into large bits. Using these as weapons, Waverly successfully subdued every single one of the creatures, making use of her fists at intervals. Many disintegrated and others fled to recover from the blows they received.

Victorious, she slumped to the ground, her chest deflating and inflating with labored breaths as she shut her eyes for a time to regain strength.

When her eyes flew open, a feeling of intense surprise made her frown - she was surrounded by fresh blades of green grass.

Rolling over to lie on her back, she beheld a lovely blue sky and white clouds above. The wind felt cool and welcoming and smelled fresh. In utter confusion, she sat up, wondering about the strange change. The place resembled a meadow, located not too far from the entrance to a large forest and a slushing sea.

The sound of thudding footsteps from the direction of the forest made Waverly turn. Her face numbed when a familiar figure sprinted out in light jogs, glancing from side to side. When their eyes met, she froze.

He ran toward her and breathed in relief.

"There you are!"

He removed his face mask.

"This. . . This is. . . " Waverly's eyes twitched and tears rolled down each one. "Impossible!"

She found it difficult to say further because a wave of emotions ran shocking courses through her and left her numb.

"I've been searching this whole damn place for you. You've had everyone worried. Come on, we need to get you out immediately. I know the way, come on!"

Brijjet grabbed hold of her hand and gently pulled her to a stand. Weakened by the unexpected sight of him and a lack of options, she followed. He led out of the meadow and into the forest. As a result of total speechlessness and shock, she could not bring herself to ask a single question about anything and simply tailed cluelessly. The forest was gloomy, but Brijjet seemed to know the way well. He was without his bow; dressed in his usual archer armor, and when Waverly peered at his fingers, she glimpsed his wedding ring.

She wanted to burst open and question everything, but fear and excitement shut her up for good. All she could do was gawk at him from head to foot and wonder a million things.

Just as they reached a certain point where the forest became a tad brighter, Brijjet lifted one hand to indicate a pause.

"Shh!" He warned then stealthily urged on alone.

She stood there, watching him, compelled to smile at the familiarity of his movements. He was awfully real. His touch was warm and he felt very alive. He arrived a spot where the weakest daylight streamed into the forest and touched the ground. There, he spun and she saw that he was suddenly holding a large bow and nocking an arrow. Stunned by the strangeness of it all, she remained rooted, staring only with a curious frown. Brijjet released his fingers and the arrow came flying toward her. Some part of her brain convinced her that the projectile would sail past, but to her horror and displeasure, it found a place deep within her right shoulder. A second arrow pierced the flesh near her collarbone before she fell and was luckily missed by a third. Her eyes watered as heavy pain tore away at each wound, numbing her upper body. Regardless, she reached for the arrows, and with pained screams, pulled them free. Blood bathed her white dress and she clearly saw the stain.

Glancing below, she saw that Brijjet was still standing there; transforming into something monstrous and gigantic. She did not recognize the monster neither did she know what it was, but without waiting to find out, she pushed to her feet, wheeled and fled.

The monstrosity gave a hot chase. It ran on all fours, screeching and gruffing in a haphazard eagerness to catch up. Waverly ignored the burning pain she felt and ran with heavy feet. Yet, at last, she began to slow down. Then, the monster caught up and - with all of its built up momentum - crashed into her from behind.

She tumbled into the air and sailed a long way before crashing to the ground. When her eyes lifted, the thing was advancing cautiously, staring at her with mismatched eyes and a sagging mouth full of dribbling saliva. Its fingers were fat stubs that allowed it press onto the ground for support as it walked, and it left footprints that glowed blue and sizzled.

Waverly shuffled back as it came to tower over her, fighting the urge to cry. She knew very well when she had lost a fight and the moment was definitely it. With every retreat, the monster advanced, but it surprisingly did nothing more than stare at her and growl angrily every few seconds. It placed a finger on the hem of her dress, preventing her from shuffling back again.

When it reached out to pick her up, she grabbed its massive arm and dug her fingernails in its flesh until she drew blood. Enraged, the monster swiped its free hand and knocked her to the side. The last thing she saw was the inverted piece of rock that she collided with and a blurry, familiar view of a river before consciousness forcefully left her.

Again, Waverly's eyes flew open.

Upon waking, she realized two things; one was that it was impossible to dream in the Edge of Nys, and the other was that her memory was foggy. She experienced a lot of difficulty retaining memory of the times before she fell into Nys. The one thing she did remember was Judson. It was strange that the memory of him was not particular; in the sense that she could not remember an exact moment with him, but remembered him only as a person, and that he had loved her dearly.

She willed her aching body to roll over.

Another realization came that she would have to endure eternal pain since death was also an impossibility. If she could bleed when cut then it meant she was still alive. Somehow, the thought was frustrating.

Better to be done with it altogether.

But Hekate had sworn that she would beg for death and it would not come. She hated the witch goddess with every fiber in her being. The woman provoked every nerve in her til she was seething with rage. Whenever Hekate showed, all Waverly could think of was the hurtful things she wanted to do to her and it unsettled her. It often felt as if Hekate was winning. She knew just how righteous Entonian offsprings strove to be and coaxing the evil side out of one would be insulting to the gods, especially Selene.

She turned over again, sobbing in sudden remembrance of her mother. Her dear mother. Whatever Hekate was doing, however she reacted to it - the results, whether insulting or exalting - would have every Entonian eyes turning to Selene. All of her past achievements had restored every ounce of lost respect Selene's name once held and elevated it to an unparalleled level. Her daughter's deeds brought immense pride and glory to her, honoring her amongst the Council of the Gods. Making her a gem.

Should her new reputation be compromised, it would be dreadful, and that was the last thing Waverly wanted to happen. Selene had come too far in an attempt to redeem herself to simply lose again.

Blinking tears from her eyes, she saw, rather startlingly, that there was a roof over her head. A stone roof. She examined the area and concluded it wae a cave. The smell of blood from her own injuries stung her nostrils. She tried to understand why Brijjet had appeared to her and then tried to kill her in the form of a monster, but she knew well that had to be by Hekate's doing alone. The witch goddess was toying with her. It hurt deeply that it had been so real. She could not bring herself to admit that that reality was false.

Her attempt to sit up resulted in pained cries. The arrow wounds burned and rendered her arms heavy. She slumped back, praying that some form of strength would come before a second attack. With Nys, it was impossible what to expect. Nevertheless, she won the struggle and rose to her feet. The cave turned out to be a deep one - more of a tunnel - curving and twisting. She walked at snail pace, using the walls as support, yet the exit seemed to be non-existent. Feeling depleted, she slid down the wall and sat, panting for breath. After a time, she rose again and pressed on. The cave floor began to grow wet as though water was streaming in from the inside.

Waverly halted, feeling ominous.

At that moment, someone appeared from behind.

"An incoming flood!"

Waverly glanced over her shoulder and staggered back, eyes growing large. Her breath hitched and she broke into a shiver, wishing to melt into the cold wall or disappear entirely. But all forms of rationality went dead silent when he held out a hand.

"Come with me. We don't want you drowning." Dermot assured, beckoning with his open hand.

She calmed, shutting out the voice of reluctance, and took his hand. He drew her close and picked her up, filling her nose with the smell of cherry laurel. His warm stare made her nestle into his chest as he turned and walked into the same curve he forthcame.

For a long time, Waverly laid still, wholeheartedly accepting the closeness. She blotted doubt from her head and simply relaxed, opening her eyes only when she felt the urge to stare up at Dermot. She touched his smooth face and long, soft hair. He responded by smiling down at her.

The presence of a strong wind soon distracted her and made her look forward. The cave had led out into a deadly cliff side dominated by wild winds and a blasting cold weather.

"Hold on tight." Dermot warned calmly, studying the slim path on the face of the cliff. "It is very steep."

Sudden fear gripped Waverly when he painstakingly started on the path with his back pressed to the wall. With each step, she anticipated that he would either lean forward by accident or drop her on purpose, but he did not. His grip was protectively firm. It was a difficult task making such a trip whilst carrying someone, and the way was awfully long, but in the end, Dermot reached the bottom of the cliff. In the distance, she spotted a shelter built out of bamboo sticks, straw and cloth. It seemed to be their destination, and when they finally reached it, she exhaled in relief.

The warmth of the shelter calmed her completely. Dermot set her on a bed covered in sheep's pelt and eased himself of his bag and jacket then began to perambulate, gathering herbs and making a fire.

"That looks infected." He stated as he finished with the preparations and came to sit next to her. Inside a bowl of steaming hot water were several aromatic leaves and a towel. He dipped the cloth and wrung it free of water then gently dabbed on the wound. Her dress was torn across the affected areas, and so it was easy to access the gaping, bloodied holes.

"Arrows?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Waverly nodded, never once taking her intent gaze away from his face. He worked in silence and with care until everything was thoroughly cleaned and stitched.

Then, he rose with a sigh. "That ought to do it."

With his back turned to her, he began to cook something. Waverly quietly assessed him and found nothing out of place; nothing to indicate he was a fallacy. She shut her eyes and let sleep envelope her, awaking only a few minutes later.

Dermot sat opposite the fire, sharpening his sword blade with a piece of black rock, but the sight did not alarm her as it should have. He seemed quiet and engrossed in the task, oblivious that she was awake. But then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked up.

"Feeling better?" His voice was low, and until then, she did not realize how terribly she had missed hearing it. A single tear cascaded down her face that he did not see.

"No." She whispered.

His eyebrows went up in mild amusement. "Why is that?"

She let out a shuddering breath. The question felt like the greatest test in all of her life because her response would either reveal weakness or strength. Instead, she deviated.

"There are no milksops anywhere."

Dermot chuckled. He nodded toward her fingers, putting his down his sword then stood up. "Whose is it?"

She slowly lifted a hand to stare at her fingers. They were covered in blood. "Not mine."

He returned with a different bowl and clean water, then took her hands and began to wash them. The water felt soothing against her tired skin. Afterwards, he dried up with the towel slung over his shoulder. Waverly was not certain if what she felt as he wiped her hands was a sense of ease or impatience. She wanted it to be over with rather than be fooled for any longer.

"Do you know how I can get out of here?" She asked despite herself.

Dermot's wise eyes met hers. He appeared apologetic. "You can't."

"Why not?"

He sighed and reached for her other hand. "It is more complex than you think. This place is called Crestwell; not a lot of people find their way out if not none."

Waverly drew in a controlled sniffle. "What do I do then?"

He stared at her for a while. "Endure. You have to endure."

"Until when?"

He shook his head, but did not say anything.

She looked away from his face. "Are you too going to try and kill me?"

"Why would you think that? I'd never hurt you."

Her eyes flew back to his, but his solemn face was unreadable. She flexed her right shoulder and found that it was a lot easier to move then. She could endure the leftover pain. Pushing herself up with her elbow, she squinted at Dermot.

"Where is Diarmaid?"

He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Her eyes traveled to his sword lying close to the fire. "Tell me where he is."

"I don't know."

She ground her teeth, staring in disappointment. His reply was all the confirmation that she needed. "You always know where your brother is."

With impressive speed, he swerved and tumbled toward the fire. She rose and picked up the pelt in time to block a few strikes from his blade. Being an Elf and svelte and tall, he found it difficult to move about in the small shelter, only succeeding in bringing it to total ruin. Waverly raced outside and picked a bamboo stick to defend herself. Dermot's attacks were fluid and he gave her numerous deep cuts across the inside of her palm whenever she unintentionally held his blade. Each time she picked up a bamboo, he chopped it to small bits. His strikes came heavy and determined as if his aim was slaughter.

Eventually, she tackled him and they tumbled down the stones scattered across the plane into a flowing river that snaked past the cliff side. In the scuffle, he lost his sword to the current. Waverly stared at him as he raged about in the water, searching for it. Reminding herself over and over that he was nothing more than an illusion, she waded toward the biggest boulder she could find and lifted it with incredible strength. With a grunt, she tossed the stone. Dermot turned in time for the boulder to crash into him. He fell back with it and into the water with a loud splash.

She stayed put, sobbing and waiting for him to resurface, but he did not. Her chest was heavy when she crawled back to the plane. She simply laid face down, fearing that any movement would break her in two and sobbed into the crook of her arm. She missed the real Dermot. She missed Diarmaid, Brijjet, Pa, and everyone else. But most especially, she missed Judson. She did not know what to think of what became of him, but she hoped he was doing better because she was not.

Just then, she felt a hand close over and squeeze her shoulder.

"Waverly."

She recognized his voice. Helplessly, she rose and threw her arms over his neck, crying into his shoulder. He stroked her back and hair, then fixed both arms around her in a tight hug.

"I don't want to be here anymore." She said in between hiccups and sobs.

She retreated when Judson pulled her back to stare into her face. He leaned in and placed a light kiss on her lips.

"You will not have to be for long." He comforted then picked her up the same way Dermot had done.

The wind rushed past Waverly's ears, indicating that he had gone airborne. Anxiety filled her chest. When she tried to look down, he prevented her.

"No." He guided her head to rest against his neck. "Relax."

And relax she did.

As the wind picked up further, Waverly peered over his shoulder and caught glimpse of a strange occurrence on the ground. The cliff side and its surrounding areas seemed to be rolling inward, erasing from sight as if it had never been there; being replaced by a familiar, unsettling landscape. Hekate's so-called castle. With a jolt, she realized that the illusion was tearing off. She gazed quickly at Judson. He was looking onward as he flew and she noticed that he had one black wing still. In the blink of an eye, he had dissolved with a blur and Waverly was free falling with a scream.

The pain was precise as her back first connected with and divided a large rock in two halves before she tumbled carelessly to the sloping ground.

The surrounding was blurry, but she recognized where she had fallen. Behind her was one large looming rock as black as burning coals. A few kilometers ahead on the other side was an intimidating gorge with a hulking bridge over it, leading into a bastion and beyond that, an odious castle. It was crafted entirely out of black stone so that it blended with the environment. In fact, it looked to Waverly like the evil version of Vanita's seaside castle with an inclusion of pointy, tapering spires and towers in unnecessary numbers.

For the first few minutes, she expected Hekate to appear for another round of torture, but the goddess seemed nowhere within sight.

While she lay there, wishing to fall into unconsciousness, an essence materialized before her eyes. At first, she mistook it for a simple floating aura or a product of her disconcerted mind, but the apparition drew close and made a tsking sound.

"Such a wantsome thing!" It exclaimed.

Waverly blinked furiously and saw that the ghostlike thing was a man. His features were hazy so that she could not fully recognize his face nor piece together what he truly looked like, but could see the shape of his nose, eyes, mouth and hair, and his flailing clothes.

"Need some help, don't you?" It cooed.

"Shoo!" She flicked a weak hand to chase it away, but her arm simply passed through. It broke like smoke.

"Cannot make contact?" It sounded curiously surprised. "You must be alive then. How awful!"

"Get away!"

It heaved a long sigh. "I understand, but I can help you, wantsome thing. I reckon you can see the witch's abode is right over there and soon enough, she'll come looking for you. I overheard Tars say you're the new Human victim, but you look nothing evil. I say, you look only innocent and rather helpless. If you come with me, I'll bring you to The Coath. She won't find you there. You have my word."

A lot of reluctance made Waverly lay still, but the essence was kind and very interested in keeping her safe from Hekate's reach for a time, and he sounded as though he too bore a deep dislike for the goddess. Also, he spoke in a persuasive manner.

Before long, Waverly had nicknamed him "Ghost", and after a brief explanation of what The Coath was, allowed him lead her to the place.