Footsteps. Everywhere. Echoing off the ground, bouncing off the seemingly confined yet boundless space.
Voices. Murmuring. Whispering of the evils, of the good, of the devils, of the deeds people do for the sake of greater evil, or greater good. Whispering of the rise of the next Urquil.
"Where am I?" Cerulean eyes open to see the sea of crimson in front of her. Esma Schresweski was confused. One minute, she was comfortably snuggled in her bed; the next minute, she found herself in a totally foreign place, a world with nothing but redness.
Panic strikes almost immediately, like an iron claw ripping through her heart.
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