[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/MkC2NDh/pandora-header-2.png[/img][/center][hr]Raula wasn’t the only one who watched the Watchers—and those who fought them—from the shadows. The unmistakable, yet faint, sound of chains echoing through the cave’s wall was the herald of Pandora’s arrival. Once again, the being who opposed the fugitives seemed to bear her no mind and, once again, she brought a small hand to her chest, clenching it tight as if she were grasping her own heart.

Save for the maddening clashes of battle, the cave was still and cold, a sign of the nature of their confinement. Every strike and every groan reverberated through the walls along with the sounds of pooling water, but even so, the chains were always there. Present, yet ethereal, just like Pandora herself.

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It takes an illusion to see through another one. Or so it was said. Perhaps then, it was no wonder that Pandora would also be seen in the werewolves’ keep, looking over the massacre with distressed eyes.

The echo of chains reverberated past Chryseis. Their wailing symphony was like that of tolling bells as Pandora made her way past both him and the Oni he sought to assist. Her feet barely touched the lagoon’s cold, moisty floor, in fact even the way she moved seemed unnatural.

And, as certain as the fact the Abyss would always be there to welcome all those wretched and rejected, unnatural things beget one another. It was no surprise, then that Pandora would be making her way to the stage of Ignis and the Chief Werewolf’s duel. And there she remained in silence once again, watching from the same shadows as a certain rodent.
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