The words echoed in Ethan's mind, reverberating with the chilling finality of a death knell. The Order's ultimatum. Clara's life for his compliance. The Chalice of Seraphina, heavy and cold in his trembling hand, felt like a lead weight dragging him down into the abyss.

He stood on the precipice, the howling wind of the Carpathian Mountains whipping around him. Below, nestled in the valley, was the Order’s encampment, a stark wound on the landscape. Their vehicles, armed and menacing, surrounded a makeshift stage where Clara was bound, a gag pressed against her lips, her eyes wide with terror. Archbishop Michael, the Order's leader, a figure radiating an unnerving calm, addressed her, his voice amplified by some arcane technology. Ethan couldn't hear the words, but he understood the threat implicit in every gesture, every deliberate movement.