Earth Bet: House of the Sun (Cultist Simulator/Worm)

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"Look up at the stars, no, not there..."

"Yes there, remember those stars. They bless you, no matter what everybody else says. You have the blood of stars running through your veins, you are made of starstuff."

"But why?"

"Because, one day you will think back on this and remember what I told you. It will help you then; you will know who to give your blood to, what music to listen to, and about kinder neighbors."

"I see..."

"No, you don't, not yet. That's okay, my little prince; one day, you will."

The sound of soft music pulled you back to the present. Slowly, your mind returned from that ancient memory, a melody from your childhood woven into your thoughts. It was a lullaby of sorts, a gentle tune your mother had sung to you long ago.

The song always seemed to carry a deeper meaning, one that danced just out of reach. You remember her smile afterward, a mysterious, knowing smile that never revealed much. She had always said it was a gift—something to help you endure, to preserve what was most important.

And it had helped, back in London, when the world felt heavy. And now, for reasons you couldn't quite grasp, it stirred within you again. A subtle reminder, a whisper in the back of your mind.

As the last notes of the music faded into the air, you exhaled softly, your eyes drawn back to Charlotte, whose hands you gently released.

"That was a lovely dance. Thank you," you say, offering her a graceful bow. Your words, though polite, are warm with genuine gratitude.

Charlotte's smile is wide and bright, and she dips into a playful curtsey in return. "You looked so calm. It seems that not thinking, just feeling, helped," she says before stepping forward, wrapping her arms around you in a firm, affectionate embrace.

For a moment, you're caught off guard by the intensity of her hug, but then you relax, returning the gesture. You feel the strength in her arms, the way her presence anchors you, however briefly. There is no need for words; the warmth is enough. After a beat, she loosens her hold, stepping back with that same smile on her lips.

"It did help," you agree, nodding in acknowledgment before turning toward the door. You offer her a small wave, one she returns enthusiastically, and then you slip on your coat and shoes. As you step outside, the brisk air hits you, cold and sharp against your skin.

You pause on the doorstep, glancing up at the sun hanging low in the sky. The chill bites at your cheeks, and your breath leaves your lips in delicate wisps of mist.

You aren't entirely sure what that song from your childhood was truly about—its deeper meaning remains elusive, almost like the memory of a dream slipping away upon waking. Yet, something about it resonates within you, a quiet, persistent hum in your chest, like the echo of an old truth.

Sighing softly, you shake your head. It's something to puzzle over later. For now, you've learned enough. Your thoughts return to the present as you head toward your car. There's work to do, and whatever mystery the stars hold will have to wait.

You have danced an older song, learning what it means to truly preserve. Gain 1 scrap of Heart lore.

Heart lore is now Level 2

You remember an old song, of a lineage baptised by both the sun and the stars. A lineage that flows through your own veins. You don't know what it means, not yet. Perhaps you soon will.

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[Dappled Wing - Search for a Ritual DC: 60/80/100]

[Roll: 48+15(General Bonus) = 63]

You were halfway through your breakfast, enjoying the warmth of the meal and the quiet of the morning, when a subtle shift in the air made you tense. From the corner of the room, where the shadows had gathered thickly, the Dappled Wing emerged, stepping into view with its unsettling grace.

You jolted, more startled than you'd care to admit, and your spoon clattered against the bowl, sending a chunk of oatmeal splattering onto the table. You muttered a curse under your breath, pounding your chest as you tried to force down the bite that had lodged itself awkwardly in your throat.

"Could you at least give some kind of warning next time?" you said, your voice roughened by the sudden shock. There was no direct response, but the subtle amusement that radiated from the creature was unmistakable.

Its glossy wings twitched slightly as if in acknowledgment, and from its twisted hands, it dropped a bundle of crumpled papers onto the table with a quiet thud.

The frown on your face deepened as you pushed aside your now-abandoned bowl. Your fingers hovered over the pile of papers before finally reaching out to sift through them. The pages were rough and torn, as though ripped hastily from a larger book, and the faded ink made it difficult to decipher the words at first.

But as you leafed through them, it became clear—this wasn't just any ordinary text. It was something more. A ritual, buried in metaphor and veiled in the cryptic language of the occult, revealed itself piece by piece as you slowly turned the pages.

Your breath slowed, the room around you fading from your awareness as you focused entirely on decoding the hidden meanings. These were pages of healing, of restoration, though not in the soft, comforting way one might expect. No, this was something harsher, something transformative—like metal being reforged in the fires of a furnace. It spoke of mending broken bodies, shaping flesh like iron beneath the hammer.

You ignored the cold lump of breakfast in front of you, your mind racing as you pieced together the steps of the ritual. The text wasn't difficult for someone with your knowledge, but its symbolic language demanded a careful touch.

By the time the sun had risen high in the sky, casting its golden light through the window, you had cracked it. The ritual was clear to you now, with an interesting name: "The Forge's Redemption."

You traced your fingers along the edges of the ritual's diagram on the page, noting the intricate circle drawn to contain and direct the power. It was built around the idea of the body as metal, something to be shaped and hardened through fire and pressure. The writing also mentioned an abstract reconciliation, "the time of three and eight, when the tongs and coal put aside their differences."

One question remained, though. You glanced up at the Dappled Wing, your voice starting with, "Where did you get—" but the creature was already gone, having retreated into whatever dark corners it had come from. A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back in your chair, fingers still resting on the ritual papers.

You'd have to ask the spirit later about the origins of this find. For now, you turned your attention back to the cold breakfast that awaited you, though the excitement of discovery had long stolen your appetite.

You have learned The Forge's Redemption, a two circle ritual that removes long lasting scars or other bodily issues.

You have learned certain words. Words that blacksmiths speak before the work, words that murderers whisper, and words that you now know. Gain 1 scrap of Forge lore.

Forge Lore is now Level 1

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"Thank you for coming," you said, stepping aside as Delilah crossed the threshold with a curt nod. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, the air of quiet efficiency clinging to her like a second skin.

"Of course," she replied, her voice carrying that familiar no-nonsense edge, already moving toward your table before you could say anything more. She sat herself down heavily, her booted heels immediately kicked up onto the table.

You paused for a moment, holding back a sigh before silently retrieving a rag. The snow clinging to her boots was already beginning to melt, leaving small wet patches where her feet rested. Without a word, you placed the rag beneath them, resolving to wipe down the table later when this was all over. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"I was thinking—" you began, but Delilah cut you off mid-sentence with a glance and a knowing tone.

"You were planning to stash her here," she said flatly. It wasn't a question, simply a statement of fact, like she'd already pieced together your thoughts. She wasn't entirely wrong, though that had only been one of several options you were considering.

"Well, it was one idea I had," you admitted, settling into the chair across from her. Delilah didn't look impressed. Her eyes rolled, as though the very notion was beneath consideration.

"It's a bad idea," she said bluntly, folding her arms. "You're a public figure. If anyone catches wind that you've got a known villain hiding out in your home, you're done. Not just your reputation—everything. They'll eat you alive. I think the smarter move is to house her with Lady Mylissa." She shifted, her voice lightening a touch as if offering a lifeline. "We also have a few safehouses we could use if you'd rather keep her off the grid entirely."

You pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose, leaning back as you absorbed her words. It wasn't as though she was wrong—Delilah was sharp and always had a clear view of the bigger picture.

You knew keeping Damsel here would be a risk, one that could easily spiral out of control if any prying eyes found out. Delilah was right to point out that your status alone made housing her too dangerous.

The idea of stashing Damsel with Lady Mylissa wasn't exactly appealing either, though it seemed like the most viable solution. There was safety in Mylissa's network, but it also meant a certain level of involvement that you weren't sure you wanted to commit to.

On the other hand, the hideouts Delilah mentioned were certainly an option—but not without their own risks. Keeping Damsel in constant motion between them could raise suspicion or, worse, leave her vulnerable if anyone caught wind of her location.

Seeing you think, Delilah's gaze softened ever so slightly. She was still the pragmatic, sharp-edged woman you knew, but there was a hint of understanding in her eyes now. "Just don't overthink it. We'll make it work—whichever way you go with this." She shrugged, settling back in her chair. "But we should move soon. The PRT's been watching her. They'll make a move sooner rather than later."

You nodded slowly. She was right again. The clock was ticking, and Damsel couldn't stay where she was any longer.

[] Move Damsel in with Lady Mylissa
-Lady Mylissa will have direct access to her
-Who knows how they will get along
-People will notice that she vanished from town

[] Move Damsel into a cult hideout
-Those who maintain the hideouts will know of her, and her crimes
-She will need to be moved every so often due to power incontinence
-Should she be discovered, so will your cult

[] Move Damsel in with you
-You will have more opportunities to interact with her
-She has difficulties with her power, dangerous ones
-This is both crime and evidence of said crime
Delilah has suggested that you house Damsel with the cult