Abyssia is, by now, very tired. Travelling across the continent, to town after town that doesn't know what Fischers are, to kingdom after kingdom and noble after noble who have petty stupid fights with each other, killing every random monster that comes her way- Only the adventurer's guild, and the whispers, fail to blend together. She's a B-Ranker now. An absurd achievement by the standards of her tiny little village, reaching superhuman heights through long hours of challenge, effort, and violence. If she went home, she'd be set for life. She could declare herself Chieftain, raise a fortress out of the mud with nothing but her will, defend it against all comers, bring wealth and prosperity...
...But she doesn't want to do that. The whispering gods, the ones who take her blood when she cuts herself as a sacrifice, who offer their love and support in return, who bless her weapons and flesh with power when she needs it most, they don't understand her any more than she understands them. But they're trying. She's certain of that. They want peace in this world. They want the Fischers to thrive. And they're still telling her: Onward. Find the Key.
Today they have led her to an ominous pit of swirling darkness. Is it going to kill her? It feels like it's going to kill her. That nothing but death can possibly lie within. A horrible rending of reality itself. The terrain is decaying, turning gray and crumbling in an entirely different way than the usual dark magic poisoning. Ominous. Terrifying.
But she has faith.
She takes one last big drink from a steel flask, then leaps into the darkness, and comes out somewhere else.