Elian entered the next chamber like a prisoner stepping into judgment.
The stone beneath his boots gave way to a dark, silent hall—its ceiling lost in shadow, its air too still. A cold draft whispered across his face, smelling of rot and stillness. The door shut behind him with a quiet finality.
Ahead, the faint glow of Shardthread revealed the outlines of figures.
Dozens of them.
Human-shaped.
Unmoving.
Faceless
Elian stopped walking.
They stood scattered throughout the hall—some close, others partially hidden by shadow. Each figure wore tattered gray robes. Each one had a smooth, featureless oval where a face should be.
No eyes. No mouths. No identity.
He whispered, "What the hell is this?"
None of them moved.
He inched forward, passing close to one. Its skin looked like clay. Still. Cold. Hollow.
Then something snapped under his boot.
A dry string—thread, maybe. He froze.
One of the faceless figures tilted.
Just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
Elian's fingers tightened on Shardthread's grip. "Nope."
He kept moving—carefully—threading through the silent crowd. Their blank faces all tilted slightly downward, as if meditating. But they weren't statues. He could see the rise and fall of one's chest.
They were breathing.
That made it worse.
[Area Identified: Chamber of Null Identity]
[Caution: Behavioral anomalies may trigger hostile response.]
"No kidding," he muttered.
Something moved near the edge of his vision. He turned fast—just another figure.
Had it been there before?
His breath shortened. Heart pounding.
The room's air felt heavier now. Watching him.
He picked up the pace. In the distance, there was a door. An actual door—wooden, aged, maybe his way out.
He stepped carefully.
Near the door, one figure stood directly in his path—closer than the rest. Taller. Shoulders broad. Arms long.
But no face.
He sidestepped. It didn't move.
Then, as he passed, he felt it—breath on the back of his neck.
He turned, swinging Shardthread—
The figure was still.
Unmoving.
But its head had turned.
Slightly.
Toward him.
[Warning: Faceless anomaly is observing.]
[Soul Integrity: Stable]
[Fear Threshold: Elevated]
"Yeah, no kidding," Elian growled under his breath.
He lunged for the door, grasped the handle, and pulled—
It opened.
He slipped through, heart slamming in his chest.
The door shut behind him with a hollow boom.
He leaned back against it, panting, listening.
Nothing followed.
No sounds.
No figures.
Just silence.
And the soft glow of his blade.
[Trait Acquired: Steadfast Soul – Level 1]
[You resist minor psychological pressure. Passive.]
Elian stared at the message.
Then laughed.
It was quiet. Bitter. And a little unhinged.
"That's all it takes to be steady, huh? Not screaming in a room full of… whatever that was?"
He wiped sweat from his face and stood upright.
The next hall stretched ahead.
Dim. Cold. Quiet.
But empty.
For now.
He tightened his grip on Shardthread and walked forward.
Still alone.
Still himself.