The deeper they ventured, the more the cold crept in—not just through the air, but into their bones, into their very thoughts. It wasn't natural cold. It was the kind that whispered of forgotten graves and cursed memories.
Their footsteps echoed like war drums on the ancient stone floor.
Kaen flexed his hand, wincing. The burn left by the Gatekeeper's chain hadn't faded—it pulsed now with something strange, something alive. Not pain, exactly. Power.
"You good?" Lira asked, her eyes never fully leaving the shadows ahead.
"I'll survive," Kaen muttered. "You did stab a ghost for me, after all."
Lira cracked a tired smirk. "And you're welcome."
Ahead, the corridor split—one path spiraling down into blackness, the other climbing toward a distant, flickering glow. Kaen paused. The pendant on his chest pulsed, pulling faintly toward the abyss.
"We go down," he said.
Lira nodded. No questions this time. She trusted him, even if neither of them understood why.
As they descended, the air grew heavy. The walls began to shimmer with faint glyphs—red, like embers on the verge of death. Kaen found his eyes locking onto them, his mind slipping.
He shook his head violently. "They're...watching."
"I feel it too," Lira whispered.
At the bottom, they entered a vast circular chamber. In the center stood a stone dais—and atop it, a sword. Or what remained of one.
The blade was fractured, blackened by fire or age. Its hilt was wrapped in faded, bloodstained cloth. Yet Kaen felt it—an irresistible pull, a whisper in his soul.
"This is a trap," Lira said.
"We don't have a choice," Kaen replied.
He stepped forward. The chamber groaned. From the walls, armored figures stirred—too tall, too thin, their faces hidden behind twisted iron masks. Their armor shrieked as they moved, powered not by life, but by hate.
Lira drew both daggers. "Please tell me we're not fighting all of them."
"Just hold them off," Kaen said. "I'll handle the rest."
"Sure. Great plan," she muttered, already moving.
Kaen bolted for the dais. Behind him, Lira weaved between the sentinels, steel flashing. She was fast, deadly—but there were too many.
As Kaen reached the dais, the sword trembled. A voice thundered in his head—not a whisper, a roar.
"Who dares claim the Forsaken Blade?"
Kaen's vision blurred. His veins burned. Every instinct screamed to flee—but he stood firm.
"I am Kaen," he shouted. "Son of no house. Heir to no crown. I claim nothing—but I will not bow."
Silence fell. The sentinels halted.
The sword pulsed. Once. Twice.
Then shattered.
Shards of molten light flew outward—but they didn't explode. They flowed into Kaen, into his skin, his bones, setting him ablaze from within.
He screamed.
Lira broke through and rushed to him. "Kaen!"
But before she could reach him, the ground cracked open beneath him. He fell—not downward, but inward. Into a void that devoured even light.
The last thing he saw was Lira's face, distorted in a silent scream—
Then nothing.