The staircase spiraled downward like a serpent swallowing itself. Each step echoing with the weight of their passage, both in sound and memory.
Kael went first, torch in hand, the golden light casting jagged shadows across the worn walls. Seris followed closely behind, her fingertips brushing the ancient carvings etched into the rock. Aeren and Lorent trailed, quieter than usual. The air grew colder with every turn, thick with the scent of damp moss and buried iron.
"This place feels… wrong," Aeren muttered, his voice bouncing strangely. "Like it remembers being something else."
"It does," Seris said. "This was no crypt, it was a vault, a prison."
Kael paused, turning to look at her. "You recognize it?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "But something in my blood does."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, a faint sound, scraping, metal on stone below.
They stopped in unison.
"Did anyone else hear that?" Lorent asked, instinctively reaching for his blade.
Kael nodded. "We're not alone down here."
They continued more cautiously now. The stairway gave way to a wide landing, the walls etched with unfamiliar runes that pulsed faintly as they passed. And then, an antechamber opened before them. A vast dome-shaped cavern, lit by glowing crystals embedded in the ceiling like stars trapped underground.
In the center stood a massive door. Unlike the gate above, this one bore no seal, only a wide, rusted chain looped through iron rings. It looked… ready. Like something behind it had been waiting.
Then a voice spoke.
"You carry the mark of the fallen. Yet you descend willingly. Brave... or foolish?"
Kael froze while Seris reached for her circlet, which pulsed hot against her temple. Beside them, Aeren instinctively stepped between Seris and the approaching shadow, one blade half-drawn. Lorent stood near the archway, muttering a prayer under his breath.
And from the far corner, near the crumbling pillar, the stranger they'd last seen outside the ruin emerged from the shadows, no longer mocking, but watching.
The figure before them loomed, tall, cloaked in tattered veils of ash and shadow, its face lost beneath a hood. It radiated cold and ancient gravity. The torches sputtered violently.
"I've waited long enough," the figure rasped. "Now you'll answer."
Aeren's fingers tightened on his hilt. "Answer what, you smoky bastard? Who the hell are you?"
The figure tilted its head, eerie and deliberate. "Always defiance, always blindness. Have the heirs truly fallen so far?"
The stranger in the corner stepped forward at last, his eyes flickering strangely in the dim. "I told you, you weren't ready to open this door."
Kael turned sharply toward him. "Who are you really?"
But the stranger only smirked, leaning lazily against a stone. "Watch, listen and learn because our bloodline has debts to repay."
The hooded figure turned toward Kael, ignoring the rest. "Heir of the flame. Do you feel it?"
Kael's voice was low. "Feel what?"
"The cost, the betrayal and the echo of ruin that sleeps beneath your skin."
Seris touched Kael's arm, her circlet glowing faintly. "Kael, don't."
"I need to know," he said, stepping forward.
The figure extended one shadowed hand. "Take it, then, memory, pain and truth."
Kael hesitated. Then he gripped the hand.
The chamber exploded with light and heat.
Visions.
A scorched battlefield, burning citadel and six cloaked figures, once allies, drawing blades on each other. A sword piercing a heart not in hate, but in sacrifice.
Kael screamed, but the vision wouldn't let him go.
Seris lunged to pull him away, and was pulled in as well.
Aeren shouted. "Damn it, Kael!"
He ran forward, but the instant he touched the light, it burned his skin and threw him back. Lorent caught him, eyes wide with holy fear. "They're being shown something... old."
The stranger crossed his arms. "Now you see it, their blood opens doors no blade can force."
And then, silence and the light collapsed.
Kael and Seris staggered back, gasping.
The figure loomed still, voice like rust and fire. "Now you understand. The flame turned on itself, the bound still linger. And you, will decide their fate."
Kael, dazed, asked, "What do you want from us?"
"I want nothing," it replied. "But they will."
"Who?" Seris whispered.
The figure began to unravel, threads of ash lifting into the air, yet its voice echoed still, deep in the stone.
"The ones who remained, the ones who remember and the ones who will never forgive."
A rumble beneath them.
The orb above shivered, then shattered into a storm of crystal and shadow and darkness swept the chamber.
The figure moved like a storm draped in shadow, its footsteps echoing louder than their breaths. It passed the broken gate and stopped just short of the torchlight. No face, only a suggestion of one, sharp edges in a blur of ash, as if memory itself had forgotten what it once was.
"You carry the mark of the fallen," it repeated, voice scraping the air. "The heir of flame. The oathbreaker's blood. And the wanderer touched by both death and light."
Seris's breath caught, her fingers still pressed to the circlet. "What are you?"
"Once, I was bound to the kings of old. Now, I am what remains when oaths rot in silence."
Kael stepped forward, spear drawn. "And what do you want?"
"To see if your hearts remain yours… or if the ash has already claimed you."
Without warning, the chamber groaned, and the illusion shattered. The stone beneath their feet rippled like water, and a pulse of raw magic blew out the torches, plunging them into darkness.
Aeren cursed, drawing his twin blades. Lorent instinctively grabbed Seris's arm to steady her, and Kael reached blindly, fingers brushing hers in the dark.
The whisper came again, not the ancient voice this time, but the stranger they'd met above. A low, conspiratorial chuckle.
"So many threads tied in blood and fire. You're walking into a vault of memories not your own," the voice taunted from the dark. "You may not all come out the same."
The magic shifted again, the darkness lifting like a heavy veil, and suddenly they were elsewhere.
A vast hall lit by pale fire, banners hanging from ruined beams, symbols of houses long dead. Ghosts lined the walls, not with bodies but impressions in the stone. A coronation chamber twisted by time.
Kael steadied Seris, who seemed dazed. "You alright?"
She nodded faintly, blinking. "I saw something… no, felt it. My mother. She was here."
Kael held her hand tighter. "We'll face it together."
She turned to him, eyes wet. "I don't deserve you."
"Good," he whispered with a crooked smile. "Means you'll fight to keep me."
She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, and kissed him then, quick, fierce, trembling. It anchored them both.
Behind them, Lorent was already scanning the walls. "These markings, they aren't just decoration, they're warding runes. Someone tried to seal something here."
Aeren nodded, more serious than usual. "Which begs the question… what didn't they want getting out?"
Before Kael could answer, the floor behind them cracked, just a hairline fracture, but it pulsed with silver light.
The ancient figure had vanished.
In its place, a sigil glowed in the center of the hall. The same sigil from Seris's dreams.
And then the whisper came again, clearer, more real.
"You have touched the gate. Now you must choose: awaken what lies beneath… or turn back and bury your truth."