The One Who Remains
The path twisted again. Kael halted, his hand brushing the glyph-etched wall he was sure they'd already passed. Beside him, Mara said nothing, her gaze fixed ahead, while Zerai glanced over his shoulder with a quiet, bitter grunt. Liora's breathing quickened, and Arden murmured the first few syllables of a guiding spell—only for it to flicker and vanish in his palm. They were circling, drawn back into the depths of the ruins by something unseen.
The hallway warped in a breathless instant. Not with motion, but with intention—stone folding inward like a flower reversing bloom. They stepped through what should have been another corridor, only to find themselves standing once again inside the chamber they'd already left. But now, the vast room was no longer empty. A throne had appeared—blackened, ancient, shaped from fused bone and metal—and it pulsed with a presence that hadn't existed before.
The figure on the throne sat unmoving. Towering and clad in armor styled like a warlord from forgotten ages, it wore a helm crowned with downward-turned horns and gripped a massive axe etched in dead runes. The thing radiated an aura so heavy it clung to their skin and dulled the air itself. Kael's Sight flared to life, and what he saw made his pulse stall—this being wasn't truly alive. But it wasn't dead either.
The glyphs on the chamber floor shifted underfoot, glowing with blood-red light that pulsed in slow rhythm. Liora stepped back with a hand to her mouth, choking on the invisible pressure that now drenched the air. Arden raised his hand again to cast, but the moment he tried, the aura devoured the spell like a candle snuffed in a storm. Zerai moved in front of Liora without a word, body low and tense. And through it all, Mara remained still—expressionless, unreadable.
The figure did not speak with a mouth. Instead, its voice erupted in their minds all at once—layered, ancient, impossible to describe in tone or gender. Kael flinched as it called him "Echo-born," and turned to Mara as it named her "Daughter of Forgotten Blood." The being's presence expanded with each word, like it wasn't just addressing them, but something through them. "Your ascent is an offense to balance," it thundered without sound, "and the sky was never meant for your kind." Arden staggered, eyes wide—"It's… it's projecting through time."
Kael stepped forward before he could think, drawn by something more than curiosity—something like a thread of memory pulling taut. He asked what the thing was, his voice dry in his throat. But it didn't answer directly, only intoned: "Beneath altars forgotten lie roots still bleeding." Mara's bracelet—the sealing one—flared to life, faint pulses echoing the aura's rhythm. Zerai muttered, low, "It's not here to fight. Not unless we make it."
The giant's helm tilted ever so slightly—just enough to suggest that it was aware of them beyond the gaze of gods. Mara didn't blink. Something in her had shifted, but she showed no fear. Her hand drifted near her blade, but it was reflex, not threat. Liora watched her warily, noticing the shimmer of her human illusion beginning to crack.
Mara stayed perfectly still. Her silence wasn't blank, it was loaded—with recognition she couldn't explain and a weight Kael couldn't begin to guess. Her eyes never left the throne, and her breathing was steady. Whatever this thing was, she understood it in a way no one else in the room could. But still, she said nothing.
Then, with a snap of movement, Zerai flung a dagger—not to attack, but to test. The blade never struck its target. It vanished halfway across the chamber, consumed by a ripple in the air like water swallowing a stone. The throne-bound figure did not react. "A remnant," Zerai said grimly. "A judge."
A new path opened behind the throne. Stone dissolved into silver mist, revealing a narrow archway that hadn't been there before. The floor's glyphs began to swirl, no longer sealing the chamber, but unraveling it—like the being had passed its verdict. Kael watched the way the air bent around the exit, unnatural but inviting. Then the voice returned for the last time, heavier than before: "Ascend… and be hunted."
They didn't need more encouragement. Moving in silence, they passed the throne, never turning their backs until the arch swallowed them whole. Even at a distance, the memory of that voice clung to Kael's bones like ash. Through his Sight, he looked back once—and saw the entire throne dissolve into shadow, as if it had never existed. Only the pressure in his chest remained.
The new tunnel twisted upward. Not carved like the others, but natural, old, and cold. They climbed until the stone walls turned familiar again—returning to the surface levels of the labyrinth. Two guards blinked in surprise as they emerged near the entry checkpoint, clearly not expecting them so soon. Kael offered only a short explanation, just enough to pass.
Mara still hadn't spoken. She walked past the guards without looking at them, her thoughts lost somewhere beyond reach. Liora stayed close, eyes flicking toward her with increasing worry, but said nothing. Arden rubbed his temples as though shaking off a lingering headache. Zerai simply watched the others, jaw tense.
Far away, within a room of old maps and dim runelight, a figure stood before a mirror-like crystal. The reflection within rippled—no image, just sound: the echo of the throne's activation. A Syndicate agent leaned in, porcelain mask gleaming in the half-light. "So… the sleeper stirs," he whispered. Another voice, unseen, answered like smoke: "Then the boy must ascend… faster than planned."
To be continued...