Zara's pulse was no longer her own.
It beat in tandem with something deeper, something older. The echoes of Aeroth had settled into her veins, threading between each breath, weaving through her ribs like a second rhythm.
She could hear them whispering.
Not screaming.
Not begging.
Whispering.
The Hollowed were gone, but their voices remained, lingering beneath the surface of reality, waiting for something she had yet to understand.
Noel walked beside her, his presence steady but tense, his eyes flicking toward every shadow stretched unnaturally along the fractured walls of the old tunnel.
"They'll send another one," he muttered.
Zara didn't answer.
He was right.
The Circle wasn't just watching.
They were waiting for her to make a mistake.
The corridor pressed inward, the air thickening with remnants of forgotten incantations, seals burned into the stone like scars that refused to heal.
Zara stepped carefully, the dagger humming beneath her grip. It wasn't warning her.
It was remembering.
She could feel it pulling toward something just beyond the turn ahead—something hidden, something calling her name without voice.
The glyphs shimmered.
Noel stiffened.
And then the silence changed.
Not with sound.
With absence.
The world behind her ceased to exist.
Zara turned sharply, inhaling sharply—too sharply.
Noel was gone.
The tunnel was gone.
The city was gone.
She stood in the center of a temple she had never entered, surrounded by walls that bled ink, its pillars shaped from whispering shadows.
And before her—
A choir of figures.
Not Hollowed.
Not alive.
Something worse.
They stood motionless, their bodies carved from silence itself, their mouths absent, their forms flickering at the edges like reality had forgotten how to keep them whole.
Zara clenched her fists.
Her Echo pulsed.
Something had brought her here.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a witness.
As a participant.
The figures lifted their heads in unison.
And Aeroth exhaled.
***
The world didn't shift.
It folded.
Zara felt her pulse warp, the rhythm of her heartbeat falling into sync with the dissonant hum crawling through the temple. The air pressed inward, thick with unspoken words—whispers braided into the walls, into the very bones of Aeroth.
Noel walked beside her, his presence steady but tense, his eyes flicking toward every shadow stretched unnaturally along the fractured walls of the old tunnel.
"They'll send another one," he muttered.
Zara didn't answer.
He was right.
The Circle wasn't just watching.
They were waiting for her to make a mistake.
The corridor pressed inward, the air thickening with remnants of forgotten incantations, seals burned into the stone like scars that refused to heal.
Zara stepped carefully, the dagger humming beneath her grip. It wasn't warning her.
It was remembering.
She could feel it pulling toward something just beyond the turn ahead—something hidden, something calling her name without voice.
The glyphs shimmered.
Noel stiffened.
And then the silence changed.
Not with sound.
With absence.
The world behind her ceased to exist.
Zara turned sharply, inhaling sharply—too sharply.
Noel was gone.
The tunnel was gone.
The city was gone.
She stood in the center of a temple she had never entered, surrounded by walls that bled ink, its pillars shaped from whispering shadows.
And before her—
A choir of figures.
Not Hollowed.
Not alive.
Something worse.
They stood motionless, their bodies carved from silence itself, their mouths absent, their forms flickering at the edges like reality had forgotten how to keep them whole.
Zara clenched her fists.
Her Echo pulsed.
Something had brought her here.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a witness.
As a participant.
The figures lifted their heads in unison.
And Aeroth exhaled.