The corridor stretched longer than it should have. Each step they took echoed twice—as if the mountain remembered the ones who had walked before them.
Elowen felt it in her veins.
A pull. A hum. A hunger.
Not her own.
It was the god.
Not screaming. Not threatening.
But whispering.
It didn't demand her fear.
It offered her comfort.
Ashen walked close behind her, tense and silent.
"Something's wrong," he said. "I don't feel time here. I don't feel… anything."
She nodded. "This place is outside of the Stillwoods. It's older. Deeper."
Ahead, the hallway opened into a vast chamber.
The walls curved into a dome of black stone, lit only by veins of molten red running like rivers through the ceiling. Strange symbols glowed on the floor, circling a massive altar carved of bone and glass.
And upon that altar, something stirred.
It wasn't a man.
It wasn't a beast.
It was a memory given flesh.
It rose slowly—tall, draped in shadow and smoke. Its face was a shifting mask of all who had served it. Woman, man, child, soldier, priest—one moment to the next.
Its eyes never changed.
Two burning suns, golden and hollow.
Elowen froze.
Her blood screamed inside her.
Ashen gripped his sword, but the air around the god twisted it—turned it to ash in his hand.
The god spoke without sound.
"Daughter of flame. I am not your enemy."
"I am the end of your pain."
Elowen's jaw tightened. "You hunted me."
"To awaken you."
"You burned villages."
"To cleanse the rot."
"You cursed my mother. Drove her mad."
The god's form shifted—took the shape of Seris, weeping in chains.
"I offered her peace. She chose fire."
Elowen stepped forward. "Then you fear the fire."
The chamber trembled.
For a moment, the god's voice lost its calm.
"I fear nothing. I offer freedom."
"You bleed. You suffer. Let me take it."
"Give me your blood. Your will. I will bury your sorrow."
Elowen felt the pull again.
A strange comfort.
Her pain—the ache in her bones, the memories of running, the nights in the cold—it could all disappear.
All she had to do… was let go.
Give in.
Ashen's voice broke through the silence.
"Elowen! Don't listen. He's trying to break your shape."
She turned to Ashen.
His face was pale.
His shadow… was gone.
The god had stolen it.
Elowen turned back to the altar.
And whispered, "I'm not like her. I won't break."
She lifted her hand.
And pressed her bleeding palm to the runes on the floor.
The god roared.
Flame burst from the cracks.
Roots of silver and ash curled around her feet, rising like armor. Her eyes burned with the light of moonfire.
"I am the last of Seris," she said.
"But I am not her echo."
"I am Elowen of the Stillwoods.
Daughter of no god.
Born of pain.
Raised by the trees.
And I am not yours."
The altar shattered.
The chamber screamed.
The god's form split—writhing in smoke and fire.
But even in its pain, it laughed.
"You will kneel before the end, little flame."
"Even stars burn out."
And with that, the mountain began to collapse.
Elowen grabbed Ashen's hand.
They ran.
Behind them, stone cracked, runes exploded, and the god's scream echoed in every corner of the mountain.
They leapt across the broken bridge.
The bones beneath it split.
They hit the earth on the far side just as the entrance caved in.
Dust clouded the sky.
And the god was buried.
For now.
Ashen coughed, brushing ash from his cloak. "You made him bleed."
Elowen didn't answer right away.
Her hand still burned. But it wasn't pain.
It was power.
"Not enough," she said. "But I know how he breathes now. I've heard his true voice."
Ashen looked at her carefully. "And what did it say?"
She stared into the smoke.
"That I'm the only one who can silence it."